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I only wear handknitted socks.

About 10 year ago I knitted my first pair of handknitted socks. Like many new sock knitters, I was fascinated by the way the heel magically takes shape. And I loved the way they fit my feet without binding at the top of the leg. So much more comfortable than the ones I bought at the department store! So I knit another pair. And I was equally fascinated by the heel turn and the comfortable fit. And I discovered that if wool socks are left to air for a day or two, they don’t need to be washed after each wearing. How about that?—less laundry and more comfort. So I knit another pair, then another, then another, then, well, you get the idea.

Socks quickly became my favorite knitting project. They are portable, they are quick to knit, and there are hundreds of great sock yarns to choose from (superwash wool can be machine washed along with jeans, then left to air dry). I find that although I’m conservative in my dress (mostly mud, olive, and burgundy tones), I will happily wear any color or pattern on my feet. And I truly love working with double-pointed needles. So whenever I need a portable project or one that doesn’t require much concentration (like when I travel or watch movies or knit with friends), I knit a pair of socks. Even though I give away many pairs as gifts, I make sure that I always have enough for myself.

When I take a break from writing and editing today, I plan to cast on a pair of socks with this beautiful 100% superwash merino (notice the bright yellow!) from The Sanquine Gryphon (www.sanguinegryphon.com).

Because I’m a freelance editor, I get to work at home. This means that I can set my own hours, I don’t have to fight rush-hour traffic, I have no noisy office mates (except when my dear husband decides to work at home), and I don’t have to follow a dress code. On snowy days like today, that’s particularly welcome! (Note to self: Remember to tell the kids to shovel the walk after school.)

When I started working at Interweave Press, I thought that photo shoots were the most glamorous aspect of magazine work—the lights, the action, the camera! But it only took me about half a day to realize that taking photos is the hardest part of any publication. Whereas the text requires adequate sentence structure, grammar, and spelling (all of which can be done from the comfort of a chair in a heated room), the photos require so many things to be perfect—the lights, the action, the camera, as well as the model, the setting, the fit of the garment, the styling, etc., and most unpredictable, the weather.

Take last week for example. As the editor of an upcoming knitting book (the title of which I cannot reveal so don’t ask), I attended the photo shoot at the historic Boettcher Mansion on top of Lookout Mountain in Golden, Colorado.

To begin, the stylist laid out wardrobe choices.

The make-up artist laid out her wares.

The photographer and his assistants set up their equipment.

Although it’s not unusual for Colorado temps to hit the 60s in February, the high was in the upper 30s that day (not freezing, but close). But the show must go on. Let me take say that models are saints. They try on outfit after outfit, allow us to poke and pull on their clothing and hair, and not take it personally when we say things like “That looks awful!” And through it all, they look beautiful.

While we are able to wrap up in coats, hats, scarves, and mittens… 

For all of the knitting I do, I have spent very little of my own money on yarn. Once I started designing for Interweave Knits, yarn companies provided all of the yarn for all of the projects. Can you imagine what it’s like to have a box of merino/cashmere delivered right to my front door? It makes me swoon to think about it. In addition, yarn companies and friends give me yarn.

Like this fabulous handspun from the exceptional hands of Abby Franquemont (http://www.abbysyarns.com/). I had to wind this by hand on my nostipinne so that I could revel in every twisted inch.

And this quiviut from my brother, the mucky-muck HIV/AIDS researcher. He was at a convention in Banff, Canada, when a knitting colleague suggested he surprise me with some of the “local” yarn. I’ve already used two of the balls he gave me (one to make a scarf for his wife). I can never, ever repay him.

And this buffalo yarn from the fine folks at Buffalo Gold (http://www.buffalogold.net/). They sent extra when I asked for yarn to make a pair of socks and fingerless gloves for Knitting Green (due out this April).

And this beautiful wool/cashmere sock yarn from Spirit Trails (http://www.spirit-trail.net/). They had a booth at Clara Parkes’s Knitter’s Retreat last November—pure heaven.

Because I don’t buy much yarn on my own, I have a remarkably small stash—one bin of yarn yet to be designated a project and one bin of yarn leftover from previous projects. That’s it!

My friend Bonnie, on the other hand, has the most unbelievable stash I’ve ever come across. she is also an accomplished artist. I went to her house to see her art this weekend. Imagine my surprise when I looked in her spare bedroom.

And in her other spare bedroom.

And in her living room.

Even if she knitted 24/7, it would take her three lifetimes to use all this yarn. And she continues to buy more – perhaps an intervention is in order.

I’ve often said that I have the best life possible. I always attributed it to the fact that I’m the luckiest person in the world. But it recently occurred to me that I might just be a spoiled brat and I’m coming up with all sorts of evidence for that designation. Over the course of the next few days, I’ll share some of this evidence with you (that which isn’t just too embarrassing for me to admit even to myself).

Evidence #1: I am the youngest of four children.

That’s me in the droopy diaper. We all know that the youngest, or baby of the family, has a lot of advantages. My next-older brother’s torments notwithstanding, I had a pretty easy life. My older siblings (especially my next-older brother) wore down my parents so that by the time I was a teenager, they left me pretty much alone. If they did suspect me of any wrong-doing, I blamed it on my next-older brother (and they were all too willing to believe me).

