Things I Learned From Knitting (9 page)

It turns out (lucky for her) that I am not that brave. So my ugly cabled aran and I sat in stony silence, trying to telegraph my opinion of such a biased and insulting knitter through the air. After a while, she sat down and took out her knitting, a sweater with great masses of bobbles down the front, and I suddenly caught myself thinking it.

Bobbles? Bobbles are ugly. I hate bobbles. If you knit bobbles on the front of a sweater, they look like nipples. Furthermore, multiple bobbles down the front of sweater make it look as though you're equipped to nurse a litter. No wonder she doesn't care for cables. She's a bobble knitter!

Seconds later, my brain caught up with me, and I was properly ashamed. Pardon me. I don't know where that came from. Bobble on, dear knitters — and to each their own.

I ONCE MET A KNITTER WHO
, when she ran out of yarn money, made a bold choice: Flat out of yarn, she had taken her birth-control money for that month and bought the yarn she needed instead.

I was stunned. Being a woman (and a mother) of some experience, I pointed out to her that this choice seemed … risky. As a general rule, the consequences of skimping on birth control are cute but expensive. I've got three teenagers who have ended up being pretty hard on the yarn budget.

She laughed then, and stated the simple truth. She and her husband weren't going to need birth control that month. She had looked through her life for what she could do without for thirty days … and it wasn't yarn.

MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE KNITTING
has such a rich and varied history. Maybe it's because so many knitters have finished projects that prove they're successful (this point can be demoralizing if you're not currently enjoying knitting success). Or maybe it's because knitting was considered child labor until the turn of the century (and remains so in some parts of the world). Most knitters will eventually come to believe that there is very little they can't accomplish in knitting. They might not be able to do it now, they might not be able to do it for some time, but generally speaking, if a human possesses the intelligence and hand-eye coordination to read and write at a minimum level, then he is capable of being a darned solid knitter.

Knitters are of two minds when it comes to telling people the truth about how easy knitting
is. On the one hand, it's great to hear all of those people say, “I'm not smart enough to knit” or “I could never do something that hard.” It's empowering that they all think so highly of us. If they believe that it takes a special gift to knit, then it follows that they think knitters are smarter than they are in some ways. Frankly, with all of the disrespect knitters get dealt sometimes, I have to admit that I quite like that they think knitting is too difficult or would outwit them. It's like my own personal revenge for all the times that people have giggled at me for my plans to spend a wasteful afternoon knitting while they were on their way to a golf course.

On the other hand, I think highly enough of knitting that I can be a bit of a missionary about it. I'm never going to stand in an airport wearing a hand-knit sweater and handing out balls of yarn, but I do enjoy spreading the word of knit far and wide and often feel compelled to urge others to try it if they show even the slightest bit of interest. In this process, I often tell them the truth: If they dressed themselves today, they're smart enough to knit, and if their clothes match,
they're smart enough to knit well. I toss in that I have faith in their ability to learn, because if my six-year-old can make a potholder, then a grownup who regularly fires up a computer or operates a car can totally pull off a garter-stitch scarf. Heck, I bet she can even make a hat to go with it. I remind them that everybody feels dumb and awkward about new things in the beginning, and that they can learn to knit as they learned everything else. I show them what I used to make and what I make now. I tell them that it turns out that there's not much difference between a scarf and a lace shawl, once you get going. I'm reassuring, I urge them to try, and I offer to show them.

Then I remember that if I am successful in convincing them that it's not hard and they do become knitters … they are going to be competing for some of the world's yarn supply. In my next life, I'm going to try to be a better person, the sort of person who doesn't shut up about the wonders of knitting when she thinks about creating competition.

I SUPPOSE IT IS WISHFUL THINKING
, justification for all the time that I spend knitting, but I am sure that knitting is teaching me life lessons all the time. I believe that humans learn best in small ways and that if they need to grasp a larger concept, it helps to have it illustrated first on a small scale. Knitting is downright excellent for this. Need to learn that work pays off? Knitting's a grand illustrator. Trying to grasp the concept to be prepared at all times? Buy more yarn. Internalizing “appearance isn't everything”? We knitters learned that lesson when we loved a hideous scarf we made ourselves just because we made it ourselves. Knitting is a fountain of teachable moments.

I don't know why, then, but the one thing I can't seem to learn from knitting, despite ample opportunity, is the idea that “there's always more where that came from.” Anyone would think that
after decades of dedicated yarn buying, watching yarns come and go over the years, I would learn that just because a yarn is discontinued or scarce or special to me doesn't mean that I need to buy it up and hoard it like a squirrel with obsessive-compulsive issues, trying to shield myself against the day I can't get more. If I see that a yarn is discontinued and on a sale table, just the idea that it's going away forever makes me want it.

I worry. I worry that I will miss it. I worry nobody will ever make another yarn I like as well. I worry that the person dying the yarn so beautifully will herself die. I worry I will run out of money and won't be able to buy yarn in the sad and distant future. I worry about global warming affecting sheep so that they don't grow as much fleece. I worry that this will make yarn too expensive and then I won't be able to afford it. I worry that this yarn I love will be the only yarn I ever love and that for the rest of my days I will regret not having it. I worry about this despite always finding a new yarn that I love just as well as the one that I swore my undying allegiance to mere moments before.

The truth, is that yarn is sort of like a high school boyfriend. While you're with him, he seems to you to be the most beautiful and wonderful man, and you know you'll never find anyone else like him nor survive in a life that doesn't contain him. Then, after the breakup and a tub or two of ice cream, you find out that there's another one you like just as well … or even better.

I know this, I really do, but when I see that yarn I love, lying there on the sale table for the last time ever, half-price and lonely? I just can't shake the feeling that there really might not be more where that came from.

Knitting is still trying to teach me …

PATIENCE. ENOUGH SAID.

THERE ARE UPSIDES AND DOWNSIDES
to having a finely honed stash. All knitters experience times of retarded cash flow. Having a good stash around the house is sort of like having a highly personalized yarn store where you can shop for free. Stashes are a creative source, a fountain of inspiration and the genesis of many a fine project. But if you let a stash get the upper hand, that advantage can become a massive complication.

Owning a spectacular yarn collection can become a source of pressure. Many a fine knitter has crumbled under the psychic weight of the stash and ended up its servant, casting on and off as the stash dictates, starting project after project after falling victim to the multitude of offerings her stash can make. For a knitter with low stash resistance, a big cache of yarn can feel almost
like a burden — the weight of innumerable unknit skeins pressing down on the knitter while screaming “Pick me! Pick me!”

Some knitters handle this pressure by deciding not to have much of a stash at all. They buy as they go and keep little in reserve. These knitters are likely to have one of those handy “jobs” or “careers” that provide them with a stable yarn budget. Then there are those knitters who, like me, require a stash to support them through the lean times and feel that, for the most part, stash ownership is inspiring. These knitters need to manage the pressures of the stash through self-discipline and by keeping the stash at bay.

It has taken me years to learn that I am the boss of my stash. My stash is there for me to pick and choose from, to be inspired by, and for me to use as I see fit. Of course, there are still times when I go into the stash to get one ball of sock yarn and emerge with plans for two sweaters, a hat, and a set of mittens, as well as a slightly dirty feeling, but with practice, I now rule the stash.