I could be forgiven for thinking not much these days, but really – this blogging thing can create a sense that I must knit ALL the time if I am to be other than a slacker, and I just haven’t wanted to for a while. (I tend to post random photos and online quizzes–have you noticed?)
The thing about blogging my knitting is that I”M SO SLOW.
A narrative arc develops stitch by stitch by stitch – which is what makes knitting so intrinsically tactile and satisfying and wonderful. (There is only so much chatter I can write about a cuff or screwing up a count or fretting about an armsecye).
But as a subject for the Internet, I’m better off with modest progress pictures and a big reveal (See Finally! Knitting!)
Blogging is still ideal for the emotional narrative of what knitting means in a life – for whatever emotional narrative any passion means in a life. And a blog is perfect for the many passions-the color of the kitchen walls, what I’m going to use for counter tops, the hotel, my kayaking (at which I suck, but it’s not an Olympic sport for me), a 4-7-12 year backstory and no known ending yet, but it’s connected to things, other people, feelings and friendship and love and hope and disappointment and irony that are just too complex and personal for me to keep to myself.
And I’m not even sorry about that.
The blogs I have been reading are perfume blogs and sewing blogs and arts blogs and CANADIAN political blogs and food blogs. I started reading blogs after 9/11 – discovered them when I was looking for better news sources and then had this whole world opened to me.
But I do love knitting. Today it is damp and foggy and I am just back from the coast and I have no headache and I am wearing my own pair of self-made socks and the Dream in Color pullover (Visual Purple) I made last winter (I think that is the maximum acceptable handknit:body style ) and I am warm.
Last night I found myself making mental notes about what I would change the next time, which is the unmistakable intellectual stirring of a knitter exiting hibernation. (Except for car knitting and that doesn’t really count).
The other thing I have been doing is reading until my eyes fall out. And I can’t – nor do I want – to do both at once.I read a lot. I have books all over. Anywhere where I might possible be stuck with –gasp!-nothing to do. Car books. Waiting room books. Bathroom books. Hot tub books. Bedside books. Drop in my handbag books (I have to hide those since we aren’t supposed to have them a work. Quelle horrors! Call out the Garda. Put me in chains.)
But the thing I LOVE about knitting – back to my original point – is that it is infinite. Never done if you don’t want it to be. You can find a mistake, no matter how infinitesimal and rip it out., Or not.
It is as infinite as self knowledge, as infinite as learning itself. And it waits for you until you are ready to move on.
Knitting almost always leaves room for you to get it right someday . That’s what I love