Letter from Paris
Moutons de Poussière
Dear friends,
I’m doing my fall cleaning.
My grandmother taught me at a tender age that what separates the Nice household from the Nasty is the twice-yearly ritual of the Big Clean. Once in fall, once in spring. She had learned this practice from her own mother, who according to all surviving accounts was an extremely disagreeable person, but her linens were blinding white and you could eat off her floors.
I toted this ancestral baggage across the Atlantic and every November the urge arises. Pick it all up, take it all out, sort it, shake it, dust it, wipe it down with a damp rag. And don’t skip the corners.
Housekeeping in Paris is Sisyphean. Particularly dusting. Most of Paris is perpetually in the act of crumbling to dust. Open windows let that dust blow right in. You are forever chasing it back out. The pretty plaster moldings around the ceiling catch dust. The beautiful ancient herringbone wood floors catch dust. The old, carved furniture that I love so much catches dust.
I know, I know. You never dust. You’re past caring. It’s not 1954, this is not The Donna Reed Show, and anyone who gives your coffee table the white-glove test will be lucky if they don’t lose that finger.
I’m not talking about that kind of dust: the delicate layer that slowly accumulates in hermetically-sealed American houses like the ones I grew up in.
I’m talking about dust that in seven days is deep enough to wade through. In two weeks, you can’t see the carpet. In three, you can’t find the couch.
It doesn’t help that what I do for a living generates its own dust. Yarn? Thread? Fabric? Spinning fiber? Welcome to Lint City. In France, dust bunnies are moutons de poussière, dust sheep, and indeed mine are mostly high-quality wool and wool blends.
Now the flock is large enough to rearrange the furniture while I’m out, so it’s time to do a Big Clean.
In the workroom, there are benefits to this twice-a-year shakedown beyond pacifying my grandmother’s ghost. I have one of those brains for whom out of sight is out of mind, and even in a compact room it’s astonishing how easy it is for things to slip away from me.
Take this project bag.
It wasn’t hiding. It’s been hanging on a hook right next to one of the doors, along with a bunch of other project bags. I keep my project bags on these hooks specifically to avoid losing them or forgetting about them.
Yet I opened the bag and found this.
It’s a…
What was this going to be? I couldn’t remember. It might as well have been somebody else’s knitting.
I recognized the yarn as Loch Lomond Bio Shetland. Then I remembered that I got it at Les Tricoteurs Volants not long after I arrived in Paris. It looks like I was making it into something–a waistcoat?–with a front opening. There are bridge stitches where the front steek would be secured and cut.
It looks like I was spit-splicing the yarn as I went along, changing the colors at random while working a slip-stitch pattern. Not linen stitch, but something akin to it.
I like that idea. But I don’t like this project.
Looking at it I have unpleasant flashbacks of shaky moments early on in my life in Paris. Times when I felt alone and remote, frightened and insecure. This project is tainted. I don’t want to finish Whatever This Was Going to Be.
That helps to explain why it went no further.
Still, one does not throw out perfectly good yarn. I want the yarn back.
Unmaking is part of making.
I’ll rip this out and see if I really was splicing the colors willy-nilly. If so…maybe I’ll commit to that and make myself two enormous variegated balls using all of this yarn…and then knit them into something else. A different sort of waistcoat? I could use one.
Take a hard look at the past, save what’s worth saving, move ahead.
Cordialement,
Franklin
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many years ago (about 45, i reckon) i was lucky enough to attend a talk given by Quentin Crisp (of the Naked Civil Servant fame). he had a very relaxed attitude to cleaning – when plates reached the stage of “I could eat a fish off this” he did and THEN it got washed.
but i always treasure his line “after the second year, the dust doesn’t get any worse” even if it simply isn’t true . but i did adopt a variation of my own – i only dusted to the level that my tallest visitor could see (2 nephews at 6ft 3 in).
this came back to bite me this past month when a small patch of plaster fell off our bedroom wall necessitating a total clear out and thorough cleaning before the painter arrived. the dust on top of the wardrobe – astonishingly deep!
i commend your commitment to the traditions.
It is indeed, hilarious!
Thank you! I needed it today, after I got the quote from the insulation guy, and no, it’s not covered by insurance! Those pesky squirrels!
I LOVE this! Franklin, you are always an inspiration with an amazing way to look at life. Thank you for starting my day and week with this!
My commitment to dusting is tenuous at the best of times. I usually get motivated as the November/December holidays approach. Normally I vacuum the floors and clean sinks and counters regularly, I’ve even forced myself to clean toilets on a semi weekly, or as needed, basis. But dusting has never caught on as being all that important. It’s just another of the jobs that can be skipped and life carries on. I saw a plaque once that said something like ‘if you’re coming to see my house call first, but if you’re coming to see me, come anytime’. Think of how many more stitches can get done during dusting time.
Fall winds and dried out leaves blow in the door, forming swirls, finding hidey holes.
I sweep them up and out they go. Regardless of all my efforts, I walk around, leaves crunching under my feet.
Little bits of leaf turn up inside knitting bags!!!
She persists. This clean out will be done!
This piece is yet another from Mr. Habit that is about fibers and knitting, and cleaning and as yet even more about our life as humans. Thank you for sharing this little piece of you.
