As promised, I'm letting you in on my new seaming/anti-seaming finishing process as it occurs on my latest project!

I had heard about this thing called a "three needle bind-off" and how great it was, so I wanted to learn how to do it.  I found dozens of places telling me how to actually bind off the stitches together, and will be bringing you my experience with that later, but I couldn't find anywhere to tell me how to knit the front and back so that I ended up with my shoulder stitches waiting to be knit, instead of bound off.

Here's what I mean: to use the three needle bind-off, you must have the shoulder stitches for both back and front "live" on the needles, so that you can knit them together.  So how does one finish the pattern after the beginning of shoulder shaping, and still keep those stitches live?

When in doubt, I turn to Ravelry, and as usual, it hasn't let me down.

The lovely Neen offered this cogent explanation:

When it says to bind off, don’t…just count off the number it says, and place a marker, then finish the row. On the next row, do the same for the other should, but stop knitting when you hit the first marker. Remove the marker, W&T (pass the yarn between needles to the other side, slip the stitch, pass the yarn back, replace stitch on left needle, turn work, pass the yarn to where it needs to be for the next stitch, if necessary). Knit the number to be bound off, place marker….keep going! When you have finished all the rows, you have a bunch of stitches that were wrapped, and a bunch of live stitches.

To the left, you can see how this looks on my current project (a delicious sweater from a 40's McCall's)!  When I reached the first row of shoulder shaping I was told to BO 6 sts at beg of next 2 rows.  So here's what I did:
1. I did not bind off.  That's right, I ignored the pattern.  It did hurt, just a little bit.
2. I knit in pattern for six stitches, then placed a marker.
3. I knit across the row and turned.
4. I knit in pattern for another six stitches, then placed another marker.
5. I knit across the row to my first marker and stopped, removed the marker, wrapped a stitch, and turned.

The picture to the left is just after I've wrapped the stitch, and am getting ready to turn the work.  I had now reserved 6 sts at each end of the row, so it was time to move onto the next shoulder shaping directions, which were to BO 4 sts at beg of next 10 rows.  So, after I turned, here's what happened:
1. I knit in pattern for four stitches, and replaced my marker
2. I knit in pattern across to the second marker I placed above (you are only ever working with two markers - one for each side - so you just knit across until you hit the one on the other side)
3. Removed the marker, wrapped and turned
4. Knit four stitches in pattern and replaced the marker
5. Knit in pattern across to opposite side's marker...

And repeat!

And as promised, after I had reserved all the stitches that I was instructed to bind off, I was able to bind off for the neckline, and what remained were two sets of live shoulder stitches, as you can see above.  So, onto the stitch holders they go, until the front is complete!

Catastrophe has struck.

Front, back, and sleeves knitted and blocked?  Check.

Shoulder seams?  Check.

Set in sleeve?  Ch- ... UnCheck.

You can see it, can't you.  Right there, where the left side of the sleeve should be fitting nicely into the back, it just plain doesn't match.  I stare.  I scramble.  I sigh.  Somehow, someway, I have managed to knit a front and back that do not match. 

I used a row counter. 
I followed the pattern. 
I screwed up anyway.

What happened, you ask?  I have no idea.  Do I have the mental fortitude to investigate and resolve the problem right now?  Not even close!  I'm blue, horribly blue, because this was the first sweater I've knit that had a real life pattern stitch involved.  No more geometric ribbing, this was a zig-zag pattern stitch, and I managed to make it through two fronts without screwing up the pattern at all, only to be bested by the back!  The back, I say!  It's the easiest piece!

But wait, it gets worse:
To console myself I decide to begin a top-down raglan in a beautiful, buttery merino I have been saving, to make myself feel better.  No finishing, no chance I'm going to make it all the way to the end only to find out I screwed up the first piece I knit.

I go to my addi-clicks, looking for the little cord, and a set of No. 9's, only to find that all but the long cord are not in their place.  And I have no idea where they could have gone since none of my current projects are on my addi-clicks. 

Are they here somewhere?  Of course.  Can I find them this instant when I want them most?  Of course not.

Oh, life, you pesky pickle!

