|Not me, or Marsha|
It occurs to me that I haven’t written anything here about knitting yet. I’ve been knitting since my friend Marsha taught me how back in high school. Which means a lot of knits and purls and dropped stitches over the years.
All the sweaters I’d ever made over the course of nearly twenty-five years—several for my husband and for each of the kids—were gone, including the box of baby sweaters and blankets I’d tucked away, just in case we might have grandchildren eventually.
A brief history of knitting:
- Eons ago, Egyptian women figured out how to spin cotton and silk into thread and create a series of knots that became articles of clothing.
|Seriously? A Coptic sock|
- Once the art of knitting reached Europe along the trade routes from Egypt, knitters began using wool. The earliest references to knitting as we know it today date back to the early 14th century.
- What we refer to as fisherman sweaters were worn by actual fishermen; the lanolin in the untreated wool protected the men from the elements when they went to sea. The traditional patterns on such sweaters had significance to the wives who made them, and for the husbands who wore them: the honeycomb represented the hard-working bee; the rope-like cable pattern signified good luck; the diamond was a wish for success and wealth; and the basket stitch represented the hope for a good haul.
|I am not fishing here. I’m bottling merlot. But the same principles apply. Hard work, good luck, and a lot of bottles…|
It took me longer than seven days— longer than six days, I should say. More like a couple of months–three, tops. And I did it with yarn and knitting needles. I created the world with yarn and knitting needles, and then I gave it to a child who never really liked it because it was a “little itchy.”
|What a wonderful world…|
I still have the sweater. You don’t just toss out the universe when someone “outgrows” it, or because it’s “too itchy” to wear more than once. The boy I made it for is a grown man now. He vaguely remembers the sweater, but I see it every day, captured in a photograph. A tolerant young boy, hands at his sides, well-aware of the gross injustice imposed on him by having to wear this sweater.