Category: Good Intentions

You know when something is so good you want to shout it from a mountain? I don’t know why…just to share perhaps? Just to be a moron, maybe? Well, I feel like shouting today. I’m on the road again. Finger on the trigger, lemme saddle up.
Transmit this from your mountain top: today I hit golf balls. 1/2 a bucket for the first time in nearly eight years. Okay, so I’ve lost the sweet spot. So my swing feels alittle stupid, but, but, but I hit enough good ones to know my clubs haven’t forgotten me. I had to laugh at him. Here’s what I said somewhere else: Fukc him and his idea that I’ll never be any good. Fukc him and his high fairway only horse. I like swinging the club and that’s all that matters.
Transmit this: I’m back in the game.

Knitting was another one of those things I loved doing but could never claim to be any good at. In fact, if anything, I could only brag I was proficient at making one thing: four sided shapes. Squares and rectangles seemed to be my forte and I would create them all the time. If I was feeling ambitious I would take all my squares and rectangles and stitch them together to make something really spectacular, a blanket. I did that once. I made my mother a blanket shortly after dad passed away. It’s coming apart at the seams, but she still has it. My crowning achievement. My pride and joy. I had grand designs to do it again for my honeymoon.
After years of making four sided shapes I sensed hints of bigger and better things from my family. Gifts in the form of knitting books, gift certificates to yarn stores and skeins of same-weight yarn whispered the potential to make something more complicated. Either my family had faith in me to move onto something more complex or they were sick of seeing squares. I’m not sure. After all, the honeymoon blanket is still in pieces. When my mother-in-law presented me with two technique books and yet another gift certificate to a yarn store I caved and bought myself lessons. First time, beginner to knitting lessons. Never mind that I’ve built a blanket. Never mind that I know the difference between knit and purl, long tail cast on and garter stitch. Never mind all that. Truth be told, I wanted to learn how to knit with two hands. I wanted to learn how to avoid digging one needle into my hip for support. I wanted to learn how to knit standing up. If there was such a thing as proper knitting I wanted to learn it.

Today was the first class. As with anything involving social graces I was worried sick I would be the fool. With only five of us in the class I was worried I would be the sore thumb in a handful of graceful fingers. The palm was against me: two mother-daughter pairs and little ole me. I told kisa it would have been nice to have my mother there. I was envious of the heads bowed close together, counting each other stitches, admiring each others’ rows. Gentle murmurs of “that looks great honey” and “did you see how she picked up that stitch?” They whispered back and forth while I worded nothing to nobody.
Sometime later their conversations spilled like marbles out to me and I picked up a few. We talked cable television. We talked parenting. We talked Food Network. I found a kindred spirit in one of the daughters. Not wanting kids or commitment she was the coolest of the bunch. We talked Alton Brown and agreed that cable packages should be pick and choose show specific. We’d only want the cooking shows.
At the end of the class I learned a few new things about knitting. I’ve been doing it right all along. Imagine that. The hip was a crutch I can now throw away.