His name is Charles Dickerman. This picture was taken in the late 19th century. He was probably wearing a wool suit. He was definitely growing something on his face.

I would like to take a moment to thank Charles Dickerman, wealthy businessman, entrepreneur, and (obvious) wool wearer. Thank you, Charles E. Dickerman, for building this building in 1901:

Thank you, Charles E. Dickerman, for building this building that in 1901 served as a women’s millinery shop, a furrier, a clothing store, and on the second floor, a dance hall.

Thank you.

Thank you for building the future home of Three Irish Girls.

How do you think Charles Dickerman would feel about his building being used for ballet?

And now, for yarn?

When Charles Dickerman built this building, he intended for there to be three retail stores on the main level and a larger dance and meeting space on the second floor.  Over the course of more than 100 years, you can imagine that the building saw some challenges. At least seven fires occurred here. I’m going to do my best to make sure there aren’t eight. Disrepair. But the bones were good, and no amount of new construction can create a history like this one. I love knowing that I’ll be working where women used to make and sell fancy hats. 

The building was purchased and fixed up several years ago, and three loft-style condos replaced the dance hall.

We’re moving at the beginning of March to our brand new, bigger, more awesome, absolutely fantastic home. (Yes, that’s only a couple of weeks away!)  We’re packing everything we own, bidding our windowless but colorful studio in the suburbs of Washington, DC adieu, and moving across the country to Duluth, Minnesota.

Our new studio has twice the space of our current studio. And it has windows, which is an unimaginable luxury to the likes of us.  We’ll be occupying two of these spaces on the main level, the space in the middle and the space on the left.

The space in the middle and the space on the left will give us more then 3,000 square feet of dyeing, drying, and storage space — space that is sorely needed.  It will also give us the ability to work better, smarter, and faster, as we’re able to set up the most efficient work area possible.

Having lived with the limitations of my current setup for more than two years, I have often dreamed of what I would do if I ever had the opportunity to build a dream studio. And you’re looking at it, kid: Yarnista’s dream studio.

We’ve taken these two spaces and made them adjoining on the inside with a French door.  It’s already happened. It happened while I was here in DC answering your emails and dyeing your yarn and shipping your packages. It’s like magic.

Moving home to Minnesota means that I can be close to my mama and daddy and sisters and nieces and nephew.  Moving home to Minnesota means that my kids can play with cousins and spend the night at Grandma’s and go sledding anytime they want, practically all year long.

The plumbers are more than 80% done with the work on the new studio. They’ve installed the water lines for the sinks and the washing machines. They’ve put in the mother of all hot water heaters. The electrician is putting in lots of ambient lighting, and is installing modern pendant lighting for the color mixing and dyeing stations.  The painters are painting, the carpenters are carpenting, and I’m marveling.

Years ago, in this very city, a twelve year old girl tried to knit a blue cotton dishcloth. And now she’s coming home to nest here:

I can’t even believe it. Over the next few days, I’ll give you some studio updates, including the colors I picked out for the walls while on my secret mission.

I feel so grateful that my years of early mornings, late nights, sore backs, burned arms, and delighted eyes have created something to be proud of. Thank you for coming along on this journey with us.

Things are going to get even better from here.

XOXO

– Yarnista

P.S.

Some people have amazing brains.  I do not pretend to be one of them.

Some people’s brains can learn six languages effortlessly, or allow them to see exactly how a steam locomotive is assembled, or how to take pictures of objects that are millions of light years away.

Marjan from Yarnissima has a cool brain.  Out of her brain has come arguably one of the best collections of sock designs in the world — certainly some of the most original and architecturally challenging.

If I could keep Marjan on staff, I would. I would like to move her from the Netherlands, along with her family of course, and give her a lovely office with a window and some yarn. I would make her a cup of tea and come back and check on her a while later.

I know she would come up with patterns like this, because she already has:

When you put them on, it looks like your ankle is wearing a necklace.  I’ve had the very good fortune of getting to know Marjan — and her personality is just as lovely as her designs.

Today, I give you something new from one of the great creative brains of the world, an exclusive pattern called The Portland Gussets.

Look at those amazing, curved lines.

I would love to have one of these kinds of brains.

I would love to have a pair of these socks.  They speak to me.

This pattern was inspired by Marjan’s trip from the Netherlands to Portland, OR. We met at the Sock Summit — some of you were probably lucky enough to take one of her classes. Her pattern writing skills are also second to none — everything is beautifully illustrated, clearly explained, and edited to the Nth degree.

So, support one the great (independent) brains of the world. You can click on this link and buy one of her patterns. and perhaps a pattern from some of the other creative greats of the knitting world. If you do, be sure to choose the Download shipping option, so you won’t be charged anything. When you’re done clicking through all the screens, you’ll be taken to a link for the PDF, and you’ll also be emailed a copy, just in case you aren’t able to download it immediately.

You get started knitting up some ankle necklaces or some Portland Gussets. I’m off to use my comparatively average brain to think up a way to retain Marjan on staff…

And I mean that in the nicest way possible.

The first thing is that I’m teaching a class in February, and you should come. The class is at a lovely yarn shop here in Maryland called
The Yarn Spot. 

I’ve decided to teach about emergency preparedness for knitters.

I’m mostly kidding.

The class is called Knitting With Hand Dyed Yarn, and it will run the gamut from how to tell the difference between different dyeing techniques, what your yarn will look when knit up, how to change the look of your finished product, and choosing suitable projects for your hand dyed goodies.

Dinner will be served. Questions will be answered. The class is on Sunday, February 21st, and will run from 5:30-7:30.  There are only 15 spaces available. If you’re interested, please call The Yarn Spot directly (301.933.9550), or email victoria@theyarnspot.com. If you’ve been reading this blog for long, you know that I recently left my first chosen profession of teaching, and am very much looking forward to keeping my feet wet with this class.

