At Knit's End (13 page)

By the time my mother was having her fourth baby, I was five, and my grandmother had taught me to knit while my poor mother was still working on the yellow scarf. My grandmother came to visit one day and saw the scarf on the table. She picked it up and examined the stitches, then remarked (obviously thinking it was my work), “Well, now, that's not bad for a five-year-old.” Mortified, my mother picked up the scarf and dropped it in the garbage.

She has never knit again. She doesn't mind.

 

You know you
knit too much when …

Your non-knitting spouse
starts trying to feign interest
in your knitting, just so that
you will talk to him, saying
things such as, “So, are we
knitting or purling?” or,
“So how do you really feel
about cables?”

 

Geographically, Ireland is a medium-sized
rural island that is slowly but steadily
being consumed by sheep.

— D
AVE
B
ARRY

I
t is likely a unique hallmark of knitters that they don't think of a country being consumed by sheep, but rather a country that is being converted to wool.

I will recognize that it is another unique hallmark of being a knitter that this quotation alone, without knowing anything else about the country, is enough to make me want a plane ticket to Ireland.

 

What Heracles said is true, O Argonauts!
On the Quest of the Golden Fleece
our lives and our honors depend.
To Colchis — to Colchis must we go!

— P
ADRAIC
C
OLUM
,
The Golden Fleece and the
Heroes Who Lived Before Achilles

I
n the Greek myth of Jason and the Argonauts, Jason embarks on a heroic quest to find and retrieve the Golden Fleece. Although most of the events are rooted in mythos, the Golden Fleece itself has a historical explanation. In the Colchis region of Greece, people used to pan for gold using, you guessed it, a sheep's fleece. The fleece was held under running water, such as a stream, and the little bits of gold would be caught in it. If you had a very successful day, you would have “a golden fleece.”

I will try to stop thinking about what a cute evening top I could knit out of the spectacular golden yarn.

 

The telephone is a good way to talk to people
without having to offer them a drink.

— F
RAN
L
EBOWITZ

F
or quite some time I've been trying to work out a really good way to knit while I'm on the phone. Right now I'm simply clenching the phone between my shoulder and head, but I make more mistakes when I'm looking at my knitting sideways. I also suspect that this practice is probably the cause of the weird muscle spasm I've developed that keeps suddenly and randomly twisting my head at a 45-degree angle while I'm doing other things.

I will recognize that it is not normal to think that the bigger problem in this picture is the mistakes in my knitting, rather than the permanent inability to hold my head straight.

 

Arguments are to be avoided; they
are always vulgar and often convincing.

— O
SCAR
W
ILDE

H
ere's a hypothetical question. If a knitter (not me, you understand) and her mate were to suddenly find themselves with more money than they were expecting, and they were discussing how best this windfall could be spent, and the knitter's husband (not my husband, of course) had made several good points about the future, and the future of the children, would said husband be entitled to accuse the knitter in question of being “selfish” and “out of her mind” (even though the knitter makes many, many lovely knitted things for this husband and children, and hardly anything, ever, for herself) if she were to suggest that the largest part of the sum be spent on yarn?

I didn't think so.

 

You know you
knit too much when …

You get your income tax
refund in the mail and,
despite owning almost as
much as a modest yarn shop,
you and your mate begin
immediate negotiations to
determine what portion
of it will be spent on wool.

 

The price is what you pay;
the value is what you receive.

— A
NONYMOUS

T
he frugal knitter will quickly develop a taste for fine wool on tiny needles. There are many, many yards in those wee balls, and it take lots and lots of tiny stitches to make anything. One hundred grams of chunky wool lasts only a few hours, but 100 grams of fingering-weight wool takes a good long time to knit up.

I will balance my cheapskate desire to get maximum knitting time for the dollar with my desire to retain my eyesight.

 

A baby is an inestimable blessing and bother.

— M
ARK
T
WAIN

T
he head of a newborn baby only appears petite and charming. Baby heads are actually really big. (Ask whoever gave birth to the baby in question.) Many knitters make the mistake of knitting a sweet little neck on baby sweaters. After years of disappointment (and near stranglings), I have finally come up with a strategy to get them right. First, knit a neck that is so big that it can't possibly be right. You will know you are close to the first stage when you think to yourself, “that's too big for sure.” Now add 10 percent. Then cast off very, very loosely.

I will resist the urge to swear off childbearing and stop advising others to avoid it as well when I have to rip back this neck and add a slit and buttons to get the newborn baby's head through.

 

Nothing astonishes men so much as
common sense and plain dealing.

— R
ALPH
W
ALDO
E
MERSON

L
ast night while I was knitting I had a great idea. Stay with me, it's a radical idea, and I wouldn't want to shock anyone. What if, somehow, we had just one system of measurement for knitting needles? Would it really be so crazy if the needle I'm holding couldn't be a 4mm, a #8 Imperial, or a #6 US, but just one of those three? What if I knew that the pattern I was reading referred only to that size, and it didn't leave me trying to figure out which needle to use based on the country that the pattern was published in. I say we need a petition.

