— SCOTT ADAMS
Mistakes in knitting are inevitable. Don’t panic; you have options. Some patient knitters unknit their work one stitch at a time until they reach the mistake, unknit that, and have a do-over. This is time-consuming, but it works very well. Other experienced knitters choose to drop the stitches in the offending section, unravel them until they reach the error, then carefully retrieve the stitches and knit them back up correctly. A crochet hook can help. Bold knitters take the work off the needles completely, rip the work back, replace the needle, and go onward. The cleverest knitters ask themselves, “Is there any way I could repeat this error on the other side to make this a design feature?”
I will allow myself to consider “nontraditional” solutions to a knitting error.
Being defeated is often a temporary condition.
Giving up is what makes it permanent.
— MARILYN VOS SAVANT
Entrelac is a technique in knitting whereby a knitter creates a fascinating and beautiful multidirectional fabric by knitting little squares in opposite directions. Some knitters enjoy this to no end and advocate learning to knit backward to simplify the knitting of the millions of little squares. These knitters are patient and talented. In my experience, however, if you enjoy knitting entrelac, you may also want to try pulling all your nose hair out with tweezers.
I will feel free to dump a knitting technique that threatens my sanity and happiness.
An idea can turn to dust or magic,
depending on the talent that rubs against it.
— WILLIAM BERNBACH
For Christmas one year I made my sister-in-law Kate a “magic scarf.” The general idea is that you knit a scarf about one-third the length you would like it to be, then drop every other stitch as you cast off. This done, you pull both ends of the scarf, the dropped stitches run freely to the cast-on edge, and poof!, the scarf lengthens by about two-thirds. I imagined that working this magic would be sort of fun for Kate, so I left the scarf unpulled, tucked the instructions into the box, and sent it off. A year later I found out that Kate had missed the instruction sheet but had appreciated the stumpy little scarf and worn it dutifully for a year, even though it practically strangled her.
We can remember to look for the subtle signs that people appreciate our knitting.
Many men have been capable of doing
a wise thing, more a cunning thing,
but very few a generous thing.
— ALEXANDER POPE
My sister-in-law Kelly is a knitter and a generous person. Like many knitters, she gives away most of what all that she knits. Kelly had her eye on these beautiful one-of-a-kind hanks of yarn, imagining (finally) the most beautiful shawl for herself, and when the right color came along, she snapped it up. Weeks were spent on the shawl, and she ultimately finished her masterpiece while traveling to a friend’s home. When she arrived, she found a birthday party in full swing. Kelly was horrified for a minute that she had no gift; then it all became terribly clear. She brokenheartedly wrapped up her dream shawl and handed it over.
I will strive to accept that my knitting may have a destiny separate from my own.
Hardy folks don’t run from change;
they exult in its challenges.
— ANONYMOUS
Knitters have been devastated that, in some places, security restrictions have resulted in knitting needles being banned from planes. A knitter I know was taking a very long flight and simply couldn’t imagine not knitting. She and her husband put their heads together and came up with paper knitting needles. Tightly coil thin strips of paper, then pull out the center to make a long, pointed taper. Coat it with ordinary white glue to make it a little tougher, and you have a knitting needle that won’t set off X-ray machines or be considered dangerous like wood, metal, or plastic. She happily knit all the way to Australia.
I will try to be understanding about the rules and resist the urge to explain that I’m a bigger risk without my needles than with them.
Imagine if every Thursday your shoes
exploded if you tied them the usual way. This
happens to us all the time with computers,
and nobody thinks of complaining.
— JEFF RASKIN
Knitting has a big home on the Internet and within computers. Blogs (web logs) journal knitters’ work, patterns, and innovations, yarn shops have online shopping to let you buy yarn from an independent spinner across the world, and online groups connect knitters from around the world. You can buy software that designs sweaters, tracks your yarn purchases, or prints knitter’s graph paper or colorways for Fair Isle. At first this marriage between knitting and computers struck me as odd. Knitting seems like the opposite of computers, and I couldn’t image that the two were compatible. That didn’t last long. When I found out I could join a virtual knitting circle and ask 7,000 knitters worldwide what they thought I was doing wrong with buttonholes, I was hooked.
