A while back I mentioned that one of the things I like to do when I’m not at the keyboard, in the garden, or with my elbows up to flour, is to knit. Knitting ticks a lot of boxes for me. It’s satisfying with a quick result, something my daily works lacks. It’s methodical, with an almost zen like om to it with the back and forth pattern to help me separate from the story. It involves texture and color, something I can only think about when I write, not experience, and if you pick the right pattern, it’s a challenge, forcing me to learn new things and keep the brain making new connections. (Don’t laugh, learning new things keeps you smart.)
I’ve been knitting and crocheting since I was 12, though there was a long dry spell in there when I found out what guys were good for, and then a family, and then the task of becoming published. I had even given my needles to my mom.
But once you see the beauty of the knitted piece–feel the connection from present to past, know that thousands have turned a heel thinking of the one they are making comfort for–the yarn never quite untangles from your soul. I got my needles back from my mom a few years ago, unearthed my crochet needles, and my yarn and cord stash has since become sort of scary.
Even so, I was too embarrassed to bring it up until I realized there were 24 year olds standing in the yarn aisles doing the same thing I was. Knitting is cool, like bow ties. -smirk-
While I was out on tour, a reader brought me a skien of wool that she had hand dyed and named Pixy Steel. I thought it perfect for making bunnies out of, and so I took a break from the scarf and knitted one up with a pattern I’d not yet tried before. I think I’ll add a soft eye, but other than that, I think he turned out rather well for a first go. :-) Next one will be in a fuzzier wool without quite so much stretch . . .