This fall I learned to knit. I aso learned to knit one summer when I was about 8, again around 12 or 13, and then off an on throughout my early twenties. Each time my grandma patiently taught me how to cast on, to knit and to purl. I’d struggle through a scarf or, honestly, just a wonky mostly-rectangular knitted shape, sometimes mixing up my stitches when I picked it back up after a month (or year) of ignoring it. She would then kindly show my how to cast off, and by then I had completely forgotten how to begin again. But this fall I buckled down, and with the repeated help of youtube (and at the urging of a wonderful, knitter friend) I finally learned to knit.
I knit flat things, and I knit round things! I knitted wool into a shape and then felted it into a beer bottle koozie! I knitted a hat! A baby blanket! A shawl! My knitting ego grew with leaps and bounds until I decided to bite off the unthinkable, I would knit a sweater. And I mostly have. The arm tubes joined up this weekend to the belly tube, and I’m in the home stretch, spiraling my way towards the ribbed neckline.
Thank you grandma for your patience with the slowest student ever. And if you were still around, I’d knit you something nice.