In September 2010, just before Jon went to Hopkins for a month to have his stem cell transplant, I went over to Nell's house for my first knitting lesson. We sat on her living room floor with a skein of purple yarn and some long #10 needles. She patiently showed me how to knit. She was undaunted by my clumsy fingers. She knew that the fingers are only the first step, and that it is the mind that gets the most out of the knitting.
Anyone who knew me before this knitting lesson would never have believed that I would really want to do this. Jon was incredulous for months. But my initial reason for wanting to learn was that I imagined I would have many hours of idle hands while I was in Baltimore waiting for Jon.
I was right. I had lots of time by myself to struggle with that purple yarn. I worked really hard at it and made a long, scraggly scarf-like item with lots of dropped stitches (holes) and the edges were quite wavy because I kept adding stitches without knowing it. But, as a brand new knitter, every single stitch was an effort and I did not want to rip out my work -- plus I am absolutely not a perfectionist -- so when it was finally finished, I gave the scarf to Stephen who wears lots of purple and who was glad to receive such a unique accessory.
I remember sitting on the floor in that Baltimore studio apartment while Jon was sleeping in the next room. Sweat rolled down my face from the exertion of doing this new thing. I watched the digital clock to see how long each row took me. If I am remembering right, it took me about ten minutes per row. These were not long rows. It was hard work.
Four years later, I am still knitting and it has become part of my life. Jon has come to accept this, even though he can't quite understand how I got so addicted. But when we go on long car trips I do a lot of knitting -- and I do a LOT of ripping it back out (which is called tinking) because knitting in the car or in the dark can lead to big mistakes. And I cannot go to a meeting without my knitting (unless I am leading the meeting). I listen better, I sit more quietly, and I enjoy my meeting time so much more.
Like so many other creative skills (farming, cooking, exercise, being a parent), knitting reflects one's personality. Nell is a careful and precise knitter, follows the patterns perfectly and does not allow mistakes to stay. She keeps track of where she is by using colorful knitting gadgets. Her sweaters and blankets and socks are lovely. Ellen knits with lots of brilliant colors, does ambitious projects, and has been knitting for so long that her work is nearly flawless. Both of them rip out entire projects when they find that they don't like them. Ann Livingston, the queen of all knitters, is most interested in rewriting patterns to suit her. She makes up sweaters. She once knit an entire sweater without any pattern at all, making a Charlie Brown sweater for her son, on a 2000 mile car ride. It came out perfectly. Compared to those knitters, I am an infant knitter. But I am rather fearless. If something seems to be going wrong, I might just try to figure out how to get back to the pattern without backing up, redesigning (not always successfully) a bit if it seems like it will still fit.
My children have received a few loose, misshapen presents along the way. Mittens that are big enough for more than one hand, Benjamin's sweater that doesn't actually fit a human with normal arms, Rebecca's hat that was supposed to be big enough for her hair but turned out to be too big for anything. The scarves are always fine because size doesn't matter, and cowls are generally my best bet. Size is the most challenging concept of all.
I have an ace in the hole that most knitters don't have. Jon has rescued me on several occasions, helping me to interpret the patterns (I really think that Ann Livingston should rewrite the language of knitting patterns. They can be so opaque and abbreviated and sometimes they are just unintelligible.) and he does the arithmetic to figure out how to make it all work when I am stuck. He has no idea how to hold a knitting needle but he has helped me find knitting stores on our travels and he even buys me supplies on line. He does not get all fussy and uncomfortable in a knitting store -- and he gets how unique and interesting they are as a business model.
I meant to write about the social opportunities and unexpected connections that have arisen from this knitting habit, but that will have to wait until the next installment. I meant to write about the psychological benefits. There are famous and erudite writers (Barbara Kingsolver and Ann Patchett come to mind) who have captured the essence and joy of knitting in essays that are like jewels. I probably should read them again, now that I have some more knitting miles behind me and I will understand them even better.
The wonderful thing about skills is the more you practice them, the better you get. And the more you come to understand about other things that are not even remotely related. Again, that is a whole different topic for later.
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