Seriously, I wrote this yesterday, on the 16th. After a lengthy pause to go search for the quote, I kept working on it, then stopped when it got to be time to make dinner. I thought, "I'll come back later and put in all the links." Uh, no. I remembered it after I was already in bed. (But, anyway, I'm going to count it as being timely.)
Today I'm thankful that I learned how to knit.
I've been looking, fruitlessly, for a quote (I believe from one of my very favorite writers,
Peg Bracken) that explains one aspect of it. She (I think it was her) was telling about a woman who talked about the quilts she pieced together by hand. The woman said that those quilts contained a whole lot of anger, hurt feelings, disappointment and whatever other negative emotions she had been experiencing when she sat down to work on them. Somehow, working on the quilt took all that away. Exactly. It can be a very Zen thing.
People who don't knit (and, yes, we
do call them muggles) often say, "Oh, I don't have the patience to do that." They've got it backwards. The patience
comes from doing it.
And you end up with simply bitchin' gifts, particularly baby gifts. The items themselves might not be great—might not even be
good, and I've given some of those myself—but as the wise and hysterically funny
Jeanne Robertson points out, "You get a lot more credit if you
make it yourself." She was talking about food, but the same thing applies to baby booties or hats or anything that the recipient doesn't actually register for at Babies R Us. They know you were thinking of them, even if it's something they may not use. (And, seriously, they're going to use bibs and diaper covers like crazy, and knitted ones are actually extremely functional. Go ahead. Just make it out of cotton and try not to make it too ugly.)
Finally, it's useful. I believe I've mentioned before, knitting has less to do with grandma sitting in her rocking chair than it does the preppers and people choosing to live off the grid. We know how to
make things. Many, many knitters and crocheters branch out to spinning and weaving, and we do tend to get into hunting and raising chickens and canning and otherwise living a little more self-sufficiently than the general population. We know how to
make stuff, and we know what a good thing that is. (After the apocalypse, only knitters will have socks. I think I've mentioned that before.)
I think—I vaguely remember—my grandmother teaching me how to knit when I was about eight years old. It didn't stick. I tried to teach myself many years later, when my mother was in the hospital for about six weeks, and I was spending most days with her. That didn't really stick, either. It wasn't until many years (again) later, in 2005, when I took a class at
Michael's, that I actually learned. (BTW, the class was $15 for two hours, and I was the only person in it. I paid $15 for a 2-hour private lesson. You can't beat that!)
That time, it stuck. I took off. I knitted scarves, hats, slippers, gloves, mittens, afghans, more scarves, shawls, stuffed animals, more hats…everyone I know has gotten
something knitted as a gift.
I love my little
Stitch 'n' Bitch group. We meet at
Cafe Express on the first, third and (if there is one) fifth Thursdays of the month. Despite the name, we're a group of
nice women who support and like each other. Feel free to join us. We'll teach you!
It satisfies me. It keeps my hands busy. It helps me get over things I need to get over, and I end up with something tangible afterward. I'm very glad I learned to knit!