Where are these people now? My sister is a professor at Vanderbilt University. My oldest brother is a mucky-muck HIV/AIDS researcher at Harvard (I’m very proud to claim the same gene pool). My next-older brother is happily retired (who knew?)—I’ll be working until I croak.

A few weeks ago, I taught a short workshop on the mathematics of knitting for the Front Range Knitting Guild. Before I go on, I’d like to thank the members for being so exceptionally nice to me as I faltered at the white board. (I’d also like to ask your patience with my bad images–I’m just learning to use a digital camera.)

At the end of the meeting, I was asked how to adapt a pattern written for one gauge to another gauge. For example, let’s say that a pattern calls for worsted-weight yarn at a gague of 5 stitches to the inch and you want to adapt it for sportweight yarn at a gauge of 6.5 stitches to the inch. Let’s say that the pattern calls for casting on 98 stitches. How many stitches would you cast on to produce a piece the same width at your tighter gauge of 6.5 stitches to the inch?

1. The answer lies in a simple relationship of ratios:

2. If we plug in the numbers, we have:

3. To solve for the unknown (Number of sts at your gauge), simply cross multiply between the two ratios:

4. Then divide both sides by the Your gauge (in this case, 5):

5. Solve for the unknown number of stitches:

Because you can’t cast on partial stitches, you’d need to round up to 128 stitches (if you wanted to work with an even number of stitches) or round down to 127 stitches (if you wanted to work with an odd number of stitches).

For a short cut, simply plug in the following equation every time the pattern lists a number of stitches to determine the number of stitches to work at your gauge:

For example, if the pattern said to bind off 30 stitches at the center neck, you’d bind off 39 stitches instead.

If you chose to work with an even number of stitches initially (128 stitches), you’d want to adjust this number to be an even number as well so that there would be the same number of stitches on each side of the neck. Keep in mind that it’s your choice whether to adjust up to 40 stitches or down to 38 stitches–the difference of a stitch won’t make a visible difference.

Now, I don’t need to tell you to power of this little formula. It’s what I used to figure out all of the additional gauges for the patterns in The Knitter’s Handy Book of Patterns and The Knitter’s Handy Book of Sweater Patterns.

For each project, I figured out the pattern for a gauge of 6 stitches/inch, then used this formula to determine the stitch count for all the other gauges. If there is no specific pattern repeat row-wise, you can simply knit to the specified length to the underarm, shoulder, etc. But be aware that it doesn’t work as well if you’re altering the gauge in a set-in sleeve cap or if your working with a stitch or color pattern that’s designed to end at a particular point at the armholes, neckline, or shoulders. In these cases, the original row gauge is an important factor in the design. (But these adjustments can made as well, using the same formula along with a little practical sense.)

When I posted my first blog Saturday, I intended to add the following to my profile. But the profile only allows 1200 characters. Rather than chop out about 50% of what I wrote, I decided to just post the entire profile here. Thanks to Joe Hancock for taking photos of a very unwilling subject.

The youngest of four children, I was an unremarkable child and would have no story to tell if my father (see him in my first post) hadn’t dragged us all to Switzerland in 1968 when he had a one-year sabbatical. During that year, I attended the village elementary school where girls and boys were separated for a few hours each week to learn gender-specific skills. The boys learned woodworking, technical drawing, and mechanics; the girls learned needle arts and housekeeping. I knew precious little German, but I quickly took to the language of knitting. (The housekeeping part never stuck, although I did learn the proper way to sweep a floor, make a bed, and organize a drawer of socks and underwear.)

Rejecting anything that might be considered a traditional “woman’s” career in the 1970s, I studied science in college and ended up with a MS in geology in 1983. I worked in my local yarn store for a year while I looked for a “real” job. As it turns out, this temporary job was a pivotal part of my life—I learned to weave as well as alter and write knitting patterns for customers.

I finally got my “dream” job as a geologist for a research company, but continued to knit and weave in my spare time. The recession of the late 1980s hit the oil industry hard and in 1989 I married, reconsidered my career choice, and decided to pursue a job opening for an editorial assistant for HANDWOVEN magazine at Interweave Press. Not believing that I could be serious, Interweave put off hiring me for four months—I suspect they were hoping for another applicant.

I stayed with HANDWOVEN for a few years, then worked part-time in the book department editing knitting and weaving books while I had three boys (over the course of 17 months!). When INTERWEAVE KNITS premiered in 1996, I had the uncommonly good fortune to turn my favorite hobby into a career. One thing led to another and before I knew it, I was designing projects for KNITS and writing my own books.

I now keep busy as a freelance editor, author, designer, and teacher. You can find all of my books and many of my designs at www.interweavestore.com (search for Ann Budd).

I’ve always been a private person. I never spoke out in class, I hid when a camera was near, and I never, ever kept a diary or journal. To be honest, I’ve never liked being the center of attention. So nobody is more surprised than I am that I decided to write a blog. But here I am, stretching beyond my comfort zone and putting myself out in cyberspace to talk about my many relationships with yarn and needles and what I’ve learned along the way.

To begin, I want to share five of my top knitting rules.