The next thing is that I’m loving looking at your projects in our Flickr Gallery. Keep the projects coming. They help me get through the day. I would love to have 1,000 projects in the gallery.

Today was club shipping day. Always busy, always satisfying. To see months of hard work fly away to new homes is incredibly fun.  The studio looks forlorn, bereft even, after all the yarn is gone.

This month’s Stash Menagerie selection was a 50% silk/50% merino blend, and one of the color choices was a dynamic blue color called Mirth.

Serenity was very popular with the Sock Yarnistas.

And for good reason. It’s very serene.

Frolic was born to be something in my mother’s kitchen. She has an extensive collection of blue and white pottery, much of it authentic Delft. I should’ve called this colorway Delft.

And sometimes, when you’re not looking, the skeins from Pick of the Knitter like to mingle. You can catch them if you flick on the lights really fast.

Look at that! Wexford, Lindon, Carys, and Springvale all in one bin. That is a rare sight, indeed.

I do believe this could be the single best club shipment we’ve ever done. The yarn is fantastic, the extra treat is doubly fantastic, and the sock pattern is unbelievably awesomely fantastic.

Sign up for the class! Upload your project to Flickr! Look for clubs on your doorstep!

Thank you for at least pretending to pay attention.

Today marked the end of an important era in my life.

This is the desk I sat at for years as I planned lessons and graded papers.

This is where I made many Powerpoint presentations for my students, emailed parents, and typed up assignments.

Like many large American high schools today, teachers often have to share rooms because of space constraints. I taught in different classrooms during the day, but always had this office space to come back to.

This is where students could come find me to ask questions about the 14th amendment Due Process Clause or the roles of interest groups in American government.

This is where my colleagues would come to ask me a random question about the Great Lakes or synthetic motor oil or the middle name of Britney Spears’ younger son, and see if I knew the answer.

This is where I brought twelve years of teaching experience to the table, where I talked students down off emotional ledges, where I administered makeup tests, and just last week, where I informed a senior varsity basketball player that he wouldn’t be eligible for the rest of the season because he failed my Law class. Not every moment of teaching is triumphant.

This is where I came when I got up before sunrise each day, where I looked out the window and crossed my fingers that it would snow, where I shut the window when I discovered a hornet’s nest living in the eaves just outside.

This is where I laughed with my friends every day, where I played practical jokes, where I yelled, “NOT IT!” every time the phone rang.

This is where the papers piled up, where the student projects overtook my shelves, where I put my feet up while grading the 180th essay of the day.

This is much cleaner than it normally was.

This is what my office looked like after I finished cleaning it out today.

This is where I turned my head and swabbed at the tears beginning to form, pressing hard so they wouldn’t have time to run down my face.

This is where I hugged the 13 other members of my department, good friends, allies, and talents.

This is where I typed my leave form, letting my supervisors know that I would be taking a hiatus from the classroom at the end of the semester, when students change teachers anyway, and when the impact on my school would be minimal.

This is where I met with my replacement, handing over years and years worth of materials and hard work.  Where I talked about how to teach the difference between fiscal and monetary policy.

This is where I said goodbye to an era, the era of High School Teacher.

This desk was my home for a good time, a good long time. This school was my home for more than half of my teaching years.

Today I am mourning the end of an era.

Tomorrow begins a new era, the era of Full Time Yarnista.

Today was hard, but tomorrow will be better.

Full Time Yarnista, I like the sound of that.

Which is obviously not me.

But I do have the singular pleasure of being the Yarnista for a team of Knitting Olympics peeps, and I’m sure they have many Michael Phelpses competing with them. Never mind that these are the Winter Olympics and that Michael Phelps is a swimmer. Pretend that I’m painting an appropriate metaphor.

This is what they chose for me to make:

I like it. It’s subtle, with butterscotch, gray, white, and brown. It’s kettle dyed so the colors are all splotchy throughout the skeins. Splotchiness equals random color distribution when knitting. The lighting in my drying room is less than ideal, and Ms. Olympics was not pleased about being photographed under such circumstances. I assured her that I would take her picture after she was made up so you could see her in her prime.

She only agreed to have her pictures posted here if you all promised — pinky swear! — not to judge her by what she looks like right now. Wait until the stage lights are on and the medal is around her neck.

When I first agreed to participate, I didn’t know the Olympians would be so enthusiastic. One hundred and twenty five skeins later, these are being wound and labeled as we speak, and will be shipping to the Michael Phelpses of the knitting world later this week.

What shall I call Ms. Olympics on her label? She needs a name.

And why wouldn’t I be? What’s not to love about a cushiony, yummy, green cabled sock?

The pattern is called Craic, as in “crack,” as in, “Gaelic word for fun,” not, “Street drug that will get you locked up.” I may sell Craic, but I draw the line at crack.

What time is it? Have I had enough coffee? Did I fall asleep without brushing my teeth? Did I leave my contacts in all night? The answers are: 8:13am, no, yes, and yes. This actually explains a lot.

Poor Hannah Six, I am rambling when I should be showing off her pattern.

And the side:

Love the back:

Now, for those of you who are newer knitters and are thinking to yourselves, “There’s no way I could knit those, they’re too complicated,” let me fill you in on a little secret.

Cables are just knitting stitches out of order.

That’s all they are. You create the complicated look by putting some stitches on a little holder, knitting some more stitches off your regular needle, putting the stitches from the holder back on your regular needle, and then knitting those. In fact, most patterns (like this one) tell you how to do the cables.

These socks really are just lovely, it makes the Yarnista happy just to see them.

Craic Socks. You know you want them. 

(Ravel it.)

Think on that.