A Knitter’s Christmas Eve

Posted on 18, December 2005 by


When RA Yarns had closed their Warwick store and needed to thin their inventory, I sent a 914M hank of Cherry Tree Hill silk yarn to a co-worker’s wife in Denmark. Why? Since they had raised goats for wool and mohair, I knew Jette would appreciate the Cascade Lace in Gypsy Rose. She in turn emailed a very nice thank you and supplied a couple of Scandinavian links. I was also told that a package of yarn samples should be arriving soon for me to check out. Hanne Falkenberg has the most amazing patterns. This designer is so true to her craft, she will only sell her patterns with the yarn that they were designed for. Now that’s dedication!

Kate Gilbert’s Gifted Mittens are definitely quick and easy. I did a tweedy blue pair in Plymouth’s Encore Chunky for my niece Gabriella, and am in the middle of knitting a pair in matching tweedy blue Encore Mega Chunky for her mom, my sister Abby.

Knitty.com’s archive section has so many great patterns, that I am having a hard time choosing which one to do next!

I was chatting with my friend Cathy and showed her a neat little HeartStrings Fiber Arts stuffed bunny project that I thought about trying. She suggested that I make a bunch of them for my bunny pals at Sweet Binks Rabbit Rescue. I started thinking that I could knit a matching bunny for each baby blanket I crochet as gifts. It would be a good way to keep both talents in practice. Hmmm… 🙂

KNITTERS CHRISTMAS EVE

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all around me
Was unfinished knitting not under the tree.
The stockings weren’t hung by the chimney with care
‘Cause the heels and toes had not a stitch there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
But I had not finished the caps for their heads.
Dad was asleep; he was no help at all,
And the sweater for him was six inches too small,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
I put down my needles to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tripped over my yarn and fell down with a crash.
The tangle of yarn that lay deep as the snow
Reminded me how much I still had to go.
Out on my lawn I heard such a noise,
I thought it would wake both Dad and the boys.
And though I was tired, my brain a bit thick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
But what I heard then left me perplex-ed,
For not a name I heard was what I expected,
“Move, Ashford! Move, Lopi! Move, Addi and Clover!
Move, Reynolds! Move Starmore! Move Froelich –move over
Paton, don’t circle ’round; stand in the line.
Come now, you sheep will work out just fine!
I know this is hard; it’s just your first year,
I’d hate to go back to eight tiny reindeer.”
I peered over the sill; what I saw was amazing,
Eight wooly sheep on my lawn all a-grazing.
And then, in a twinkle, I heard at the door
Santa’s feet coming across the porch floor.
I rose from my knees and got back on my feet,
And as I turned ’round St Nick I did meet.
He was dressed all in wool from his head to his toe,
And his clothes were hand knit from above to below.
A bright Fairisle sweater he wore on his back,
And his toys were all stuffed in an Aran knit sack.
His cap was a wonder of bobbles and lace
A beautiful frame for his rosy red face.
The scarf ’round his neck could have stretched for a mile,
And the socks peeking over his boots were Argyle.
The back of his mittens bore an intricate cable.
And suddenly on one I espied a small label,
“S.C.” was duplicate stitched on the cuff,
And I asked, “Hey, Nick, did you knit all this stuff?”
He proudly replied, “Ho, ho, ho, yes I did.
I learned how to knit when I was a kid.”
He was chubby and plump, a quite well-dressed old man,
And I laughed to myself, for I’d thought up a plan.
I flashed him a grin and jumped up in the air,
And the next thing he knew, he was tied to a chair,
He spoke not a word, but looked in his lap
Where I’d laid my needles and yarn for a cap.
He quickly began knitting, first one cap then two,
For the first time I thought I might really get through.
He put heels in the stockings and toes in some socks.
While I sat back drinking scotch on the rocks.
So quickly like magic his needles they flew
That he was all finished by quarter to two.
He sprang for his sleigh when I let him go free,
And over his shoulder he looked back at me,
And I heard him exclaim as he sailed past the moon,
“Next year start your knitting sometime around June!”