Knitted coffee cup sleeve

Today I offer thanks for coffee, the merciful potion that blesses me with the clarity to be present for my children. The best in Philadelphia is from Earth Cup at 45th and Pine streets. Owner Natasa (pronounced NAH-tasha, with the stress on the first syllable, like "Anthony" or "Jennifer") has concocted an eponymous house blend that I once compared to a giant bell that hits all the notes, resounding and stately and deep. The americano, too, is worth a trip for its own sake, not the strange apology of a drink you might find elsewhere, but an intriguing, sultry brew.

No ordinary yarn would do for the cup sleeve for this sacred nectar. At the Spruce Hill May Fair in Clark Park, I found this playful "Sparkle and Fade Fuchsia" metallic merino from String Theory, a West Philadelphia fiber artist who hand-spins and hand-dyes her own yarns. (She brought her spinning wheel to the fair!) Quite rightly, her yarns are not cheap, so I splurged on a hank and promised myself to save it only for the most special projects.

On teaching myself to knit (Harry Potter-themed scarf)

In preparation for the talks I'm giving at a Harry Potter conference this summer, I've been delivering shorter talks at Potterdelphia's monthly meetings, including April's about reading the series as the mother of a one-year-old.

I've also given in to the knitting craze that is widespread throughout Potter fandom. Knitting is mentioned frequently in the books, and many fans knit scarves, socks, and sweaters such as the ones that appear in the series. I decided to teach myself knitting through such a scarf, in queer-themed rainbow colors, the whole 10" x 70" length in garter stitch for discipline and practice.

As human nature would have it, I quickly lost interest in unvarying garter stitch. Sort of reminded me of being 7 years old and having to play interminable Hanon finger exercises every day before anything melodic or fun. Once I gave myself permission to experiment with different stitches, my speed and eagerness picked up dramatically. I kept wanting to do another row, and another, to see how the pattern would resolve.

I thought, oh, this is like writing. Word by word, stitch by stitch, line by line, patiently, until the motifs come around and build on each other and repeat until you can see the picture, and whether it works. I never thought this in my 19 years of quiltmaking because quiltmaking isn't linear. The construction of quilts is always modular, with lots of diagonal thinking, even if what you're making involves rows. You can work on something for a long time and then have a sudden moment when the project moves into the next phase, all comes together, pays off. But working a rectangular scarf row by row is a lot more like writing a story.