When I am finished organizing the world's system of knitting needle measurement, I will turn my attention to the equally stupid system for screwdrivers. (Do there really need to be so many kinds?)

 

A friend is a second self.

— A
RISTOTLE

T
here is nothing that does a knitter's heart more good than finding a dear, dear friend who knits. There is very little that is more fun than sitting with someone who loves you, laughs at your jokes, and truly wants to have a two-hour conversation on the revelation you had about twisted ribbing.

I will keep in mind, should I be blessed enough to find a darling friend who loves knitting as much as I do, that if we go to a yarn shop together I shouldn't knock her down like we have never even met when I see mohair on sale.

 

When your hobbies get in the way
of your work — that's okay;
but when your hobbies get in the way
of themselves … well…

— S
TEVE
M
ARTIN

A
s I go sneaking up the aisle of the darkened movie theatre, I reflect that I love knitting. What other hobby can you do at the movies? Passing into the lobby, I notice an odd noise is following me, but before I can investigate, I'm suddenly on the floor, yarn wrapped around my foot. A glance back down the aisle reveals that some moron has dragged knitting up the entire length of the theatre, before it got stuck in the lobby door. Worse, that moron has left
a trail of tangled yarn that leads clearly back to my seat. I endure the snickers and stares of the entire left side of the theater as I wind the yarn back up every long step of the aisle.

Movies are prime knitting time. Take simple work you don't need to look at; use wooden needles, so the noise doesn't bother anyone; and for goodness sake, put your knitting away carefully before you go to the restroom.

Wool Housing and Containment Overflow

M
any knitters suffer from this common ailment, although complaints tend to be registered more often by those living with knitters. Symptoms include wool sprouting from drawers intended to hold other things, bookshelves with yarn and books alternating in disarray, and a tendency for one's stash to burst suddenly from closets. Affected knitters also continue to purchase yarn, often at a frightening rate, despite the absolute lack of anywhere to keep it.

Treatment involves … well, nobody has ever successfully treated it, as victims can only rarely be convinced that this much yarn is a “problem.”

Should I fall victim to WHACO, I will appreciate that it is easier to convince my family that it requires no treatment if I can find just one wool-free room to sit in.

 

The ability to simplify means to
eliminate the unnecessary so that
the necessary may speak.

— H
ANS
H
OFMANN

F
rom time to time (well, fairly often, actually), a knitter gets her nose out of joint when a knitted gift isn't appreciated. There is a tendency among the non-knitting to underestimate the time and expense involved in a hand-knit hat. It's understandable. How could they know? I suggest the following: from now on, using your stitch and row gauge and the size of the finished item, calculate the approximate number of stitches that you knit to create the item.

I can appreciate that a tag reading “These socks contain 20,000 stitches, each lovingly handmade” would shut up Uncle Bob pretty quick.

 

The beginning is the most important
part of the work.

— P
LATO

T
here are about 30 ways to cast on in knitting. Long tail, provisional, cable, crochet, backward loop … the mind reels. They all have their merits. Some are solid, some are stretchy, some leave you ready to work a right-side row, and some look better with ribbing. The wise knitter learns several and uses each to its best advantage.

I accept that even though there are myriad possibilities for casting on, somehow for each pattern there is still only one right number to cast on.

 

Like religion, politics, and family planning,
cereal is not a topic to be brought up in
public. It's too controversial.

— E
RMA
B
OMBECK

T
here rages a debate between those who admire acrylic yarns, citing durability, washability and nonscratchiness, and those who fall firmly in the wool camp. They cite the warmth and softness of wool and the pleasure of working with something that comes from the natural world. I have learned that this subject is too volatile to bring up in public, as the conversation can end with hurt feelings and phrases such as “yarn snob” being bandied about, no matter which yarn you profess to prefer.

I can promise, in the interest of peace, that if I ever divulge a fellow knitter's fiber choice, I will immediately follow it with the statement “Not that there's anything wrong with that.”

 

An expert is a person who has made
all the mistakes that can be made in
a very narrow field.

— N
IELS
B
OHR

I
knew a woman who had been knitting for more than 65 years, and I, in the infancy of my serious knitting obsession, was looking for a mentor. I figured that this woman would be perfect; she was kind and patient and had to know everything there was to know about knitting. I was absolutely shocked to discover that she knew very little about the world of knitting. She knew one cast on, one cast off, one way to increase, and one way to
decrease. She knew them better than anyone had ever known them, but her experience was limited. I realized that she had been using the same few techniques and patterns her whole life. Despite her age and experience, she was not an “expert,” except at her own few techniques.