Love you and all of your posts
I, too, do the twice a year major cleaning like my mother and grandmother did. I had hoped to pass that down to my children, but it looks like that did not happen. However, it could still happen with the grandchildren and great-grandchildren. There’s always hope.
Last week I happened upon a project bag , opened it up, and discovered a pair of fingerless mitts, waiting to be seamed together. They are now ready to face a Chicago autumn and possibly a warm winter’s day. The only question is do I have enough yarn leftto make a hat? Always good to hear from you.
Franklin, I can sympathize with your dust levels (I live in the desert) and applaud your dedication. Today, however, your article hit me right where I am knitting. I, too, am an out of sight, out of mind person. I have picked up this same WIP over and over again, done a few rows, and put it back down – every year for the last 5 years. Your article has reminded me that it’s ok to rip it back to it’s natural state and create something I will love. Many thanks!
This is one of the reasons I use Ravelry to track projects. I put in the pattern name (if I’m using one), the yarn and what I’m trying to make. That way, I can look and see what WIPs I have. Probably should keep track of where they are there too, so that I can find them . I think doing a “big clean” before the holidays was a thing in many families – I’m working on mine as well.
This is one of the reasons I use Ravelry to track projects. I put in the pattern name (if I’m using one), the yarn and what I’m trying to make. That way, I can look and see what WIPs I have. Probably should keep track of where they are there too, so that I can find them . I think doing a “big clean” before the holidays was a thing in many families – I’m working on mine as well.
I always love a post from Franklin. And I can relate. -Oh not to the cleaning, but the other day I decided I was feeling guilty and overwhelmed by my stash and did a major “gift away” to the wonderful Swanson Fabrics in Turners Falls Mass. Some of those skeins had been very special purchases. But in several years I hadn’t turned them in to knitting I loved. Now what remains is really beckoning to me. –No worries, there is plenty.
Are you encouraging me to finally unknit that deep purple gansey made many years ago? The one whose sleeves have grown rather dramatically in length with every wash while the body has become shorter? I love the prickly, rustic wool yarn, but my body is NOT changing to match the changing dimensions of my sweater.
This will be my unknitting project for November, I think. Thank you, Franklin for the subtle little nudge!
Franklin- your comments leave me in good spirits and slight dust shame. Despite the last formal dusting date being unknown, i will stick to “slight shame”.
I love the dust sheep! When I had pets I called them dust puppies. A good clean out is good for the soul. Now I need to get to it. Thank you for your humorous reminder.
Just what I needed to read on this Monday morning– thank you!
I salute your commitment to the seasonal deep clean; something I have often tried but never succeeded in finishing. It would probably be a good practice, since I live in the woods and my house is about 100 feet downwind from my goat barns and paddocks. “Dust” would be a delicate term for what drifts in.
Franklin, you always start my day with a smile. I actually laughed at your “dust sheep” comment. I love reading your posts. And I can usually remember what I am making when I find something half made in a project bag. My problem is what size needles was I using?
I too get my cleaning neurosis from my forebears. Hilarious description of the particular dust found in Paris. Here in Harlem dust accumulated in a similar way and we must keep battling. But I have no qualms about ribbing up old projects and starting anew. Especially when it’s an oooold unfinished Isager project with lovely Isager yarn that can be used for that vest I just saw on Ravelry.
I loved this part and laughed so hard: “What was this going to be? I couldn’t remember. It might as well have been somebody else’s knitting.” Are you sure you weren’t teleported to my house when you discovered that bag?
I always love reading Franklin’s writing! I smile & settle in for a good read whenever I see his work.
As always, seeing your name pop up with the promise of a humorous, from the heart post brightened my early morning. Loved most of all your conclusion, that you will “make myself two enormous variegated balls using all of this yarn…and then knit them into something else.” Just visualizing those enormous variegated balls in those wonderful colors, makes me smile again. Thank you — as always.
I knit on a project when my mom was in hospice. I never could finish that project. I gave it to a friend who enjoyed the beautiful yarn very much. Sometimes you just don’t NEED to complete things but need to drift along in the notion that the tough stuff is over and knitting is a refuge not a command performance.
So that’s what happened to that waistcoat! I love brighter colors and I know one choses duller and darker shades when one is sad. I think that beautiful yarn deserves a happier incarnation. Happy re-knitting!!
Yes I too still do the spring and fall cleaning like my Nonna taught me because, she didn’t like doing it. But glad I have the skill because it gives me control and endurance and a feeling of accomplishment As for my knitting I thank my French mother. She taught me how to have happiness after finishing or starting a crafty project ending with tea and a croissant. Thanks Franklin for remembering.
In my family’s home, our father was the compulsive twice-yearly cleaner. For obscure reasons, he always polished every square inch of hardwood floor in our house (which he and my mother built when I was nearly two years old) on Good Friday. No, I did not have a religious upbringing, why do you ask?
Dad was a sailor, and his motto was “if it moves, tie it down; if it doesn’t move, paint it.” Or polish it with an electric floor polisher, as the case may be.
Our mother was less interested in cleaning–she once told my sister that “a woman who irons sheets has no life”–but Dad more than made up for her lack of enthusiasm. Each of the three kids had an assigned set of chores (dishes, vacuum, dusting), and woe betide the unfortunate duster who left any specks behind, or the dish washer who failed to clean the crockery until it squeaked. (No fancy electric dishwashers then; this was the olden days.)