December, 2008

It all started with Theresa’s socks.

I am mesmerized by the socks she knits, and the way she writes about her knitting.  I don’t even wear socks.  Not with shoes, this is, unless I absolutely have to.  I wear socks as slippers; interesting ones that I don’t want to cover up.  And her socks should never be covered by shoes.  The most awe-inspiring thing about her socks, of course, is that she made them.   I can’t make anything; I can’t grow anything, cook anything, craft anything.  I usually hate even trying.  But, still, I dared to dream–millions of people on this earth can knit–what about me?

I’ve had this wild plan for months now–to learn to knit.  But yesterday, I mentioned to my mother that I was going to learn to knit and might make her a scarf for Christmas.  She said, “Oh, yeah?  No way.”  Is this a knitting challenge? (She’s given me unfailing support for my entire life for every single thing I’ve ever done–except, apparently, for knitting. Everyone has to draw the line somewhere, I guess.)

“If you’re challenging me, then I will definitely knit a scarf by Christmas.”

“Ha.  Right.  OK–I’ll give you $100 if you can learn to knit and finish a scarf by Christmas.”

I don’t even want her money, but let there be no mistake–nothing, not feeding my children or sleeping–will get in the way of my scarf-making now.

I went to the knitting store immediately, then was aghast to find a hundred different sizes of knitting needles (although back then, yesterday morning, I was still calling them “pointy sticks”).  But I figured out which yarn and needles to get, went home, and late last night, I became a KNITTER.  (There was actually a lot of swearing and throwing things involved, but I’ll get into that another time.)

This is me, knitting.  Nothing can stop me now.