I will remember, should I choose to explore the virtual knitting world, that you can knit while using the computer if you put the keyboard on the floor and scroll with your toes.
SSS:
an abbreviation referring to the crippling
and common knitter’s affliction known as
Second Sock Syndrome.
SSS afflicts millions of knitters around the world, with conservative estimates claiming that 95 percent of knitters have suffered at some point in their sock-knitting careers, while a full 99 percent of knitters live in fear.
Knitters with SSS happily knit the first sock of a pair, enjoying the yarn, the pattern, and the process. When that sock is finished, they then find themselves completely and inexplicably unable to knit the second sock. At this point, knitters with SSS feel boredom, monotony, and the overwhelming urge to begin a new and unrelated pair of socks. Sadly, SSS is a repeating disease, and when the knitter casts on a new pair of socks, the cycle begins again.
Although we used to believe that SSS was contagious and spread from knitter to knitter, we now understand that it is spread by sock yarn itself. SSS is not fatal, but it can lead to an embarrassing number of single hand-knit socks and lone balls of yarn.
Should I begin to exhibit symptoms, I will treat SSS by immediately casting on the second sock, and avoid starting a pair of mittens at all costs.
A deadline is negative inspiration.
Still, it’s better than no inspiration at all.
— RITA MAE BROWN
My husband is a big guy. One year, as the holidays approached, I was overcome by the urge to display my love for him in wool. I rummaged through the stash and came up with enough wool to knit him a beautiful long-sleeved Aran sweater. I did the math for his 48-inch chest and surprisingly long arms, came up with a pattern, and began the immense task of knitting him a roomy sweater. I slogged through the front, then began the back, realizing with each stitch that I was in over my head. As much as I love him, as desperate as I was to make him something nice, I felt my strength falter as I knit each row of the enormous back, wishing all the while that I was married to somebody smaller, or that the holiday was further away. When I was finally finished, I poured myself a glass of wine and tried to face casting on the sleeves for what now seemed like his freakishly long arms. Suddenly the answer came to me. I didn’t need a smaller husband; I needed to make a vest.
An open mind is a powerful thing. I will leave room in my plans for inspiration.
The only Zen you find on tops of mountains
is the Zen you bring there.
— ROBERT M. PIRSIG
I had chosen to knit a plain navy cardigan. It was boring me to tears but left me lots of time to think. As I knit it, I realized what purpose it was here to fulfill. It was a Zen sweater, with no distracting color, style, or stitch pattern. Just miles and miles of pure, unadulterated, mind-numbing stockinette stitch, without any of the distracting design elements to stand between me and its sweater essence.
I gave in to it and its lesso
n for me, and became one with the sweater. I was given the opportunity to reflect on my act of knitting and enter a simple meditative state, where I was capable of deep inner realization and reflection. In this trancelike state, you can reach deep introspective places, ask complex questions of your inner self, find answers that lead to greater harmony with your spirit, and have the opportunity to become more fully centered as a human being.
I will work toward becoming a better person so that my deep questions aren’t just, “Will this boring sweater never end?” or, “What am I … a masochist?”
To love deeply in one direction
makes us more loving in all others.
— ANNE-SOPHIE SWETCHINE
I love to knit. It is my reward for good behavior, my friend when I am lonely or impatient, and a constant source of entertainment when I am bored. I appreciate that I am getting to be productive and feel happy that I am being useful and clever, using two pointy sticks to turn common yarn into things that will long outlast me. Each stitch makes something that was not there before, and this simple act of creation fills me up.
I will not make apologies for thoroughly enjoying the pleasant act of knitting. You can call me crazy or obsessive, but I still say that this makes more sense than golf.