I've mentioned before my love of the cross stitch that is stamped (aka, stamped cross stitch), and here's the proof.  Behold, my vintage quilt squares.  I am still deciding upon the colors, but I think I'm going to go with the lilac you see in three of the small flowers, green for the stems, and a lighter lilac for the large flower in the middle.

Now, I know it's hard to see, but it's a very traditional pattern: big flower in the middle.  Four stems, four little flowers in the corners.  I inherited these squares after my Grandmother passed away.  She had purchased them I don't know when, and had never taken them from their package.  When we found them, I knew that I would love to complete them for her.

I've always imagined that I would love stamped cross stitch.  After all, I love stamped embroidery, like the kind I'd done on felt Christmas stockings.  This project proves it: I am in love.

Here's how it works: I sit down, I thread a needle, and I stitch.

No paper. No book.  No neck strain (well, almost no neck strain).  No fuss. Beautiful results.  What more could a crafter ask for?  My project is coming along remarkably quickly.  I feel that each square really only takes one dedicated day of stitching.  And not the kind of dedicated day where you never put the thing down, but the kind of dedicated day where you stitch whenever you're not required to do something else.  Like eat.  Or speak to someone.  Or play with your cat who is just casually mentioning that she has found a toy mouse inside her favorite box, and that you might want to investigate.  Just to be sure.

Will my tune change once it's time to actually piece together and quilt this thing?  Let's say ... no.  It's good to keep our spirits up, right?

Isn't it about time I was showing you something new that I've been working on?  This pattern, from a vintage McCall's issue, is a waist-length cardigan with an adorable scalloped edge down the front and around the neck.

You can see in this image how that scalloped edge is created by the zig-zag pattern.  The pattern called for the zig-zag to run up the arms and up the middle of the back, too, but that is simply too much patterning for me.  Knitting has to be relaxing for me, too, and looking back and forth between my hands and the pattern just hurts my neck!  Plus, I really like for a complicated stitch to really add something to the overall garment, and in my opinion the sleeves and back are just fine in plain old stockinette.

You can see here that I'm almost finished (and that my cat is having to work awfully hard to restrain herself!)  I have two sleeves, a back, and one front half to the armhole.  I started the tradition of beginning with the sleeves, and I can't recommend it highly enough.  When I start a project I'm enthusiastic just to be knitting something new.  I'm excited by the new yarn, the new needles, everything.

But as I go on I get anxious to just have the darned thing already!  And for me, the most annoying thing is to have completed the big parts, and then have those damned sleeves to deal with.

I am making this sweater in yarn reclaimed from the sweater below.  I am thrilled with the way it is knitting back up.  The stitch clarity is great, and it's a much softer, washable acrylic than anything I would be able to afford on my own.  I highly recommend it!

Another confession: This sweater has been finished for months, and I have let it linger in my project cabinet, just waiting to be pieced together. 

Well, technically it was dashed together the night I finished it.  I knit the thing in part as my Halloween costume (that's right.  October.  What of it?) and wore it that evening.  It was a success, so one would think I would be just itching to wear it again, right?

But sewing a sweater together after it's completed is my bane - I hate doing it; I always want to rush things, which is a waste of all that hard work.  If you're going to spend weeks knitting something you should at least put it together right, right!?

Of course - which is why I just couldn't muster the energy to put this thing together yet!  But, with brisk spring days around the corner, I have a yearning for this terra cotta cotton beauty.

Here are my thoughts on seaming a sweater together after it's complete:

1. The invisible side seam is worth the trouble if you're willing to be careful and take your time.  I learned this technique at the incomparable Techniques with Theresa.  There is really nothing difficult about it per se ... but you have to be careful to not skip any stitches on either side (this will lead to a winding seam, or bunching/puckering on one side) and you have to be careful not to pull too tightly (which will also lead to bunching around the seam).  It takes awhile to get the hang of finding that little bar between stockinette stitches, but once you get it it goes along like a dream.  But, while you're learning, it's much easier to skip a stitch than you might think - which will have your sweater coming out unevenly when you get to the armhole.

2. Armholes and I do not get along.  I find the most difficult part of seaming to be getting that darned arm into place without ending up with a giant hole in my armpit.  When I whipped this sweater together quickly on Halloween I had two huge holes left at the intersection of sleeve and side seams because I hadn't stretched the sleeve edge around the circumference of the armhole properly.

