Just about three years ago I decided to learn to knit. I have always wanted to learn to knit as I am a lover of sweaters. My husband claims that I have many sweaters. What is many? Is there such a thing as having too many sweaters? I don’t think so. And besides, I have shared that I am cold, so the more sweaters the better. Right? 60? 70? 80? Does it matter?
If you glanced at my Shelfari bookcase you noticed I am reading Death by Cashmere, a mystery novel by author, Sally Goldenbaum. I am not a good mystery reader. I am not patient enough to enjoy the read and discover the who done it, but I am reading the hunt as Izzy and her Aunt Nell find out who killed the beautiful, and mysterious red head, who lived above Izzy’s knitting shop. During a Thursday night knitting group gathering, an older and wiser member tells a new knitter, “Scarves alone do not a knitter make” (164). This is the transition I have been in for way too long.I am not a fearless knitter as Sandi Wiseheart encourages me to be through her wonderful e-newsletter. The truth is, this is my second attempt at learning to knit. Years ago, maybe when I was around ten years of age, my family was visiting favorite aunts, uncles, and cousins in Shreveport, Louisiana. One afternoon I found myself home with a cousin or two and my Aunt Gladys. Aunt Gladys is really a some number removed cousin, but her love and her age, made her my aunt. She is one of the strongest women in my family, but that is her story to tell not mine. The afternoon turned dark and stormy. As I recall, really stormy. Not being used to thunder and lightening, I was afraid. Storms still bother me even though I have lived in Tornado Alley for the past fifteen years. Aunt Gladys, pulled out a skein of green and yellow variegated yarn and two long, blue metal knitting needles. She sat with me quietly as the storm raged and taught me the knit stitch. I knit, and knit, and knit the storm away. When the weather changed, the knitting was abandoned.