The Power of Yes

Greetings, Gentle Readers, and a belated Happy New Year! Along with health, prosperity and yarn, in 2022 I wish for you something I’ve newly rediscovered: The magic and power of simply saying “Yes”.

I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolutions. That way lay peril, my friends, and the unhappiness guaranteed of disappointing oneself. No, instead, I wish you the gift of Yes.

A simple answer in the affirmative to all that life is offering us, every single day.

Here are some examples of Yes working its magic in my life so far this year:

Will I accept an invitation to a weekend at the beach in spite of not knowing anyone there? Yes. Result: a gaggle of new like-minded friends with different life experience than my own, and a standing invitation to visit their beach house.

Will I try digging for clams, even though it’s really cold and I don’t know how? Yes. Result: My first bivalve capture, and subsequent chowder.

Will I finally trust my daughter’s advice that I’ve been wearing my jeans three sizes too big and get sexy new skinny ones? Yes. Result: Immediate reduction in the number of times I hoist my sagging trousers, and a surprise coffee invitation.

Will I agree to have coffee with a funny gent who landed on my doorstep, even though I might have to talk about something other than knitting? Yes. Result: Instant connection. Sparks, even.

So that’s my hope for you all, Gentle Readers. Please look carefully at this day, with the stated purpose of looking for ways to say Yes. They’re all around us, all the time. The universe loves us and wants us to be happy. Yes to caring for yourself in little ways you’ve been putting off. Yes to taking the route less travelled, just because. Yes to my challenge to knit fearlessly (more on that, anon).

Remember that you are precious to me, and the best is yet to come. Yes to 2022.

Phoenix From The Ashes

When haunting thrift stores, I always keep an eye out for cashmere. Because, Cashmere.

I’ve discovered that often when it comes to cashmere, the older it is the better. Case in point: This very large, very old, very masculine gentleman’s V-neck. I imagine it belonged to a golfer, due to the extraordinary vibrancy of the purple.

It washed up by machine like a dream, fluffy and delicious. Ruby and Atlas were dubious that I could transform it into something more wearable, though. Dogs of Little Faith.

Two aisles over from where I scored the sweater, its long lost matching shirt awaited my discovery. Coincidence? I think not.

Purple Sweater suffered from a number of holes, which I was able to mend by cutting off the ribbing from the lower edge and pulling out some yarn to darn them with.

Here’s the completed mend; integrity restored, but still visible.

But here’s what it looks like after several passes with a needle felting tool. Far less obvious! It turns out that cashmere (at least this example) is extremely resistant to felting. I had to felt from both the front and the back sides of the fabric to blend in my darning.

My next order of business was to remove the neck edge ribbing, and the cuffs from its too-long sleeves. Once all that tight ribbing was off, I began to visualize a new silhouette for it. I traced the location for an asymmetrical cardigan opening in chalk.

I scored some beautiful cotton batik for bias binding, with buttons to match.

And here’s the completed resurrection:

I haven’t decided yet weather to alter the shirt into a more feminine shape. What do you think, Gentle Readers? Would you tackle a thrifted cashmere project?

Hacking a Hacking Jacket

Around this time of year my lust for all things wool often reaches critical mass, and 2021 is shaping up to be no different.

Sometimes I try to exercise restraint, but this is not one of those times. Instead, I recently found myself feverishly googling for a real live Harris Tweed Hacking Jacket.

As. If.

A ready-to-wear version costs north of $500 USD, and a good deal more if made to order in Scotland, which many are. Not that they aren’t worth the cost, if one has the scratch: Harris tweed is still woven by hand by true artisans, and then expertly tailored in the finest tradition. This care and skill results in garments that can and do last for generations.

Undaunted, I turned to my favorite online vintage resources, knowing that a garment of that quality can be just as good, if not better, when acquired second/third/fourth hand. Sadly, this seems to be common knowledge, as the vintage examples I could find were even more rare and valuable than some new ones.

For the uninitiated, a hacking jacket is a kind of tweed sports coat, traditionally worn for horsing around. On actual horses, typically, but if Ralph Lauren and J. Peterman are to be believed, having the jacket is enough to imply having the horse, and the leisure, and the country estate that go along with it.

An excellent guide to hacking jackets can be found HERE

Never one to be dissueded by a little thing like poverty, I took myself off to the closest charity shop. Without even trying, I found no less than three (3!) Harris Tweed jackets in the men’s department, for a little under $12 each. In an uncharacteristic display of restraint, I chose (only) one. It shows no damage or wear, has its original labels, and best of all, fits me perfectly. I can only assume that it was previously worn by another woman, or a young gentleman. My guess is the latter; it was probably outgrown before it could be worn much.

Characteristic half-lining and perfect tailoring

It even retains all its original buttons, though time and possibly dry-cleaning solvents have taken their toll on them.

So although it’s no hacking jacket, I believe I can complete a few renovations which will give it the the authenticity I crave, if not the equine accuracy. Notably:

• Add a third handsewn buttonhole and button at the center front

• Add another welt pocket on the right side above the existing one

• Shorten to a more proportionate length for my frame

• With the leftover wool, create a throat tab on the upper lapel, and a back belt

• Replace the tired buttons with new hand-tied leather ones

• And here is the biggest gamble of all: Wash it by hand.

Now, guessing by the font on the Nordstrom label, I’d place the vintage of this piece sometime in the 1970s-1980s. Which means I could be dealing with 40+ years of dust, grime and dry-cleaning residue. Washing it will do no harm to the wool, and may, in fact, improve it greatly by fluffing up the fibres. The possible downside of a wash is that the hair canvas, padstitching, and shoulder pads could shrink, even in cold water, leaving me with a rumpled and puckered mess. But for less than $12, I think the ends justify the means. If the worst happens, I can replace the shoulder pads and try reshaping the canvas with heat and steam. And/or kick myself, then go back for one of the other two jackets I passed up.

I’m off to begin surgery, just as soon as I feed my imaginary horse.