Knitting is Part of my Daily Life

A funny thing happens to me occasionally: I become absorbed in thoughts that begin with, “I really should…..,” and eventually I organize the clutter in the spare room, toss old magazines, heap piles to be taken to the recycle bin, pull seldom-worn clothes from hangers, check for outdated aspirin in the medicine chest, make a list of letters to be written, and totally lose my creative spirit in the process. It is like seeing the wagging finger that used to tell me, when I was a child, that I can’t just do the things I like to do, that there are matters of general importance to be attended to.

My grandmother used to be that person who would not allow dirty dishes in the sink or an unmade bed or a pair of shoes left under the table. She would frown at the things my mother promoted. Things like reading a book or drawing a picture or standing by the window and dreaming up a fairy tale.

I think I have learned from both of them except that I have a warped sense of timing; I don’t do anything according to schedule or in a measured way, especially not since I retired. Which means that my grandmother’s matters of general importance, after a certain amount of time, accumulate into an obstacle course. At which point I attack them with fast and furious determination until they, once more, settle into their minor roles as determined by my mother’s unconventional outlook.

Lucky for me both of them were knitters, my grandmother out of necessity, my mother because she loved to create beautiful things. As a result knitting is part of my daily life, outside the guilt or inspiration zone. In other words, whether I find it necessary to reline kitchen cupboards or desirable to paint a mural, I will knit.

Yesterday I knitted Bear number seventy-two.