On the needles: Waves

My first foray into cables has been a bit dodgy.  I offered to knit something for a local mama who I’m bartering with and she said “gloves?” and I said “god no”. So she said “scarf?” and I said “okay!”.  And then I saw this pattern and thought “beautiful”, then I started knitting it and thought “oh my god what was I thinking?”

It’s not that hard, I’m just complaining.  It involves a lot more thinking than I’m used to in the scarf department (meaning: any).  The cables and the counting and the front and the back.  The design is lovely and the designer is local to me so I think that’s really what decided it.  Even though there is a little too much thinking for my usual laziness, I’m sticking with it because it’s always good to try something once.  Like gloves.

As much as I enjoy working with wool, I decided on an acrylic yarn for this for a couple reasons:

1. I’ve gotten over my natural fiber snobbery – while I love a good creamy homespun, no everyone wants to deal with the upkeep of wool.
2. She has babies so, washability (see #1).
3. The colors were in alignment with her request and are rather lovely (I couldn’t find any wool that hit the mark and wasn’t a zillion dollars a skein).
4. It’s nice and fat and chunky which falls right in with my lazy knitter ideals.


I’m one skein in and I think I’m finally getting a bit of a rhythm down.  Only 2 (or 3, or 4?) more to go!



I was going to put a disclaimer on this post, but decided not to.  It just is, I just am.  That is the point, isn’t it?

I made a big decision this week, one that has been a long time coming.  I had to go my own road to get there, and there have been many twists and turns, but finally a few things just settled into place and it all makes sense.  There’s been a lot of THAT going on lately and I’m kind of in love with it.

Since I was small, I’ve been a very creative person.  I’ve always enjoyed and had a decent level of skill at making things.  Be it drawing, painting, sewing, knitting, etc, I’ve had an ‘eye’ for those things my whole life.  If you ask my (almost 14 yo) niece she’ll tell you, I can make or do anything (okay, she’s biased).

Several years ago, just before Hopper was born, a local acquaintance started a blog.  Her blog became very popular, very quickly.  If you’ve ever had an affection for crafty, earthy blogs, you no doubt have been to, and likely fawned over, her blog (and/or her books).  A friend of mine suggested I too start a blog.  I’d been particularly prolific in my knitting around that time and I thought sure, I can do this.  Even better I would get to WRITE (see previous posts describing writing drought in my previous relationship).

So with my shitty camera, witty words and a need to write, I began.  Except, when I sidled my blog up against hers, mine sucked.  My camera sucked.  My knitting sucked.  I had no real time or space to craft.  My relationship was (continuously) on the rocks.  My amazing son was on the verge of being diagnosed with Autism.  My life felt utterly unmanageable and here she was doling out perfectly prepared plates of her delicious creations and family for her readers eager palates.  Everything about her blog was, and is, (to most) perfect.  My life was the polar opposite.  I wanted desperately to connect with people and I wanted, no needed, a little bite of the attention she was getting.  I felt bad and I thought that the attention would feel good, would validate me somehow, some way.

I have so many marvelous ideas of things to create I could fill volumes.  But I’ve never mastered the skill of making the time to make.  Reading her blog, watching her make glorious things, earn a book deal, all while churning out one gorgeous child after another – it became a sort of masochistic compulsion.  And then I had to stop.  But I kept peeking back once in a while, running into her here and there around town.  I never hated her, I just hated what her blog reminded me that I didn’t have in my life.  Insecurity 101.

Starting this blog has been the beginning of me reframing my perspective, my life, reclaiming my journey.  I am not her.  She is not me.  A few weeks ago when I ALLOWED myself to own that I am indeed a writer and I do, indeed, NEED to write and that I WILL make it a priority, something started to shift.  I started to see myself, and my material possessions, in a different light.

I have a large cabinet downstairs FULL to the brim with fabric.  I have boxes of trims, buttons, threads, elastics, etc.  I have more boxes of fabric.  I even got rid of a large box full of fabric when I was organizing the cabinet a couple months ago.  I have all the necessary components for creating some of my most fabulous ideas.  Unfortunately, what I don’t have, is the deep passion to do it or even the time.

I had a moment this week where I realized I have shed the idea that I wanted to be this other blogger-mama.  A ‘keeping up with the Jones’ type I am completely NOT, unless we’re talking about this mama.  I have stacks of fabrics that I got because they were like some she had and a smattering of other treasures found at yard sales and rummage sales that I got with her in mind.  I like her style, yes, but this was something different.  Almost like a subconscious obsession in a way.  I do genuinely like  the style of the things I’ve collected over the years, but it struck me that not only do I not need those things anymore, I don’t want them, I don’t have time or space for them. They are literally of no use to me on this journey anymore.  I am not and never will be a ‘craft blogger’. Oh that feels good to finally figure out!

I would love to have the time to sew a beach blanket for us or totes for the kids to take back and forth between my house and the othermother’s.  I’d love to knit the baby another sweater, or hell, have time to knit everyone in the family a sweater.  But I don’t.  And as part of my letting go of unattainable goals, I’m letting go of these things.

I’ve decided to let go of a HUGE portion of my craft stash.  I have a double sided floor to ceiling cabinet that is overflowing (when I say overflowing I mean totally chock full plus 8 boxes worth of fabric and notions not yet in there).  My goal is for it all to fit, with room for some of my most favorite knitting and crafting books.

The man, in his sweet helpful Mr. Fix-It way, offered to help, to prod me along.  I politely, and firmly, declined.  I’m going, but this needs to be at my own pace.  I’ve already pulled out a good chunk of fabric.  I’m getting really honest with myself.  I might want to make something, but will I really? I’d love to make some new cloth diaper covers for the baby, but will I have the time? No. Away goes the fleece, the PUL, etc.  I may keep enough for a couple if I ever get a few minutes of free time, but do I need 30 yards of fleece – no, no I do not.

This feels so freeing, like I’m moving big blocks out of my way, like getting a chainsaw and cutting up that big, huge tree that feel across my path.  Finally.