Monthly Archives: July 2014

It's taking me a long time, but I am learning, albeit slowly, that what other people think of how I spend my time isn’t important. Although I’m still at the phase that makes that sentence read “what other people think shouldn’t be important.”

It’s never been more clear to me how much I seek other people’s approval than when I tell people what I’m doing this weekend. The conversation goes like this:

Them: You have plans for the weekend?

Me: Yes, I’ll be in Cambridge, Massachusetts on Friday and Saturday.

Them: Oh, really? What for?

(here’s where it gets awkward, at least for me)

Me: I’m going to a lecture by one of my absolute favorite knitwear designers on Friday night, and I’m taking one of his classes on Saturday morning.

Them: Do what? A lecture? By a knitwear designer? I didn’t realize you were that into it.

Me, blushing and embarrassed: Yeah, he’s a kind of a rockstar in the knitting world. His designs are amazing and he’s funny and cultured and stylish. I follow him on all the social media. I can’t wait to knit one of his designs, and…

There’s more. But by now, my conversation partner has usually tuned out.

Why does this happen? Because most of the people I talk to are non-knitters. To them, knitting is just a thing their grandma/great aunt/old lady neighbor does/did. After that comes the “Oh, I wish I had time for that.”

“You DO!” I’ll insist. How often are you sitting in a doctor’s office waiting? Or at the mechanic? How long do you sit watching TV at night?”

They chuckle, caught out in sort of a lie and agree that while they do have the time, they “don’t have the patience to learn.” Well, that I can’t help you with. Sorry. It does take some time. And your first pieces are certainly NOT going to be works of art. And yes, you can buy socks more cheaply in Target. But that said…

Yarn craft is my life. I learned to crochet first because I couldn’t manage the two needles that knitting requires. I wasn’t coordinated enough or something. Whatever it was, it was frustrating and the end results were horrible, holey mockeries of what I’d intended them to be. Your hobby should be fun, right? This wasn’t fun of any kind. And it most certainly was NOT relaxing. So crochet it was. Chain stitches. Single crochet. Then double. The dreaded trebles. Acres and acres of plain scarves with no pattern, no life, no “oomph” in them. So I moved on to intermediate patterns. Cluster stitches. Fans. Shells. Next, the front and back posts that made cables. Crochet in the round. I made beautiful finished objects. Hats. Mittens. A sweater for a friend’s unborn son. A stuffed toy for another’s new baby. Small stuffed animals for my daughter, who although a teenager, was enamored of them. I was prolific.

My yarn stash grew. I attended Stitches East. I bought expensive yarn – silk blends, merino wool, cormo. I was asked why, as a crocheter, would I want such things? Shouldn’t I be finding the Red Heart and Lion Brand booths? I proudly stood up to say that crocheters loved beautiful yarns, too! I happen to love natural animal fibers – soft, silky alpaca; gorgeous, lofty cormo; smooth, slippery mohair; sleek merino. High end yarn wasn’t merely a privilege of the knitter, was it? If you don’t like to knit in acrylic, why should I like to crochet in it, I wanted to know. (I didn’t make many friends there.)

I admired beautiful knitted pieces. There weren’t any crocheted pieces at Stitches. I took 2 knitting classes and still found myself ridiculously unable to manage the needles and the yarn at the same time. Especially when it came to socks and the 5 needles needed to knit in the round. Four to hold the work and one to knit with. Oh, the agony of twisted and dropped stitches when arranging the cast on across all those needles! I went home with lovely, lovely yarn, visions of gorgeous knitwear, a sense of total failure as a knitter, and the knowledge that even though one can crochet socks, it’s just not the same.

Eventually, a local woman offered a sock knitting class. Up close and personal, for the rank beginner. I took it. I learned to cast on 64 stitches across 4 needles, and how to knit them so they didn’t have huge gaping holes in the corners and didn’t twist out of my hands when I transitioned from one needle to the next. I was DOING it! I was knitting socks!

