At Knit's End (5 page)

 

If you're crazy, there's two things you
can do to make yourself feel better:
one is to get yourself cured.
The other is to make everyone you
have to deal with crazy.

— A
LAN
D
EAN
F
OSTER

H
ave you ever wondered whether some designs are really just complicated jokes? I mean, maybe the designers didn't really plan for anyone to ever knit them. Perhaps they are sitting by a pool, far away, chuckling to themselves at the very thought of you suffering a breakdown trying to knit their patterns.

I will resist the urge to try and look up their phone numbers to ask them.

 

My second favorite household chore is ironing.
My first being hitting my head on the top
bunk bed until I faint.

— E
RMA
B
OMBECK

M
y knitting is in a constant state of competition with the household chores. After years and years of painful juggling, I have almost completely decided to give up on the housework. The way I see it, I can always clean up the house when I am old, but I'll never get this knitting time back.

Remember, dusting requires the same arm movement whether it has been a week or a month.

 

Black holes are where God divided by zero.

— S
TEVEN
W
RIGHT

E
very knitter knows about the knitterly version of a black hole. This is an error in the time-space continuum centered around the process of knitting your sweater. Every knitter knows when he has found it. You measure your knitting and discover that it is 12 inches long. You knit for an hour, remeasure, and discover that your knitting is still 12 inches long. You knit what must surely be 200 rows, measure again, and discover that your knitting is 12 inches long. Science has yet to prove that a woolly black hole exists, but it's only a matter of time.

You are not crazy; you are experiencing a scientific mystery.

 

It's easy to stop making mistakes.
Just stop having ideas.

— A
NONYMOUS

T
he first thing you should think when you notice that you used the wrong yarn color 12 rows back on your complex Fair Isle sweater is that there is no shame in knitting an “interpretation” of a pattern.

I am so creative that innovative design happens by accident.

 

Measure twice, cut once.

— C
ARPENTER'S RULE

M
any Fair Isle sweaters incorporate “steeks.” This technique allows the knitter to knit the body of the sweater completely in the round, without dividing the work into a front and back and having to work back and forth. The knitter works straight up to the shoulders, returning later to cut openings for the sleeves. The instructions sometimes ask the knitter to sew a row (or two) of stitching around this opening, but if the sweater is worked with wool that clings well to itself, the steek is simply cut open with no preparation.

No matter which method you use it is normal to feel varying levels of nausea, hysteria, and dizziness during the process of cutting into a sweater.

 

Control thy passions, lest they
take vengeance on thee.

— E
PICTETUS

I
n case you were wondering, if you are making a Norwegian sweater and you measure the sleeve to determine your armhole depth, and then very, very carefully mark that depth onto your sweater body, then take out the sewing machine and carefully sew two lines of stitching around your steeks, then discover that you made them the wrong length because you measured only one of the sleeves and that sleeve is inexplicably 4 inches wider than its mate … it takes 17 hours to unpick that machine stitching.

I will try to recognize that cursing for the entire 17 hours will do little to help.

 

That it will never come again
Is what makes life so sweet.

— E
MILY
D
ICKINSON

O
ccasionally, while knitting something particularly yummy I feel about my knitting as I do about a good book. I look and see that there are only a few pages left and feel sorry that there won't be more of it. The same goes for a brilliant yarn. In fact, I'm often reluctant to knit up my favorites, because when I am done knitting them, I won't have the yarn anymore. Sure, I'll have a sweater, but it's not the same. The yarn will be gone forever.

I will resist the urge to hoard my favorite yarns forever, constantly trying to determine whether the projects they are intended for are “worthy.”

 

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.

— W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE

I
am sitting alone in the darkened living room. It is 4:00
A.M.
on Christmas morning, and my family will be up in a few hours to see what Santa has brought. I am frantically knitting. It is the same every year; over and over I am brought to my knees by this enormous knitting deadline and end up weeping into my eggnog, trying to finish knitting presents by daybreak. There must be something wrong with me. Christmas isn't a surprise; it's on the same day every year. Every year I tell myself, this year will be different.

