Do you realize how uncoordinated I am? I can barely walk a straight line most days.
But she was patient. She even brought me new, sturdier needles after I held the first pair too tight and snapped them in half. She undid my mistakes, unknotted the knots I somehow created. And she sat, patiently, by my side, in between classes, during church, over lunch and taught me to create. And showed me how Knit 1, Purl 2 can relax a person.
That was the key to me learning to knit: learning to relax. I had to learn how to undo my mistakes, had to learn to be guided, had to learn to go slow.
And once I unclenched my hands from around the needle, understood the directions and took a deep breath, I began knitting. And creating.
Scarves, shrugs, bags, a sweater, some hats, and a poncho.
I was in love. Hours spent creating loops and cables. Designing my own items to give as gifts. And in Knit 1, Purl 2, I learned to relax.
It's been too long since I have had needles in my hands. Felt the different types of yarn: wool, cotton, silk, mohair.
I basically quit after my Mom died. I remember sitting with her, holding my favorite needles. Size 8, metal so the yarn slid easier, a deep rich purple (her favorite color)in the softest cashmere yarn. It had to be soft. The chemo took her hair and made her head hurt. It had to be something soft.
I sat in the chair, next to her bed, knitting over and over. It was never quit right. I ripped out what I started and never made progress. Once the Chaplain showed up, I put the yarn away and didn't pick it up again. I knew there was no longer a need for a hat. She'd be feeling no pain very soon.
I was out with my girls last weekend. The stress of the past 2 weeks and the not knowing what the future holds was causing so much tension in the house. You could feel it, see it, invading our cocoon. So I took them away. Shopping, eating out, laughing, water park, amusement park, conversation, piled up in bed together laughing and talking. I felt the stress ease.
But I also realized, I missed creating. I've spent so much time tearing down. I wanted, needed to create. So I picked up some new yarn. It's soft. It creates ruffles. It's pretty. And I bought new needles. Metal, slippery, size 10 for a fast project. And as my girls did facials and giggled over one's new boyfriend, I began to knit.
It was amazing how natural it felt. I forgot how much I had missed the weight of needles and the lightness of yarn in my hands. Two items coming together to make something. Using my hands for more than picking up a heavy mug or shot glass. But hands that are creating. And I felt the tension ease away with each stitch. I felt a sense of accomplishment as I saw the ruffles form. I felt my mind start to open at the possibilities of new designs.
Sometimes, to move forward, you have to go back to what you know. Back to a time when my girls were little and innocent. When I was more easily molded and guided. When my life was becoming more tumultuous but I was still naive enough to not fully understand what was to come. I went back to a time when a woman placed wooden needles and yarn in my hands and said "This is just what you need".
And I forgave myself for a time when I didn't finish my Mom's hat. When I put down the needles and yarn to pick up a pen and sign, with hands trembling, the fulfillment of the final wishes of my mother and to open my arms to hold her, even as I had to whisper in her ear that it was okay to go.
But having the needles and yarn in my hands again, though so simple, reminds me that I am going to be okay. As long as I can breathe, as long as I can still think, as long as I can still create, I didn't destroy myself as much as I thought.
Knit 1, Purl 2, cast on, bind off . . . .words as soothing to me as notes are to a composer.
