Posts Tagged ‘knitting’
Long time no blog! Things that have happened:
my camera broke.
i was sick. a lot of sick. several times.
my computer broke. (I am writing this on a borrowed iPad — a very cool piece of equipment until you need it to be useful)
i turned thirty-two.
Nothing seems very exciting when you are bedridden and miserable, so I didn’t bother to document anything (“life wasteland of broken dreams, etc”)
but we go forward, don’t we. there has been Forward Motion on the sweater front, too, although it’s the back of the sweater really, and you’ll have to trust me on that,
because camera = broken
… as you can see.
Officially it’s still Spring — but yesterday was June 1st, and the thermometer was over 90F in the shade, and that’s summer enough for me.
It’s also six months away from the end of the year.
Which means gift-giving.
In six months.
It seemed like plenty of time (aeons!) when I was planning all this, back in January.
Doesn’t seem so long now.
Well, a journey of a thousand miles, and so on and so forth.
It might take a thousand miles to turn this into a Milkweed.
No fear. There are six months.
We’ll get there.
In the meantime … summertime.
(This post is a day late because I have an infected tooth. Pity me.)
You know the story of Penelope? Most people get her story tangled up with the legend of Ulysses, her husband, but Penelope has always been the important one for me. You want to talk about a process crafter — Penelope was it.
The story goes like this: Ulysses went away to do Very Manly Things … and he stayed gone for twenty years. He didn’t send any text messages or carrier pigeons or smoke signals, so people (reasonably) assumed he was dead. Men started to court Penelope. It got pretty bad, I imagine. She tried logic (“seriously guys, I’m already married”) and the more direct method (“get the $#@% off my front porch” ), but nothing worked — until she told them she needed some space to finish her
knitting weaving. (“Just one more row!”)
She spent all day weaving and all night ripping it out. For twenty years. Can you imagine how happy she was to see Ulysses again, when he finally strolled back up the steps? “I CAN FINALLY STOP WEAVING THIS FREAKING TAPESTRY oh right darling I’m very happy to see you, too …”
I know she found peace in the rhythmic motion and noises of weaving for it to occupy her for two decades — because I find the same quietude in the work of knitting, stitch-by-stitch-by-stitch. Weaving made it possible for Penelope to wait, in the way that love for her husband made her continue on, day by day by day, weaving and undoing and weaving and undoing …
… for some of us, love and hope and patience and work are all mixed together, too tangled to separate.
Last week I ordered a massive amount of yarn. It’s the biggest order I’ve ever placed by a factor of three. On Saturday it showed up and I was very! excited! for about fifteen minutes, squishing and smelling and showing it off (“look! LOOOOK!”) …
Then it hit me: None of it is for me.
Oh sure, I get to knit it all … but then it will go away! The tan worsted is a sweatercoat named Milkweed . The grey sportweight will be alternated in stripes with the blue/green/muted yellow to become a hooded cardigan of my own invention. There are at least two pairs of socks to be knitted up in the merino/silk blend … On and on, projects enough for the rest of this year (at least). Projects marching into futurity.
And these are Yuletide gifts! And it’s only March! I AM GOING TO WIN THE HOLIDAYS.
I thought that, and then I looked at the yarn, and then I remembered: yarn is not a gift (except to another knitter). These are gifts, yes … but they’re Some Assembly Required.
and … it’s finished. I can move on.
Hard to believe, after a month of ripping back and cursing and spit-joining yarn ends in public places
(many, many public places). It’s been a long December. But it’s finished.
I washed it (in the washer)
and hung it out to dry
in between snowfalls
on the coldest, windiest day of the year.
it dried beautifully
and came inside to be seamed — up the center
(I like that bit especially; it’s like fishy backbones)
and set out, looking like something from a century ago
to soak up whatever tiny bit of sun might filter through clouds
and be admired.
Happy New Year’s, all.