There was a time not that many sleeps ago that I thought that all wool was created equal. Gaudy balls of raspy fibres lining the fluorescent lit aisles of Big W. Knit one, purl one, knit one, purl one...drop a stitch...poke concentration tongue out harder in a last ditch effort to save said stitch....pitch the whole lurid creation at the floor and stomp off huffily. Deflated, with nerves all prickly and raw. Scraggy, coarse yarn repelling all touch.
My former self would no doubt be intimidated by the girl I have become. Time and a whole lot of practice, tedious knitting and re-knitting, and casting the net far and wide in search of answers to my often simple minded questions has finally made the penny drop. The code is no longer fuzzy nor does it send my synapses into paralysis. The gentle, rhythmic motion now relaxes my day weary body and nourishes my soul. I have become a knitter.
I believe that all new growth after much toil should be rewarded and so a gleaming new swift and ball winder has become my very own. Those twisty skeins of yarn I so long admired yet was too scared to ask what they were and how could I possibly get them onto needles can now with an effervescent turn of the handle become perfect balls. It is also a family affair that elicits much laughter!
Pale blue pima cotton transformed ready for Mumma's needles. A wee summer vest
for my blue girl I daresay. Knit one, purl one, knit one.......
Joining this wonderful community