ok, so, I have been knitting A LOT. Just learning at first and then trying a few complicated stitches here or a swatch of a difficult cabled sweater there, (which P.S. I totally rocked at). I started getting needle envy, then cringed when I realized the cost of those drool worthy sticks. Started to think about more things I could create, (seriously I don't think there is a problem in the world that cannot be solved with some application of yarn and sticks or yarn and hook) from lacey pillow case edgings that are sweet but not overly frilly (think spa) to pumkins for Halloween. That's when I started to read books about knitting, I'm not talking knitting patterns or "how toos" but books that knitters wrote about knitting, the feeling of knitting, the obsession, the inablilty to put it away or out of your mind for long, because, again, anything can be solved with knitting. That is when I realized it:
I was sitting there(knitting my sisters legwarmers of course, and reveling in the new yarn a friend had run to the store for me to get) today reading KnitLit (too): From Sheep to Shawl, when I realized that I was agreeing with everything that they were saying - I COMPLETELY understood it!
I finished the book and was immediately saddened that it was over. I thought a little more and realized I was no different then some of the people in the story, and I was saddened that it was over because I loved reading about knitting (I love to read about a lot of things, why would knitting be above those when obviously it is more fun to do then read about) but because while I was reading this book I could feel the things they felt.
I was reading one story where a lady decided one day that she wanted to keep sheep, but she lived in the city - fortunitly this woman had a friend in the county that was equally addicted to knitting and spinning who was willing to have a joint custody thing with her for the three baby sheep they ended up investing in (which automatically made me start calculating what likihood I had to get my mother to agree to let me keep sheep at her house - the answer is not likely - I already called but she didn't answer - which some might take as an omen) ANYWHO - long story short one of the sheep dies because they don't really have any idea what they are doing. The question at this point is put to the reader - What do you do with a dead sheep? - In my head the lightning fast answer is - "you better sheer the poor thing before you bury it".
I was right.
I think I might have a problem.
I used to be a crocheter - hard core too - I was POSITIVE there was nothing that you could do with your two needles that I could not do with my one. I was so sick of "yarn snobs" (who I am starting to understand, because lets face it - if I was not dirt poor I would probably only buy acrylic for things that needed to be SUPER durable) telling me how much yarn I was wasting on my silly crochet.
Then I had surgery in which they had to open my chest cavity, I could not lift my arm to crochet, or move my chest at all - but I could sit with knitting in my lap and move just enough to not hurt myself (after the drugs wore off of course, no need for Frankenstien knitting thanks). So I took it up to keep from going crazy for the next 8 weeks. After a few painful (in the mental way and the ego way) lessons I finally caught on and knit myself a Harry Potter scarf, in a relatively short time. I thought "that wasn't so bad, lets do something else".
That's when I went to the library.
I felt guilty going to the knitting books and asking for there help after shunning them with an upturned nose for my precious crochet patterns, more guilty that the crochet books where right there watching. After glancing through a few, that were dated in the seventies I found a modern one - and my world exploded. I sat in the library for hours with books in my lap (the poor librarians actually dragged a arm FULL of books to a comfy chair for me to sit because I couldn't lift anything) teaching myself to cable and make pictures within the fabric. I became a woman crazed, wanting to learn everything, needing too. I started working on a hundred things at once, and then decided what I really wanted to do, SOCKS. I haven't picked up a crochet hook since except to work on a blanket to use up my scraps from my stash, and my heart is only half in it.
That was over 6 months ago.
I have come to realize while I analyze this dramic change in my preferences, as it where, a couple of things. One) I have changed as well as my new abilities have. Where once I wanted things to be done, quickly and with a large since of acheivement with smaller need of effort I am now willing to put in more effort and understand that a greater since of accomplishment comes from pouring your heart into something. Crochet was always such a "look what I can do" thing for me, whereas kniiting is more about the love that I put into the stitches and the clean lines and well thought out patterns, instead of largeness and loudness of the piece screaming a boost to my abilties. Crochet was about the large blankets to keep you warm and to be seen, large jesters of love to show you, and everyone else that I love you and thought of you. Knitting is about the finely knit socks, that wrap around your feet on a brisk day, hidden away in your boots or curled up on the couch, a little secret to let you know I love you, to let me know I love you, and for you to do with that what you please. It might not be this way for everyone, it was with me. Some people might very much enjoy crocheting more then they enjoy knitting, some people might truely hate to knit.
I just like to knit.
I'm a knitter.
And I make socks.
(but I do sometimes still boast about my abilities, I mean, its nice to feel impressive sometimes :-) )
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