Two Sticks and a String

I was just a little girl, probably about eight, when curious about how my grandmother made big, soft blankets, intricate sweaters, and countless mittens and baby booties, I asked her to teach me to knit. I so wanted to be able to do what she did with such apparent ease.

With some non-knitting breaks over the years for school, horses, and boys, I’ve practiced – though by no means perfected - the skill she patiently taught me so many years ago. My Nana was left-handed; I was right-handed. My body’s somatic nervous system and cerebellum are in agreement that my left hand is useful for balance. Period. Somehow, she managed to teach me to knit with her right hand dominant. On my best day, I could never, ever teach a left-handed person to knit using my left hand to hold and manipulate the most active knitting needle. She was amazing – an Olympic-level manual gymnast.

She showed me the simplest, most basic method to move yarn from its ball onto a pointy stick and have it stay there. I practiced until it came easily and the cast on stitches were reasonably even and of (more or less) the same tension. Then she taught me how to make a row of knitting, explaining that the process is simply hooking one little loop into another. When I seemed confused, she picked up pen and paper and drew a chain – ah-ha! Of course, it’s not quite that simple, but that’s where it all begins. The chain image made sense to me – if I can see how something works, I can make it happen in some kind of weird communication between my brain and my hands.

She gave me a bag of leftover yarn and a pair of needles and charged me with making a scarf. It became like Joseph’s coat of many colors with all the scrambled leftover hues I’d seen in her afghans, in hats, in her beautiful sweaters. There were mistakes. Lots of them, but I just kept on going as I had no idea how to un-do a mistake at those early stages of learning her skill. She was my vigilant, enthusiastic cheerleader and I kept on knitting until the messy thing was about five feet long. My lord, it was ugly, but I was hooked.

When I was pregnant with my first baby, I made a soft yellow blanket. My grandmother, still very much alive and thrilled at the aspect of becoming a GREAT-grandmother, knitted her booties, a sweater, and a hat to match. They were white, and lacy, and the edges were interwoven with a thin pink satin ribbon. Gorgeous. Fifty years later, I still have them.

I knitted sweaters for my boys when they were little. For the older son, a thick Icelandic design that I believe, he still has! Last Christmas, I made him an Aran scarf. For the younger, a tan zippered-front cardigan with a warm hood and pockets for little hands and when he was older, a soft navy-blue Merino turtleneck.

So many years have passed. My beloved grandmother died, my children became adults, I aged. But with the passing years I became a grandmother, too. So, for those ten (!) beautiful, diverse, big-hearted, hilarious children…I knitted, and knitted. I made fat, warm socks, more sweaters than I can count, hats, scarves, and even a dress. I still knit for their parents and have finally made a sweater for myself. It pleases me more than I can say to make something to keep them all warm, to give them a piece of my heart and pour love into every stitch.

Knitting has given me so much – thank you, Nana! Aside from making things for my family and friends, I’ve taught knitting at a local cancer support center for the last ten years. Knitting is meditative, it’s challenging sometimes, granted, but it’s creative and deeply satisfying. There’s something about soft yarn running through your fingers, the feel of two warm wooden needles in your hands, the soft click-click of each stitch that is just about the best kind of comfort. As well, it’s great to know that if you really mess up, you can rip stitches out and make everything okay again. Wouldn’t it be nice if that worked for life itself? But, if we screw up, as of today we can’t re-wind time and undo mistakes. We have to suck it up, apologize, and find a way to go forward. Lesson learned. Knitting is easier than life.

So, here I sit with a heathered dark green sweater on one set of needles and a soft, intricately patterned scarf on another. It’s my peace, my centering, my connection with the sweet tiny old lady who was my grandmother. Every single stitch makes me happy. Lucky me.