Wearing Margaret Tudor
Oh, look, it's morning. How nice.
Or, to be more precise, it's Wednesday morning, which, for this semester, will be A Special Event. That is because all Tuesdays, till we get well into December -- with the exception of that nice week I'll get off for Thanksgiving -- will be, oh, what's the word I want...difficult?...painful?...
Tuesday's just a long, long day, that's all -- at 6:00 yesterday evening I met one of my colleagues in the hall, and she was headed off home, and asked if I was, too, but no, I was not -- I had three hours to go.
Granted, it was three hours of Irish Lit, and I love this stuff -- it's not like I'm enduring the tortures of the damned. No, I'm a lucky woman, and the teaching is the part of the job I like best. I don't get paid for the teaching -- that's how I figure it. I get paid for the meetings, and the grading papers, and the shoveling the sea with a teaspoon, which is that thing we call administrative work. The teaching is the perk.
But Tuesdays are a long long day now, and I get very tired. (If I could learn to teach without waving my arms around and getting excited, I suppose I wouldn't be so tired, but I don't see that happening soon, alas. I'm lucky if I can keep from flinging the chalk around.)
Luckily, I had the mindless cardigan to work on when I got home. I'm planning on swatching for Alice Starmore's "Margaret Tudor" soon -- but it's a lace pattern that will have to be followed every row. It will NEVER be worked on Tuesdays, not this semester.
Ah, "Margaret Tudor." I've had the yarn for it sitting around in the stash for a few years -- I bought some plain old gansey yarn, nothing spectacular, no "Scottish Fleet" off eBay, nothing like that -- and I've got the 56 pewter buttons ready -- they've got Tudor roses on them, no less -- and I'm ready to go.
It's one of those patterns you get warned about; Starmore herself says, "Attempt this only if you have the skill and patience to match that of a Tudor tailor or gownmaker," and I found a review that speaks of it as "wearable but dramatic." It's done in panel overlays, so that the design evokes Elizabethan "slashing" -- a method wherein two layers of fabric are used, the top one cut to reveal the one underneath. In the case of "Margaret Tudor," the top layer is held down, at the points, with buttons. 56 of them, as mentioned above.
I once saw a discussion of the sweater on one of the knitlists; somebody wrote that the buttons didn't make any sense, so she wasn't going to use them, and somebody else said that she wanted to figure out how to change the pattern so that she didn't have to knit panels, but just knit the whole thing flat. I'm unclear as to why one would bother with changing the pattern to make it easier -- I mean, there you are, knitting a bunch of thistle-and-rose patterns into a sweater; why not go all the way? But there seemed to be general consensus that if you knit the thing as it stands, it would be impressive but way too over-the-top to wear. Wearable but dramatic. Something you couldn't really use. So, ok to make, but you might want to tone it down some.
Well, I can use it, and I can use it as it stands.
My method: 1) be a medievalist -- everybody thinks we're eccentric, anyway; 2) fling the chalk around -- helps to establish dramatic personality; and 3) wear what you damn well please.
Or, to be more precise, it's Wednesday morning, which, for this semester, will be A Special Event. That is because all Tuesdays, till we get well into December -- with the exception of that nice week I'll get off for Thanksgiving -- will be, oh, what's the word I want...difficult?...painful?...
Tuesday's just a long, long day, that's all -- at 6:00 yesterday evening I met one of my colleagues in the hall, and she was headed off home, and asked if I was, too, but no, I was not -- I had three hours to go.
Granted, it was three hours of Irish Lit, and I love this stuff -- it's not like I'm enduring the tortures of the damned. No, I'm a lucky woman, and the teaching is the part of the job I like best. I don't get paid for the teaching -- that's how I figure it. I get paid for the meetings, and the grading papers, and the shoveling the sea with a teaspoon, which is that thing we call administrative work. The teaching is the perk.
But Tuesdays are a long long day now, and I get very tired. (If I could learn to teach without waving my arms around and getting excited, I suppose I wouldn't be so tired, but I don't see that happening soon, alas. I'm lucky if I can keep from flinging the chalk around.)
Luckily, I had the mindless cardigan to work on when I got home. I'm planning on swatching for Alice Starmore's "Margaret Tudor" soon -- but it's a lace pattern that will have to be followed every row. It will NEVER be worked on Tuesdays, not this semester.
Ah, "Margaret Tudor." I've had the yarn for it sitting around in the stash for a few years -- I bought some plain old gansey yarn, nothing spectacular, no "Scottish Fleet" off eBay, nothing like that -- and I've got the 56 pewter buttons ready -- they've got Tudor roses on them, no less -- and I'm ready to go.
It's one of those patterns you get warned about; Starmore herself says, "Attempt this only if you have the skill and patience to match that of a Tudor tailor or gownmaker," and I found a review that speaks of it as "wearable but dramatic." It's done in panel overlays, so that the design evokes Elizabethan "slashing" -- a method wherein two layers of fabric are used, the top one cut to reveal the one underneath. In the case of "Margaret Tudor," the top layer is held down, at the points, with buttons. 56 of them, as mentioned above.
I once saw a discussion of the sweater on one of the knitlists; somebody wrote that the buttons didn't make any sense, so she wasn't going to use them, and somebody else said that she wanted to figure out how to change the pattern so that she didn't have to knit panels, but just knit the whole thing flat. I'm unclear as to why one would bother with changing the pattern to make it easier -- I mean, there you are, knitting a bunch of thistle-and-rose patterns into a sweater; why not go all the way? But there seemed to be general consensus that if you knit the thing as it stands, it would be impressive but way too over-the-top to wear. Wearable but dramatic. Something you couldn't really use. So, ok to make, but you might want to tone it down some.
Well, I can use it, and I can use it as it stands.
My method: 1) be a medievalist -- everybody thinks we're eccentric, anyway; 2) fling the chalk around -- helps to establish dramatic personality; and 3) wear what you damn well please.
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