I made 2 pair. On the first, I misremembered how much foot to knit before starting the toe. Someone helped me kitchener stitch the toes, and now I have a pair in which only one sock fits. I began my second pair. Self-striping yarn – what fun!!! I confidently finished the first sock and stitched the toe closed…sideways. The seam goes over the top and under the bottom instead of from side to side like a sock should. I haven’t finished the second one yet and it’s been years. 5 at least. I did make one pair of ankle socks for my daughter that are the same length and have perfect toes. She’s never worn them because they’re “too nice.” I’ve decided socks aren’t my thing and moved on.

I still knit and I still crochet. I’m “bi-craftual” or “Bi-stitchual”, if you prefer. I am faster and better at crochet because I’ve done it longer. (Better enough that I teach it at a local craft store.) But I’ve made some beautiful knitted items. Hats. A shawl. A few cowls. I have 2 pair of mittens (one mitten finished from each pair) in colorwork on the needles. (The kids *might* get them this year.) I’ve made things that I’ve given away that have been much appreciated. My yarn stash has grown to the point where I’ve achieved SABLE (Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy). I plan my vacation time around farm shearing days and visits. I spend whole weekends at fiber festivals – Maryland Sheep and Wool. Rhinebeck (also known as NY Sheep and Wool). I attend in-person meetups with people whom I’ve only ever “spoken to” online via the 4,000,000 member fibercraft site called Ravelry.

Together, we take over small towns and drool over spinning wheels, carders, smooshy yarn in all fibers. Notions cases, baskets, bottles of local wine and maple cotton candy. Fleece, roving, locks, crimp – these things all mean something to us. We are in our element, and suddenly, I’m not alone in the crowd anymore. Conversations about wool, patterns, needles, brands of spinning wheels, hooks or needles are all met with respect and understanding. It’s like being home. It’s a hive mind, and it’s amazing.

So when you see me in public with a hook or a set of needles attached to a ball of yarn, don’t be surprised. If I’m not at work, I’m usually somewhere knitting or crocheting. I’m not embarrassed to ply (see what I did there?) my craft in public, and I love to attend spinning demonstrations where I can show others the magic of making fluff into yarn. Yep – I do that too, because knitting and crocheting wasn’t weird enough.

Look at it this way – come the zombie apocalypse, I have a skill that makes me useful.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

It's taking me a long time, but I am learning, albeit slowly, that what other people think of how I spend my time isn’t important. Although I’m still at the phase that makes that sentence read “what other people think shouldn’t be important.”

It’s never been more clear to me how much I seek other people’s approval than when I tell people what I’m doing this weekend. The conversation goes like this:

Them: You have plans for the weekend?

Me: Yes, I’ll be in Cambridge, Massachusetts on Friday and Saturday.

Them: Oh, really? What for?

(here’s where it gets awkward, at least for me)

Me: I’m going to a lecture by one of my absolute favorite knitwear designers on Friday night, and I’m taking one of his classes on Saturday morning.

Them: Do what? A lecture? By a knitwear designer? I didn’t realize you were that into it.

Me, blushing and embarrassed: Yeah, he’s a kind of a rockstar in the knitting world. His designs are amazing and he’s funny and cultured and stylish. I follow him on all the social media. I can’t wait to knit one of his designs, and…

There’s more. But by now, my conversation partner has usually tuned out.

Why does this happen? Because most of the people I talk to are non-knitters. To them, knitting is just a thing their grandma/great aunt/old lady neighbor does/did. After that comes the “Oh, I wish I had time for that.”

“You DO!” I’ll insist. How often are you sitting in a doctor’s office waiting? Or at the mechanic? How long do you sit watching TV at night?”

They chuckle, caught out in sort of a lie and agree that while they do have the time, they “don’t have the patience to learn.” Well, that I can’t help you with. Sorry. It does take some time. And your first pieces are certainly NOT going to be works of art. And yes, you can buy socks more cheaply in Target. But that said…

Yarn craft is my life. I learned to crochet first because I couldn’t manage the two needles that knitting requires. I wasn’t coordinated enough or something. Whatever it was, it was frustrating and the end results were horrible, holey mockeries of what I’d intended them to be. Your hobby should be fun, right? This wasn’t fun of any kind. And it most certainly was NOT relaxing. So crochet it was. Chain stitches. Single crochet. Then double. The dreaded trebles. Acres and acres of plain scarves with no pattern, no life, no “oomph” in them. So I moved on to intermediate patterns. Cluster stitches. Fans. Shells. Next, the front and back posts that made cables. Crochet in the round. I made beautiful finished objects. Hats. Mittens. A sweater for a friend’s unborn son. A stuffed toy for another’s new baby. Small stuffed animals for my daughter, who although a teenager, was enamored of them. I was prolific.

