My first post on my knitting blog- how exciting! I don't really know what to write or where to start. Maybe my beginnings as a knitter? Yes, that seems logical.
I suppose I've known to knit for far longer than I imagine. My mother taught me at a young age, but since I was (am) a stubborn girl, I never got into it. I went through that inevitable stage when everything mother does is dowdy. Well, I grew out of that eventually, and sat down to try to learn. Now, I cannot say that my process of learning how to knit was "peaceful" or "calming." No, it was more "traumatic" and "painful". Well, to start, anyhow. I have since convinced myself that it was the yarn's fault. Yes, that's right- I mean, poor unfortunate soul that I was, poor neglected, fiber-starved child (not dietary) that had to learn on Lion Brand Honespun! Yes, I know, it was terrible- it split everywhere, caught on my neglected cuticles, and the boucle kept sliding and bunching. It was miserable- but not necessarily just because of the yarn. I cast on a scarf that had about 60 (yes, 60
) stitches. I got through about four rows, and was whupped. I felt completely dominated by this stupid, bunchy,scratchy, fuzzy yarn- and that was essentially the truth of the matter. I gave up for the time being. I threw the scarf beginning and the skein of evil into the closet, to fester in the corner, while I pretended to not hear it taunting me- Britta... you know I'm in here... you will never finish me... I have won.
Well, dammit, I was not going to let a stupid ball of yarn get away with that. Just to show it who was boss (and my neck was freezing- Minnesota gets real cold, dontcha know) I ripped out my former working, quite aggressively I might add, and cast on a more reasonable 25 stitches. And I knit. And I yelled obscenities as I dropped stitches.
Well, as you could probably guess, the resulting...uh... "object" was a complete monstrosity. It was so riddled with holes, it looked like it had been used for target practice by a firing squad. I also realized that the color and texture strangely resembled something my cat puked up after eating a dead leaf. I wondered what possessed me to finish it- stupidity? Stubbornness? Or was it something else? It ended up being that something else.
I slowly discovered the beauty and virtue of wool. Almighty wool, I bow down to you, for you have saved me from the abysmal pit of fun fur and homespun. All hail mighty wool.
So now, I have been knitting steadily for about a year and a half. I am working up courage to knit a sweater. Part of me wants to wait until after I 've lost that weight that I have been meaning to lose for 3 years. Another part says Do it already!
Well, I have to go finish up some homework (oh, college) and sleep. Have a nice evening.