Things I Learned From Knitting (14 page)

THAT NO MATTER HOW WELL

YOU KNIT, LOOKING AT YOUR WORK

TOO CLOSELY ISN'T HELPFUL.

IT'S LIKE KISSING WITH YOUR

EYES OPEN: NOBODY LOOKS GOOD

THAT CLOSE UP.

ALL MY KNITTING FRIENDS
are just like me. Every time I go to knit night at my local yarn shop, I get to enjoy the wonderful feeling of being one in a group of people with whom I have a great deal in common.

There's Denny, a fiber artist and a mother who makes her own bread, today knitting an orange fascinator that will be trimmed with hundreds of itty-bitty pom-poms. Next to her is Dr. Steph. Steph's an academic, a PhD mother of young children, a professional who wears grownup clothes to work, and she's knitting a wire and bead bracelet. Tonight, Jen is here. Jen's an ex-stand-up comic expecting her first baby very soon. She's knitting a bright baby sweater as she sits on the steps in her Indian print sarong and tank top. She has more time for knitting now that she's too pregnant for long-distance canoe trips.
Jenna is a lawyer in a suit. Rachel is a business analyst. Alice is retired and cruising toward her eightieth birthday. Maria is a young professional from Mexico who always has a great dating story. Drea is on a budget so tight it squeaks, but Vanita can buy cashmere without blinking. Charlotte campaigned for the Conservative party, and Mina belongs to the Marijuana Party of Canada. Aven is a university professor. Sue is a university student. Aleta teaches high school English. Laura just graduated from college with a degree in linguistics. Ken does something with computers that I don't understand. Sarah is a stay-at-home mother who teaches Sunday school and is active in her church, and she's sitting next to Danny, who knits Fair Isle on the subway. Megan owns the shop, and our hearts, for giving us somewhere to hang out and do this. Me? I'm a fortyish writer with out-of-control hair and a personal loathing of housework that approaches spiritual levels. I'm the mother of three teen daughters.

I know that as I list the people around me at knit night, these individuals with whom I feel a tremendous sense of community, we don't sound
much like birds of a feather. In fact, we sound like a zoo.

If you describe these knitters in conventional terms, using their politics, socioeconomic status, jobs, genders, or ages, it becomes obvious really quickly that we have almost nothing in common. It is not at all common to achieve this kind of wild diversity in a bunch of humans and still have them get along swimmingly. But with knitting groups it happens all the time.

I know, when I see groups of knitters like this, that some of us are people who wouldn't ordinarily be caught dead with each other (although we try not to talk about that, in case it breaks the spell we've cast). The only thing all of these knitters have in common is that we knit. That's it. Despite our diversity — diversity that causes wars (political and armed) in other places — at our knit night, nobody seems to notice. It's like the minute we take out our knitting, we identify first and foremost as knitters, and because of this, somehow even though we are an unlikely crew, all my knitting friends are just like me. We are birds of a feather. We flock together.

THERE ARE A VERY GREAT MANY
parallels between parenting and knitting. As I have journeyed on my own rather ragged path through both of them, I've learned that practicing one can help you be good at, or at least accepting of, the other.

In both knitting and parenting, the very hardest thing is that you have to do a lot of work for a long time before you have any idea at all if the project you are working on is going to be any good. With both parenting and knitting, you have to hang in there while you do the same things, over and over and over, always hoping for the best. (With knitting, it is stitches; with parenting, I believe it is either making lunches or saying No.)

With both things you have to have some faith that what you are working on will become beautiful and good, no matter what it looks like right
now. With knitting, you try to up the odds that it's going to work: You choose good raw materials and knit gauge swatches. You watch other knitters and look at other sweaters. With parenting, it's exactly the same: You feed your kids (mostly) good food and put them to bed (mostly) on time. You read them stories and invest your time and energy in them, and you watch other people parent, learning from the things they do. You read knitting books and read parenting books, hoping the whole time that with enough work and effort, at the end of both processes, you'll get something good. The trouble is though, that with both knitting and parenting, there are no guarantees. Very good parents occasionally have kids that don't work out, and even the best knitters have turned out sweaters that were monstrosities. It is this uncertainty that has most of us a little nervous.