My yarn stash grew. I attended Stitches East. I bought expensive yarn – silk blends, merino wool, cormo. I was asked why, as a crocheter, would I want such things? Shouldn’t I be finding the Red Heart and Lion Brand booths? I proudly stood up to say that crocheters loved beautiful yarns, too! I happen to love natural animal fibers – soft, silky alpaca; gorgeous, lofty cormo; smooth, slippery mohair; sleek merino. High end yarn wasn’t merely a privilege of the knitter, was it? If you don’t like to knit in acrylic, why should I like to crochet in it, I wanted to know. (I didn’t make many friends there.)

I admired beautiful knitted pieces. There weren’t any crocheted pieces at Stitches. I took 2 knitting classes and still found myself ridiculously unable to manage the needles and the yarn at the same time. Especially when it came to socks and the 5 needles needed to knit in the round. Four to hold the work and one to knit with. Oh, the agony of twisted and dropped stitches when arranging the cast on across all those needles! I went home with lovely, lovely yarn, visions of gorgeous knitwear, a sense of total failure as a knitter, and the knowledge that even though one can crochet socks, it’s just not the same.

Eventually, a local woman offered a sock knitting class. Up close and personal, for the rank beginner. I took it. I learned to cast on 64 stitches across 4 needles, and how to knit them so they didn’t have huge gaping holes in the corners and didn’t twist out of my hands when I transitioned from one needle to the next. I was DOING it! I was knitting socks!

I made 2 pair. On the first, I misremembered how much foot to knit before starting the toe. Someone helped me kitchener stitch the toes, and now I have a pair in which only one sock fits. I began my second pair. Self-striping yarn – what fun!!! I confidently finished the first sock and stitched the toe closed…sideways. The seam goes over the top and under the bottom instead of from side to side like a sock should. I haven’t finished the second one yet and it’s been years. 5 at least. I did make one pair of ankle socks for my daughter that are the same length and have perfect toes. She’s never worn them because they’re “too nice.” I’ve decided socks aren’t my thing and moved on.

I still knit and I still crochet. I’m “bi-craftual” or “Bi-stitchual”, if you prefer. I am faster and better at crochet because I’ve done it longer. (Better enough that I teach it at a local craft store.) But I’ve made some beautiful knitted items. Hats. A shawl. A few cowls. I have 2 pair of mittens (one mitten finished from each pair) in colorwork on the needles. (The kids *might* get them this year.) I’ve made things that I’ve given away that have been much appreciated. My yarn stash has grown to the point where I’ve achieved SABLE (Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy). I plan my vacation time around farm shearing days and visits. I spend whole weekends at fiber festivals – Maryland Sheep and Wool. Rhinebeck (also known as NY Sheep and Wool). I attend in-person meetups with people whom I’ve only ever “spoken to” online via the 4,000,000 member fibercraft site called Ravelry.

Together, we take over small towns and drool over spinning wheels, carders, smooshy yarn in all fibers. Notions cases, baskets, bottles of local wine and maple cotton candy. Fleece, roving, locks, crimp – these things all mean something to us. We are in our element, and suddenly, I’m not alone in the crowd anymore. Conversations about wool, patterns, needles, brands of spinning wheels, hooks or needles are all met with respect and understanding. It’s like being home. It’s a hive mind, and it’s amazing.

So when you see me in public with a hook or a set of needles attached to a ball of yarn, don’t be surprised. If I’m not at work, I’m usually somewhere knitting or crocheting. I’m not embarrassed to ply (see what I did there?) my craft in public, and I love to attend spinning demonstrations where I can show others the magic of making fluff into yarn. Yep – I do that too, because knitting and crocheting wasn’t weird enough.

Look at it this way – come the zombie apocalypse, I have a skill that makes me useful.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.