3. Shoulder seams will relax. I remember piecing together my first sweater and wanting to cry because the shoulder seams looked so home-sewn.  They were standing up, puffy, just generally hideous.  But, I promised my co-worker that I would wear it the next day, and by the time I stepped out of the car the seams had relaxed with the stretch of the sweater around my arms, etc.

Now, I'm no expert (seriously) but I am confident that the trouble of seaming is worth it.  Raglans or other patterns that are knit in the round are amazing, but for me they always seem too boxy.  I enjoy a slightly more tailored fit, which for the most part requires the old side seam.

Hopefully next time I have a chance to show you this sweater it will be all put together and on my person and actually fits!

I have a confession to make.
Until very recently I was a ... crocheter.

Ok, drama complete - crochet is awesome, but it was this project that convinced me that knitting was worth the trouble.  I completed this scarf for my mom a few years ago, using a leaves and vine pattern from a Vogue Stitch Dictionary.  It was a first for many things: the first time I'd done much more than knit and purl; the first time I'd adapted a stitch pattern into a garment pattern; the first time I discovered the joy of needles below a size 10; and the first time I realized what the difference was between my lovely, bright acryllic yarn from a big box store, and all those fancy pants yarns at the LYS that cost so much more. 

As you can see, this pattern deserves a yarn that will block, and block well.  And acryllic most certainly does not.  It's nothing but puckers and fuzz, which is unfortunate because the pattern is really beautiful.  If you ever find yourself tempted by the soft feel and the bright colors of that acrylic, consider your pattern carefully.  Anything with a fancy pattern, or meant to be worn by an adult would probably be better in a different fiber.  On the to do list: a repeat with a more appropriate yarn.  But, for now, it's still fun to look back on the project that converted me from one stick to two.

Now I just need to convince myself to go back to that one hook and begin a duplicate of this Aran-esque blanket that I made, also for my mother.  My soon-to-be-hubby has been casually mentioning that this blanket is one of the few things he's ever specifically requested that I make for him, and also one of the few things that I've completely avoided for .. oh .. four years or so.  Blankets are just so ... big!  I remember this every time I get frustrated with a sweater.  Just remember: it could be a blanket!

My mother and I began a new super secret project while I was home for the Holiday season.  Any guesses?  We made some rather spectacular progress, if I do say so myself.  I enjoyed the way the colors looked arranged against the crisp white of my laptop.

There's something about sewing, and watching people sew that I just love.  It's one of those few arts that, as far as I know, has been done the same way for a long time.  Needle, thread, stitching.  Which is not to say that there haven't been obvious advances - but the basics seem timeless to me.  Something about pulling the thread, seeing the progress made, simply makes me happy.

By far, my favorite needle art is stamped cross stitch and embroidery.  Checking back and forth between a cross stitch chart and my canvas just drives me crazy, and needlepoint makes my fingers ache.  But stamped patterns can be so enjoyable - it's one of those arts that I can't understand why it's disappearing.  Like many cross stitch arts, the stamped patterns available at many stores are less than fashionable.  I see such beautiful patterns in my vintage magazines, that I do believe it's time for a revival.  Here's to the transfer!

No, this post is not about dreamy fellas and holding hands - I'm talking first sweater girl love.   That's right, the first time I fel in love with a vintage sweater pattern.  Here it is: I loved it from the moment I saw it.  Now, keep in mind that this was also my frist sweater, period, so I was delighted to find a pattern that was essentially stockinette stitch and ribbing, but still had such a stylish design.

Now, of course, being my first sweater it didn't turn out perfectly.  That adorable straight-line yoke in the photo?  It kind of chokes me if I button it up all the way.  And, of course, the first time I attempts to make buttons and button-holes line up, I ended with a slightly less-than-perfect result.  I am a huge fan of the 1/2 length sleeve, so I went ahead and made them a little shorter than the pattern called for.  Even with the problems, I still think it's pretty great for my first attempt at a real live sweater, and I've gotten lots of compliments on the finished produced.

It's made from Cascade 200, 10% merino wool, so it's back in the Rubbermade container until next winter and I'm eagerly working on some coton beauties so I can keep my motivation up during the hot Southern Summer!