In these two stouthearted endeavors, it is, as it should be, parenting which is the really scary one. A badly knit sweater has never gotten hooked on meth and knocked over a liquor store, but all parents have had moments when they're
terrified of what might happen next, or wonder if anything is going to work out in the end. This is where the similarities between knitting and parenting are like a reassuring friend. Knitting does work out most of the time. While you don't always get exactly what you were expecting, you almost always get something good. Knitting, like parenting, does seem sort of scary when your project is unfinished. It's hard to believe that the teenager slamming her door and the sweater with too-short sleeves are both going to end up being good things. Seeing that knitting works out if you can just stick with it can be balm to a frightened parent's heart. While you knit you can remember, things do get finished. They look bad because they are not finished, and all it takes is hope, time and work to finish them.

Knitting and parenting both start with pretty interesting raw materials, both take a long time to see if you're doing a good job, both have no performance appraisals and are done differently by everyone, and both, if you keep trying, end up with a finished something that will be a beautiful handmade surprise.

OBVIOUSLY, THIS ONE IS ABOUT
what we've all learned about managing our behavior at a yarn sale.

The yarn store is a very tempting place. Actually, the truth is that the yarn aisle at a regular store is a tempting place, and they don't even specialize. A yarn shop has no other product to distract you from the yarn or dilute your attention. To make matters worse, because a yarn shop sells only yarn, it is unlikely that you will even have brought a non-knitter or two with you, which is a shame, because nothing limits yarn-procurement behavior like a witness or someone who doesn't want to be there.

Since most of us have some trouble resisting temptation in a yarn shop on a good day, the mere idea of putting it on sale can make a normally sturdy knitter become a little crazed and
slightly weak in the knees. It's an unfair set-up. Although we are comfortable and happy in a yarn shop, it is important to remember that the shop has one goal and one goal only: to sell you yarn. Luckily, most of us only have one goal in a yarn shop: to buy their yarn. A sale just ups the ante for both parties, because it introduces a dangerous element into yarn shopping: competition.

Almost all knitters recognize that buying yarn, especially yarn on sale, has competitive elements. First, there's the fact that there's a finite amount of yarn to be had; if there was an unlimited supply we wouldn't get so weird. Second, there's a limited amount of time in which to buy it. Third, there are going to be other knitters at the sale who know these first two things and are going to act on them the same way you are. If you're going to get what you want, you are going to need determination, and a plan.

Step 1:
As soon as you know that the yarn store will be having a sale, arrange a trip to scout the location. Walk the store. Make notes about the position of yarn and the amount of yarn you'll purchase. If you feel it will help, make a map
identifying the locale of your goal yarn. Leave your wallet at home so that the wool fumes can't get to you and weaken you so much that you purchase everything now that you're planning to buy at the sale later.

Step 2:
The night before the sale, make a final list of what you want. Prioritize the list. It could be that another knitter will make it to the sock yarn you had in mind before you get there. If this happens, you don't want to waste time figuring out what your next move is. Make sure you note the amounts that you intend to purchase. You don't want to lose time to that super-quick Marie while you do math. Make plans to shop alone; your friends are only going to slow you down. Remember to get a good night's sleep.

Step 3:
Show up at the shop on time. Be polite to the other knitters, but do not allow yourself to be distracted from your mission. John may seem like he is just being friendly, but more likely he's trying to keep you engaged in conversation while Rick empties out the worsted weight you had your eye on. Be suspicious. Some of these people are very experienced yarn shoppers
competing at the Olympic level. Keep your head down, use your list and map and move quickly. Don't hesitate. Remember, you can always remove items from your basket later, but if you stand there thinking about whether or not you really want the 50-percent-off alpaca, then Alison is going to swoop in and scoop it up with all the precision of a strike missile.

Step 4:
Don't underestimate the necessity of a good exit strategy. Many a fine knitter has gotten into a thing like this with no idea of how to get back out. Strike hard, strike fast, and make your getaway before things get complicated and you deviate from your plan and end up with sixteen skeins of a weird yellow wool that you have no idea what to do with.

Godspeed, and good luck.