But what to make of it? Whenever I consider sewing something for me, I’m caught in the same dilemma: The intersection between the clothes that I look good in and the clothes that I’d like to wear tends to be perpetually empty. The things that make a coat look good on me are easily named: a straight cut and a notched collar. The things that make me like a coat were more difficult to define, but when I gave it a bit of thought I noticed that there are two things that I really care for. First of all, any coat that hopes to catch my interest should be really long - lower calf length at least, above ankle length is better. There’s no fun in wearing a coat if it doesn’t billow when you’re running for you life, or saving the world, or just walking down a hallway - the last scenario being the most likely in my life right now. And the second thing that distinguishes a just-so coat from a really great one are the buttons. They should be big, prominent, and extra points if they’re shiny. In other words: as far as coats are concerned, I want drama.

The above was about as far as I’d gotten in my analysis when I realised that I’d seen the perfect coat just days before - worn by actor John Barrowman as Captain Jack Harkness. It’s straight, lower calf length, double breasted (more buttons, yay) and as long as you don’t button it up completely the front passes for a notched collar.

As I soon found out Captain Jack’s coat is a loose interpretation of a WWII RAF officer’s coat. So the next step for me was to find out how the real deal looks, identify the distinguishing features and run with them. Thanks to an ebay auction for an original coat that featured some really great pictures, including an inside shot, I came up with this list of features that I’d like to keep:

• no side seams
• waist darts in front
• deep side pockets with flaps
• a belt that can either be closed or tucked to the back through two slits in the back side seams
• 10 buttons in front (5 on each side) running from a bit below the waist up to the shoulder
• 3 smaller buttons at each wrist
• a back vent that can be buttoned up

My fabric does not match the rather bluish gray of the original, and I’m going to use plain buttons, not regimental ones. And unlike the original, my coat will be fully lined. The original shows two vertical tucks in the back that add to the waist shaping. I’m not sure I’ll do those - I’ll try to get all waist shaping in the back done in the seams. I may also use more buttons for the back vent. The original has two buttons, but it is only mid-calf length, a longer coat may need more buttons to really close.

Of course this coat is pretty far from what is usually recommended for someone my size, but I really don’t care. If it turns out even remotely like I envision it right now, it’s going to be a lot of fun to wear, and that’s far more important to me.

Which of course is entirely my own fault.  It’s not like anyone forced me to start this project. I, and I alone decided to transform 110 balls of this

into 39 installments of this

- plus 6 half blocks, plus fringe, never mention sewing the whole thing together - just because I got it into my head that what I need most in my life right now is a crocheted bedspread. For a double bed. Handmade by yours truly. From a vintage pattern. What on earth was I thinking?

I started the first block on January 5th, and right now I’m working on block No 3. At this pace the bedspread will be finished in summer 2014. But only if I don’t die of boredom in the meantime.

Perhaps I should start a new project. You know, a really small one. Just to take the edge off.

I know this stage pretty well by now, it usually means I’m bored to death by my current projects and am developing a massive bout of startitis. But that’s not what I am getting at. What really surprised me is that I noticed a change in the projects I queued.

For years now my queue, especially when it comes to sweaters, has been full of the most outrageous, lacy and frilly concoctions you could come up with. One of them prettier than the other, only not a single one bore any resemblance to the stuff I actually like to wear. Lace on a sweater usually means I have to wear something underneath to make it safe for work, and I don’t like to wear too many layers. And ruffles and frills look pretty silly with my favourite type of footwear, the common trekking boot. So how on earth did all that frill and lace end up in my project queue in the first place?

I think it had a lot to do with my personal Fantasy of Being Thin. For most of my life I was convinced that once I finally shed that weight, I’d be the perfect, bubbly, popular, girly girl my parents had expected me to be (once they had come to terms with the fact that I was not the son they had hoped for). Then, four years ago, I went on a diet for the last time and finally understood that it just doesn’t work and that I will never be slim. I wasn’t meant to from the beginning, and 30 years of dieting had only made me fatter. My hope of ever being thin died the day I went off that last diet, and good riddance.

But I was not ready yet to really let go. Now that the “get thin first” part of my Fantasy of Being Thin was out of the way I felt like I had to live up to all the rest of it. And that’s how all this lace and frill ended up in my ravelry queue. If I was never going to be a thin girly girl I sure as hell was going to be a fat girly girl - and I still did not dare to ask myself “But do I want to?” The fact that all these projects lingered in my queue and never got started might have been a hint that they did not speak to me on a “want to wear” level, only I never came to that conclusion. As I already said, I was not ready yet.

So the change I noticed in my ravelry queue really speaks of a bigger change: I’m finally starting to accept who I am. When I was a little girl my Mom always used to complain that I was such a tomboy. And it turns out: I still am. I feel more comfortable in a simple zippered cardi and a pair of jeans than in a dress, and I don’t think anything will ever change my undying love for cargo pants (lots of pockets, you know?). I like clothing that I can move in, and I don’t like if I have to double-check all the time how much of my body I’m revealing. I prefer shoes that I can actually walk in, keep my hair in a plain braid, haven’t had it cut in 15 years and I don’t do makeup. And it has taken me 44 years of my life and a lot of hard work to realise that it’s o.k.