Then every year, it's me and Santa, down to the wire.

I will try to recognize that some people on my list would prefer that I were coherent, healthy, and sane on Christmas morning, rather than delirious but finished with the damn hat.

 

If the minimum wasn't acceptable it
wouldn't be called the minimum.

— G
EORGE
M
UNCASTER

M
y husband, in an incredible show of love, is knitting me a sock. He has been working on it (on and off) for about five years, painstakingly knitting round after round. He curses, rubs his eyes, drops needles, and complains bitterly about the impending heel (he probably has another two years before he has to worry about that), but he is knitting. He has always referred to this process as knitting me “a sock,” and the perceptive among you will note that “sock” is singular. He has never promised a pair.

Should my husband ever finish my “sock,” I will wear it proudly (and singularly) for all of my days. He is my mate; my sock doesn't need one.

 

When you see a married couple
walking down the street, the one that's
a few steps ahead is the one that's mad.

— H
ELEN
R
OWLAND

M
y husband, lovely and patient man that he is, has sustained several injuries related to my knitting. He has a small scar on his foot, the result of a puncture wound incurred when I left my sock knitting on the floor. He cringes when he thinks of the darning needle accidentally left on the couch seat when I was making his sweater, and he flinches visibly when he thinks about the various times he has been accidentally stabbed with sundry and assorted knitting needles or been tripped by careless yarn placement. My friends think he tolerates this out of love. My knitting friends know better.

He is doing it for the sweaters.

 

I'm not obsessed, I'm just highly preoccupied.

— A
NONYMOUS

S
elf-patterning sock yarn is very, very neat. It is dyed to produce stripes or a pattern meant to resemble Fair Isle when you knit it up. It can be fun and interesting to work with, but be warned. For those inclined to be obsessive, it can lead to a dangerous fixation with making sure the two socks match. Many a fine knitter has gone down the twitchy path of trying to compensate for dyeing errors or normal variations in the yarn in order to come up with two socks that are precisely the same. I have no proof, but I suspect that this may be a yarn manufacturer's idea of a joke.

I will accept that some sock yarns simply produce fraternal rather than identical twins.

a twirling reel used to hold a skein
of yarn as it is wound into a ball.

A
swift is a tool used to replace your friends and family. Clever knitters will procure one the first time their mates or children refuse to hold the skein of yarn for them, thus reducing the number of yarn-related disputes in the family environment. Swifts also reduce knitter injury by eliminating awkward and dangerous attempts to hold your own skein of yarn with your feet while winding with your hands. There are anecdotal reports that swifts may reduce tangling and cursing related to using household furniture for swiftlike purposes.

To save time, sanity, and my marriage, I will consider purchasing the right tools for the job.

 

Think for yourself and let others
enjoy the privilege of doing so too.

— V
OLTAIRE

M
y friend Sharon proudly pulled out her first project: a red sweater. She was halfway up the back, and she held out the knitting to me, smiling. Sharon explained that the sweater was done in stockinette stitch, but it looked funny to me. On closer examination I discovered that Sharon had twisted each and every stitch. The stitch was pretty, but it wasn't stockinette. I praised the sweater, then showed Sharon the mistake she was making and pulled out my knitting to teach her how to make a proper stitch. Sharon was uninterested. “Don't you want to be a better knitter?” I queried.

“I just want to knit,” she replied. “I don't have to be good.”

I will respect that not everybody needs to be perfect. Sometimes, just knitting is enough.

 

I have a hat. It is graceful and feminine
and gives me a certain dignity, as if I were
attending a state funeral or something.
Someday I may get up enough courage
to wear it, instead of carrying it.

— E
RMA
B
OMBECK

5
reasons to knit hats:

They are a small project. You can go nuts with a fiber you usually couldn't afford, such as cashmere or alpaca.

A great deal of body heat is lost through the head.

A great hat can make up for bad hair.

They can be knit fairly quickly and, as a bonus, children's heads grow slowly compared to the rest of them.