Well, it doesn't count for much. It is not like the way that I USED to knit, with my shoulders up there for earrings, rocketing through a hand knitted sweater a week (yes, I truly did create a one-off garment in about 40 hours). This time, the knitting began because I wanted to get my hands on the Baby Alpaca Sport, for ME. You know that I have a really big library of books that I have collected since the early '80s, when the Brits led the charge with needles held high. I was SO inspired back then. I would pour through these magnificent picture books, just devouring color and visuals just before bed. This would allow me to dream in color and have my prayers of inspiration answered in the morning, when I would gather together some new handspun yarn and some other bits and bobs from the bags and bags of precious little balls of LEFT OVER handspun yarn. It was in my Dent in the Couch that I would create my pieces, only in the daylight hours because light was my friend, there in the world of a painter with fiber. Painters need their north light in the garrets and I needed my diffused southern light to show me the way.
Times changed and I needed to make enough money to help with college tuition. The muse showed me that I could teach myself to dye cotton yarn in a manner that echoed my dyed-in-the-wool handspun, allowing me to have some sort of integrity as an artist. The knitting machine became my TOOL and it seemed that I only knitted by hand when I finished off cuffs and necklines. For the Love of Pete, this was not my kind of knitting. It did, however, pay those bills.
I finally said ENOUGH one day and gave my knitting machines to a friend (Hi Trish! I miss you!), which was the only way that I knew that I could stop myself from making the proverbial Just One More for this person or that person who had been collecting and yatta yatta yatta. When the machines went, so did the need to pound my creativity into the ground.
I started to design and knit one of a kind garments again, that and take yarn to shows again. It was not a smart idea, money-wise, to get back to hand knitting, but for my soul it was an elixer. People began seeking me out at shows, paying no attention to the garments, focusing on the little baskets of yarn everywhere. Ok. I see. I started to put my precious handspun up on the walls of the booth and watched it fly out of there. Alright...people are knitting again, I see it.
I began giving over more and more of the booth to my yarns and because I was doing so much dyeing and spinning, there was less and less time (or sense) in spending 40 hours knitting a $500 sweater. You see where this is going, yes?
9/11 hit. It was all that I could do to seek out my most precious handmade needles and my most precious handspun yarn, to soothe myself. It kept me centered. Little did I know that I was part of an invisible web that attached me to so many people across the country. We heard no planes in the air and we held yarn and needles. I was telling a friend about the leap of faith I took to show up in Santa Monica that November, to set up a little booth at the Contemporary Crafts Market. I had one grid wall set up with yarn (a fraction of what things look like now.) and by the end of the weekend that wall was pretty much cleaned out. I was shocked to meet a woman from Manhattan who told me that her world and that of others, there on that island was all about comfort food and drink and...knitting. She took two bags, big bags of yarn home with her that weekend. She obviously made quite an impression on me and I knew that knitting was going to help things keep going.
From that time on, more and more people came to me for yarn and not sweaters. They were knitting for themselves. Ok. I hear you. Now the young caught this bug and claimed it for themselves as their grandmothers had, knitting socks. It was a phenomenon and I strapped in for the ride. I just didn't knit anymore because I guess that I didn't NEED to or didn't find the time to or something. Perhaps it was because EVERYONE and her sister was knitting and it wasn't my secret anymore. (I always was contrary like that.) I have been spinning and dyeing for 25 years or so and the spinning took the place of solace in my very very very hectic life.
On Sunday, after having relieved myself of the stock, I decided that it would be a VERY good thing to pick up my lovely needles and see what the Baby Alpaca Sport had to say to me. I dragged out a simple lace pattern that is a fairly simple 10 stitch and 8 row repeat (Willow Stitch), fired 33 stitches on the size 10 needles (they are "normal" for me) and sat with the mantra of yarn-overs and slip one, knit two together, pass over beginning in my head. It was soothing.
There have been a lot of angry voices and angry deeds swirling around the world lately and just when I think that I can't stop gnashing my teeth, I remember that this is what knitting does for me. It takes me away from this time like nothing else. I can spin and listen to TV and hold a conversation but if I want some time just for me, it is with my needles and some fabulous yarn. This time it was with my new yarn...not hand spun but dreamy.
As Ty Pennington says to the families he rescues, Welcome home, Lisa Souza, Welcome Home.