It reminded me of a former teenage cashier of mine. After I took her to lunch one afternoon, she said she’d knit me a replica of the beanie she often wore on her head. “I’ll take it,” I assured her. While ringing me up a few weeks later, she asked what color I’d like. I gave her a range – carnation pink, lavender, beige, whatever else popped in my head at the time. Two years have passed, and where in the hell is my hat?It reminded me that I would like to knit hats, gloves, and baby booties on my own. I applaud those who absent-mindedly knit on the subway, during conference calls, while listening to NPR. If I feel relaxed just watching someone knit, how much more relaxing could it be to do it myself?
I’ve never had a knack for anything related to sewing. If it hadn’t been for the cooking unit, I would have failed my mandatory junior high Home Ec classes.Awhile back, I heard about a local yarn store’s knitting classes. It offered one for adults and one for kids between the ages of 7 and 12. My email to them hinted that I’d prefer placement in the children’s program (though even that was iffy; those 7-year-olds would sew circles around me). The person who emailed me back clearly assumed I was kidding.
The other day, I read an essay maintaining there are only two human motivators: desire and fear. The smallest and biggest decisions we make are based on one or the other. When it comes to knitting, I have both desire and fear, with the fear coming out slightly ahead.I have many other talents I’m proud of (most of which are fueled purely by desire): keeping secrets from people I don’t trust; bringing seemingly inkless ballpoint pens back to life; scoring mint-condition Brooks Brothers shirts for $10; diagnosing (and then neutralizing) any sociopaths in my midst. There’s also my abnormally superb peripheral vision. I could go on, but won't.