My Knitting Needles

The basement of my house on Ashford Lane is filled with art and craft supplies. I think I might have more ribbon then JoAnn Fabrics. Mohair and plush fur fills a cabinet, scrap booking and paper take up a room size corner. Buttons fill jars and old tins. Now yarn balls, hanks and skeins have taken over any available space there once was. I love it.

As if I didn't have enough hobbies and interests, I decided one day about two years ago that I wanted to learn to knit. My grandmother and mom had both crocheted and had taught me when I was small enough to still play with Barbies. I remember making granny squares, tiny bathing suits and blankets. I crocheted every now and than through the years, but never enough to really call myself a crocheter.

One day, I spotted some old knitting needles in my favorite little thrift shop. I remembered a lady (wish I could remember her name) trying to teach me to knit when I was little. I remembered her saying, "knitting is just two basic stitches, knit and purl. If you can do these, you can knit." I thought okay then, I'm going to learn to knit. I had always loved the way knitted things looked and remember asking my mom to crochet me something without holes in it. She would say, that's knit.

With a how to book in front of me, I took the plunge and started to "cast on". I studied the pictures as I struggled to hold both needles and the yarn at the same time. After lots of tangled yarn and dropped needles I did it. I was ready to knit. Again, I dropped my needles, fumbled to hold on to the yarn and get it to cooperate with me. Why didn't it want to come back through that space without falling off, oops there it went, dropped again, start over and so it went for several hours until finally it looked like the picture, it looked like I had knit a row. The lady's words, sounded in my head again, 'if you can knit and purl you can knit." Well, then, I thought I can do this knit stitch, lets try the purl one, I started again, now I had to change the way I held the needle, not fair, just got it to work the other way, wrap the yarn this way now, oops dropped the needle again, hey, my stitch fell off, and so it went for a few more hours until it finally resembled the stitches in the book again. With two rows done, I remember thinking to myself, I can do this, I can knit. I sure had a lot to learn.

Like most people, my first project was a scarf. After a few rows I'd look at the stitches, run my hand over the soft knitted garment and remember feeling a little sense of accomplishment. Two years later, I still do this. Lots of scarves, hats, slippers, socks and baby booties have been knit here with my old needles (and new, of course, my collection quickly grew).

My favorite chair is now surrounded by patterns, knitting needles, counters and yarn. For some reason, when I sit down and pull out those knitting needles I know I'll be relaxed in a couple minutes. Is it the sound of the clicking needles, the soft yarn or the continuous movement that puts me at ease? I'm not quite sure, but whatever it is, I can't imagine life without my knitting needles.