My mother taught me to knit, like most little girls in the early fifties we were expected to learn the rudiments of domestic bliss. Cooking, sewing, any and all the post war female was responsible for. Hardly thrilling, however making a Dirndl skirt of a square of floral material with and elastic waist band.....mind blowing and a useful technique, back in the early fifties. Boys did woodwork, girls domestic science at my small catholic school, there was little in the way of equality. 
Knitting was my mother's prerogative because she enjoyed it, particularly the complexities of Fairisle. How I hated those hot prickly sweaters, so old fashioned, but I learned how to cast on and off, stocking stitch and rib whilst making little baby vests and cardigans when expecting my daughter. Almost 49 years ago. All of this returned from the recesses of my mind when a few months ago I was preparing myself for a visit to my daughter and my two little granddaughters. I wandered the shops searching for a couple of presents for them. Purely by chance, finding in a large toy store two little baskets containing knitting needles, wool and a pattern. From this , for first time in all those years, I passed on what little knitting skills I had learned to the two of them. During my visit we took a trip to the craft shop in order to buy better quality knitting needles and wool, from which we proceeded to create lots of little things from simple squares of stocking stitch, and rib. It was such fun and so intense because when you teach a child something like that they test your metal and you are supposed to know. Somehow I dredged what little knowledge I had to pass it on. It was a wonderful experience and I loved every minute of my stay with my darling family. 
Once home I felt strangely bereft as I had no knitting to do so I ventured forth into the foreign land of my local wool shop to buy a pattern book of small knitted animals, wool and needles and off I went on a journey of discovery about myself. During my life I have generally shaken my head in wonder at the idea of others knitting and sewing. The creative aspects of handicrafts was something I had never envisage being involved in. Mainly because I didn't see myself as capable of the patience or temperament to 'make' something unique that only I could create. I am a creative person because I like to paint and write but using my hands in a practical way to actually produce something was a long way from my abilities, or so I thought.
At nearly 70 years old I have found something unique in the light tapping of knitting needles. My mind allowed to wander without worry for a while as I concentrate deeply, counting rows or stitches or general layout, the wool dangling from the needles growing into whatever design of my choice. Don't get me wrong, I make lots of mistakes and have to unpick, undo, go back over and restart but words cannot describe the self soothing nature of those needles and wool. I become almost detached from the reality of the world around me. I can think deeply about something in life or I can drift away into the medative nature of repeated knit one pearl one, thus clearing my mind of all the every day aggravations that surround me.
Sometimes the hours have passed without my even noticing. I can see that physically it is not so good to sit for hours but mentally I have found a method of meditation that sooths the inner struggles associated with the aging process. I cannot see myself tiring of this because it takes a long time to knit a jacket or a blanket of a scarf or whatever takes your fancy.
No comments:
Post a Comment