Knitting Rules! (6 page)
Authors: Stephanie Pearl–McPhee
Yarn
and How Not to Feel Guilty About It
O
NCE UPON A TIME
, before I came to understand about yarn and the way things are, I felt sort of bad about my stash. Let's talk about when I first started dating my husband. The first few times I had him over I sort of “tidied up the yarn” a little. (You do know, don't you, that by “tidied up the yarn” I mean I stuffed it into bags and then into closets and cupboards and boxes and anywhere else I could to hide it?)
I didn't hide it all, though, partly because it's impossible and partly because I didn't want to hide the knitting thing entirely (it's like trying to keep secret that you occasionally sit under the back tree by the river singing long songs in a falsetto chicken voice). When you knit this much, it's such a big part of your personality that anyone who spends time with you is going to notice sooner or later. I just wanted an opportunity to charm him enough that when he found out about all the wool, he wouldn't back away from me slowly and then run screaming into the night. I wanted to let him in on the wonder that was me (and the stash) and, I hoped, by the time that he really understood how much yarn there was â and how little closet space he'd be getting â we'd be properly together and he'd have a legal obligation to stay ⦠at least until I could whack a pair of hand-knit socks on him and make him mine forever.
The whole time I was dating my husband, I kept quiet the extent of the yarn stash. I started to reveal it in stages, doses equal to the things that he revealed about himself. I discovered that he collected guitars, so I left the hall closet open one day. He showed me his set of antique
amplifiers (
Hint
: amps are big), and I showed him my set of vintage merino. He has a darkroom for his photography habit? What a coincidence. I have under-bed storage for my sock yarns. He has every issue of
Popular Electronics
from the 1950s? I mention that the funny manure smell he noted the other day might be the fleece in the basement.
If you have to share space with a non-knitter, it's important to fully discover his or her hobbies. You're going to need ammunition when he or she finds out about the little accident you had when the yarn factory had a closeout sale.
Time passed and we came to share a home, and wouldn't you know it, he has never said a word. Part of it, I know, is that he respects me and my woolly choices, part of it is that he likes to see me happy, and part of it is that he knows what my reaction would be if he tried to tell me what to do with my stuff or how much I should have. I've returned the favor. It's taken a concerted effort, but it turns out that if you don't want to take any flack about the 17 half-knit sweaters on the dining room table, you just have to keep your mouth shut about the half-soldered recording console in the living room.
Marriage is about compromise.
You don't need to be so honest with the rest of the world. There's no reason for most of the ordinary people you run into â acquaintances, employers, psychiatrists â to know exactly what's going on with all the yarn or why you have so much. Seldom will you be understood, so
discretion is the better part of valor. If you get caught, however, and someone unexpectedly discovers the full scope and extent of your yarn collection and is stunned into saying something, I offer the following retorts.
Someone says, “
You sure have a lot of yarn
.”
You reply:
Response 1
“
Thanks for noticing
. It's been a big job and it's taken a long time, but I think I'm finally getting there.”
Response 2
“
This? No, no. This is just what I need for the week
. The real collection is in my rental storage space.”
Response 3
“
Yeah, I know it's a lot.
I really wanted a rock collection, but rocks are so heavy. This takes up a lot more room, but it sure is lighter.”
Response 4
“
Sorry, I couldn't hear you
. All this yarn muffles the sound in here.”
Response 5
“
What? What yarn?
These are my kittens.”
If you have a lot of yarn, sometimes it's best just to leave it lying out in plain view. This causes a certain kind of “yarn-blindness,” where your family will just stop seeing it. I realized this was possible when my daughter came into the living room (the living room that's practically buried in yarn) and said, “Hey, Mum? Do we have anything I could use like string?”
Five Reasons to Keep a Stash
If anyone ever tries to make you feel guilty about your stash, there are several things you can point out
.
Some people collect rocks or seashells. Enough said.
Yarn, if you get enough of it, can totally act as house insulation, helping to cool your house in the summer and hold in heat during the winter. It's almost irresponsible, in the face of global climate change, not to have a stash of yarn.
Wool is flame-retardant and what people in the fire business refer to as “self-extinguishing.” If something self-extinguishing is exposed to a flame, when the flame is removed it will no longer burn. This means that (in my special
little world) having an extensive woolen stash is practically a safety thing. Remind me to call my insurance company to have my rates lowered.
Speaking of insurance, a stash protects against any number of emergencies. What if you lost your job and could no longer afford to buy yarn? What if you had to move to a remote mountain pass in Nepal and couldn't get to a yarn shop without a five-day hike? What if, out of the blue, huge felted woolen car cozies became popular and the world's supply of fiber was eaten up by the auto industry, causing wool scarcity and widespread panic among knitters everywhere? Better to be prepared. You never know when supply could dry up.
It's a way better alternative than drinking heavily or doing drugs, which is probably the way I'd spend my time if you took my knitting away.
There's nothing wrong with buying stash. Many knitters feel guilty about this and attempt to curb their instincts to buy it all the time. If you were a carpenter, nobody would be surprised that you had a lot of wood. If you were a painter, we would fully expect there to be a houseful of paints. Provided that your inclination to buy yarn doesn't exceed your ability to pay for it, you really don't have a problem. If, however, you find yourself hocking furniture or skipping meals to get it, you may want to cut back a little.
Stash has a tendency to multiply. This is independent of your tendency to keep buying it, so don't bother resisting the urge.
Note:
This rule is true only of stash that's hanging around being decorative. Once you start to knit with it, it doesn't multiply ⦠as any knitter who has run out of yarn a half-sleeve short of a sweater can testify.
Really, the best way never to feel guilty about your stash is to think of yarn not as piles of recklessly purchased fiber (no matter how recklessly you purchased it) but instead as entertainment you've bought. By my reckoning, it's a pretty sweet deal.
A cheap ticket to see the musical
Les Misérables
in downtown Toronto costs about $50 (if you go alone) and lasts for three hours. That breaks down to $16.66 per hour for entertainment. A movie ticket is about $12 and if you're lucky, it'll be a long film. Let's say it's costing you $6 per hour to be entertained. My local video-rental place seems like a deal; I can get a movie for $5, which makes my cost per hour about $2.50.
Knitting lace has the highest entertainment value. A skein of lace weight has remarkable yardage and it can take many, many, many hours of intricate work to knit up, making lace weight an unparalleled choice for frugal knitters.
I could take this further and look at CD and DVD collections, or, without picking on anyone in particular, my
husband's affinity for antique audio equipment, or the cost of an Alaskan cruise, but the important point is this: A ball of sock yarn (a really nice one that will make two socks) costs about $16 if I get it on sale. If, then, I start to knit it up, it's going to take me (if I don't do a pattern or cables or anything at all that would slow me down) about 16 hours to complete. That makes my entertainment cost a whopping one buck an hour. If I do fancy socks, it's even more worthwhile. Let's say I put a fussy cable down the side of my socks. Well, now, that's going to take longer. It might take me 20 hours to knit those socks and now my entertainment is costing me just 80 cents an hour! Eighty cents? Who can feel guilty about spending 80 cents an hour when at the end of it you've not only scored yourself a whole pile of fun, but you also have a pair of socks?