It’s taken me a good 16 rows to construct two. THE ALLEN County Fair always inspires me to become crafty. 4-H’ers continue to amaze me at how they think nothing of whipping up one project after another.
If you were walking, that’s the equivalent of trekking across town to get next door.
“I’m glad I don’t knit,” said my husband. “I’d be a wreck.”
“It’s relaxing,” I snap back.
Meanwhile, the yarn gathers like a garden hose coiled in my lap as I make my way back to my initial mistake.
My problem, much like with a recipe, is I don’t read the instructions in their entirety before I begin. Instead, I read a few lines and in my eagerness to get started take it from there, only to find out the last sentence begins with the word “DON’T,” and is referring to the first row of stitches.
More than once I’ve proceeded through a recipe only to discover I was to reserve half the marinade for basting.
My other problem is I don’t stick with a hobby long enough that it becomes second nature. Knitting an infant-size sweater once a year doesn’t exactly signal progression. The distance between projects is enough to erase all memory of anything unpleasant.
Brian must have half a tongue by not asking if I would ever consider finding a hobby for which I had a natural affinity.
The best result of my knitting so far is a basket full of colorful yarn. I’d seen that idea in a home decorating magazine. It sends a message of tranquil domesticity — hah!
I can remember as a youth my mother getting bit by the sewing bug.
She made me an A-line wool skirt. The colors were brown and rose. The pattern plaid. It hit me directly at knee-level. This was 1970 and I was 14.
Wearing that skirt was as unsavory as her trying to make me eat stewed okra. Being of stronger will, she prevailed. Although you can see it scarred me for life.
The only thing she ever made for herself was a “reversible” poncho. One side was a brown herringbone pattern and the other resembled the side of a sheep or a shag carpet. I never saw her wear it, but the dog loved it.
The other reason I’ve started a project is it’s the first day of our vacation and I figure while Brian drives I can knit. From past experience this means we drive in silence. I can’t knit and listen or talk at the same time.
“The Da Vinci Code” audio had me ripping out one infant-size sweater three times, and it never did turn out right.
Same thing when Brian attempts a conversation. All of a sudden I discover I’m no longer counting stitches or following the pattern.
I look over to see him gripping the steering wheel in stony silence for fear I’ll drop a stitch.
The first thing to admit about any hobby is that you are not saving money.
Already, this itsy-bitsy sweater has set me back $50 for yarn and needles.
And that’s not including couples therapy.
—Susan Lynn
A stitch in time unravels for me