This is my simple religion. There is no need
for temples; no need for complicated
philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart
is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.
— DALAI LAMA
There are knitters who find that the practice of knitting, done mindfully and meditatively, can be a spiritual one. Some of these knitters make prayer shawls for others who need their thoughts, love, and concern during a difficult time. Each shawl is knit as religious expression, and each stitch is infused with love, gentleness, and good wishes for those who need it most. The lucky recipients of this act of kindness say that they can feel the support and love of the knitter when they wrap the shawl around their shoulders.
I respect the intent of these shawls and the fine purpose with which they are knit. I will make one as soon as I learn not to curse when I drop a stitch, because I worry about what I’d infuse it with.
Trust your instinct to the end,
though you can render no reason.
— RALPH WALDO EMERSON
I wonder about my fascination with hunting for knitting magazines. I stalk them in shops, checking every store until I have collected all of a season’s issues, practically laughing out loud when I score one at the grocery store. I make opportunities to walk past big bookstores so that I can casually nip inside and scour the shelves for them. I buy them without looking inside to see whether there is anything good, get jealous if I find out some other knitter bagged one before I did, and have occasionally purchased the same issue twice because I got a little excited.
I accept this as normal behavior, and accept that my unwillingness to get a subscription is a throwback to primitive humans’ hunter-gatherer instincts.
You know you
knit too much when …
You show up at your favorite
yarn shop’s huge annual sale
and, before you can go in
and shop with the other
knitters, the owner takes
you aside to remind you that
she doesn’t want a repeat of
what happened last year.
One of the most obvious facts about grownups
to a child is that they have forgotten what
it is like to be a child.
— RANDALL JARRELL
My friend Ken was knitting on a bus during his daily commute. He was working on a sock and using five very fine metal double-pointed needles. Ken’s a quick knitter, and the little boy in the seat in front of him was turned around to watch, very interested in the flashing needles.
“What are you doing?” the little boy asked.
“Knitting a sock,” replied Ken, smiling warmly at the boy. The little lad watched intently for a few more minutes before a mischievous grin crept across his face.
“It looks dangerous,” he said.
People knit for their own reasons. I will remember this little boy and consider giving kids his age plastic needles with which to learn.
You know you
knit too much when …
Without your knitting,
you feel lonely.
Mi taku oyasin. [We are all related.]
— LAKOTA SAYING
You may be an only child. Perhaps you are the only man in a knitting guild or, like me, quite short and never in control of your laundry.
It doesn’t matter, for you are a knitter, and to belong completely, no matter how different you may appear to be….
… all you need to do is find more knitters.
Acknowledgments
Without the help of these people, there would be no book. My flock is to be thanked.
Storey Publishing, for coming up with the idea, thinking that I could do it, and making the birth as painless as possible.
Siobhan Dunn and Deborah Balmuth, my editors, who were patient and clever.
Linda Roghaar, my really good agent, who put up with countless neurotic, paranoid, panicked phone calls and who totally gets the whole knitting thing.
Bonnie McPhee, my mother, who taught me that the written word is a force to be reckoned with, phoned me with quotations all the time, and never acted like writing wasn’t a real job.
Kelly Dunphy, for thinking of the perfect thing to do when I was stuck (twice).
Ken Allen, my dear friend, who lent me a laptop so I could write in the park, gave me wool for my birthday, and never thought that liking knitting this much was dorky.
Lene Andersen, who suffered endlessly as I wrote this and truthfully answered the question “Is that funny?” about 5,000 times.
Ian, Erin, and Ali, for baby-sitting, laughing, and wearing all the knitted stuff.
My darling Joe and my daughters Amanda, Megan, and Samantha, for never getting sick of it all, for thinking that the book was cool, and for eating a lot of pizza toward the end.
Finally, I need to thank every knitter that I ever met. This book is about you.
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