But to be honest, I just reviewed my yarn stash and let me just say, if WW III started tomorrow, I’d be all set to last it out. So, completely independent of the fact that the year is still pretty new and that it is everybody’s favourite time of the year to commit to change, I have come to the following resolution:

1. Until my WIP list is down to half a dozen projects, I will only start a new project if I have finished at least two WIPs since the last cast-on.

2. I will only buy new yarn if since my last yarn purchase I have used up at least twice as many yards of yarn as I am about to acquire.

Tune in next January to find out whether this was more successful than last year’s resolutions.

Don’t get me wrong - I’m pro organic production, hands down. But we should bear in mind that this switch would likely cause an increase in food prices. Sure, if you include the damage to the environment in your calculations, the prices for organic produce are realistic prices and industrially produced food is only as cheap as it is because, like so often, most of the hidden costs, the costs of things like water pollution and soil erosion, are switched over to the public. That still does not change the fact that right now, food produced by organic methods is more expensive than conventionally produced food.

So can we please spare a thought for the people who can hardly afford conventionally produced food? At the cheapest price they can find? The people who struggle daily just to keep themselves fed? Are they supposed to disappear if they suddenly cannot afford their food anymore, or would you prefer them to just go hungry?

Before we can even think of switching over all food production in Germany to organic methods, we would first have to make sure that everybody can afford this food, and has access to it. I think it could be done, and I certainly think it’s an avenue worth pursuing. But please, please, for the love of God, don’t pretend it’s simple.

I am a woman working in a highly technical field and I deal with stuff like this almost daily. Granted, most of it is not that obvious, but the basic message is always the same: “This is a men’s world, and we want to keep it that way.” What never fails to amaze me is that the men around me apparently expect me to share their views. It is as if to be allowed in this world at all all, I had to become a not-woman, a neuter.

Granted, I’m not very girly to begin with – I prefer jeans, a T-shirt and trekking boots to skirts, shirts and pumps and thankfully I can get away with that in my line of work. But that does not mean that it doesn’t hurt to hear misogynist bullshit, that I don’t feel the sting. I’ve been mulling over how to react all evening, knowing only too well that emails of this kind put me in a no-win situation. If I grit my teeth and join the laughter I’m adding to my own oppression, which I’m not going to do. If I fail to respond I allow myself to be silenced once again. And if I reply I’m one of those humourless feminists that can never take a joke. Or perhaps my reply might garner me that all-time favourite: “But we didn’t mean you, you’re one of us.” - as if in addition to being one of them I’m not also a woman.

My career has actually profited from my neutral status, as it shuts down an approach to questioning my expertise. Up to now I have not suffered the indignity of having my input belittled or ignored because it came from a woman. But I buy being taken seriously in my chosen field by protecting the men around me. Not only do they get away with not giving a damn whether something they say or do hurts women, they also never have to challenge their basic assumptions about what women can or cannot do. I can either be an IT professional or a woman, but in this world I cannot be both.

And in addition to protecting the men around me, I also allow them to define what constitutes a woman. I’ve had men, usually men that were about to lose an argument, tell me to my face that I am not a woman. Not “I don’t consider you a woman.”, not “You’re not my idea of a woman.” but simply “You’re not a woman!” Apparently I’m only a woman if a man agrees, my word on the matter is not good enough.

But lets come back to the email that started all these musings. I know perfectly well that I can’t win, but still there is that burning wish inside to send a “reply to all” with the link to Melissa McEwan’s brilliant post “The Terrible Bargain We Have Regretfully Struck”, because she says what I feel so much better than I can do myself. Who knows, I might get one of the recipients thinking, and at minimum it will get me off my former coworker’s distribution list, which alone makes it worthwhile. Unfortunately my disgust led me to delete the email as soon as I had seen the attachment. What the heck, I’ll just ask around, I’m pretty sure one of the men around me has saved a copy…

However, I have cast on for a new sweater based on Beth Silverstein’s “Francis Revisited”. The yarn is a lovely black worsted weight pure Alpaca I picked up at Wolland years ago. As the pattern specifies that the yarn should be knit pretty loosely I swatched with 5mm, 5.5mm and 6mm needles and the 5.5mm gave the best result.

Unfortunately the only 5.5mm needles around in this household are 80cm circulars and the sweater is knit top-down, so I am reduced to starting it on two circs. Have I mentioned how much I loathe this technique? I thought so. I already managed to mess up once, when on round 4 I realised that I had twisted the cast on before joining. Or maybe I had managed to twist it during the first round, when yarn and needles were putting up a desperate fight. This has honestly never happened to me on dpns. The second attempt seems to be working now, but I’ll be glad when there are enough stitches on the needles to continue on a single circular.

Yes, I am whining. Why do you ask?

Whatever - in the good old tradition of setting oneself up for failure already in the first days of the new year, here’s my number one resolution for 2010:

Shop the stash first!

Good one, isn’t it? And it holds true for so many aspects of my life, not only the obvious ones like knitting or sewing. If there’s something lacking in my life it’s not things but the ability to enjoy life and making the best of what I have, so I have decided to focus on creativity and thankfulness in 2010.

Don’t know what the fuss is about? Go read it.

Not to be outsmarted, I changed my Amazon delivery address to the local Packstation, only to realise that this has opened a completely new approach for him to screw things up: He can now dump other people’s packages on me without me being able to prevent it, and he immediately seized the opportunity.