Introduction (aka way too much information)

I am two months into my latest addiction, knitting. I resisted the call of the yarn for a long time, as all of my friends heeded the siren call, one by one marching to the rhythm of the status quo. I had no intention of becoming another follower of the latest trend, especial since it wasn't the "latest" anymore. Why join a fad that had been around so long? It was a winding road, one I was pretty much taken by the hand and lead to by the pied pipers of knitters, M and O.

March, 2008
After a routine visit, my doctor calls with Scary Health News. Nothing horrible or even surprising, just a fact that I need to be aware of, Something To Watch (STW). I'd rather have gotten worse news, in a way, have been given something I could deal, address immediately and aggressively. Instead I'm told the kind of news that just freaks you out and makes you regret pretty much every moment of fun and/ or stupidity in your life.

May 1, 2008
I quit smoking. There wasn't anything I could do about the STW, besides, well, watch. And wait. I am not good with the waiting and quitting smoking was an immediate action, something I could do to significantly reduce the risks (cancer, heart disease, etc.) surrounding that STW. And it gave me something to obsess about besides STW.

August, 2008
A nasty back spasm lays me up to the point that I literally could not get out of bed most of that day. On examination (when I could make it to a doctor), I am repeatedly asked if I'd been in a car wreck. The doctor eventually diagnoses stress. I add bad shoes and carrying around too large of a schlep bag to that. His remedy is physical therapy. Mine is retail therapy. The quest for a pair of sandals with arch support and a bag that won't break me begins, as I sign up for thrice-weekly PT sessions.

Early December, 2008
My new GP tells me that I've gained approximately 25 pounds since quitting smoking. Actually, I've gained about 20 pounds since I first saw the doctor about my back, three months previous. With my back still not quite "back" I can't exactly hit the gym. Low impact cardio produces, well, low impact. A friend, the wonderful O, suggests teaching me to knit, to give me something to do with my hands besides snack. And as a stress reliever. I agree in theory but am not terribly interested.

December 20, 2008
Sitting in a Barnes and Nobel in uptown Manhattan, I realized I had absolutely nothing to do besides shop for books. Usually not a problem when one is in a BN but that wasn't the reason I was there. The municipal liaisons (MLs) of the local chapter of NaNoWriMo were there to wrap books, proceeds to be contributed to the Young Writers' Program. I was there in my capacity as the ML from Queens and charity gift-wrapper. Problem: there weren't that many gifts to be wrapped. First of all, we were in a small BN. There's a bigger, better BN about three blocks away, one with a Kids section and a Music section and frankly, a lot more room for things like a gift wrapping station. Rather than blow way too much on my usual addiction, books, I asked my friends to show me what they were doing. My dear friend O tried. She did. I didn't get it. Friend M made more of an impression, and had very soft, gorgeous yarn with her for me to play with. O contributed the needles and, with M's instruction, I was knitting away in a few short minutes.

My interest in knitting might have waned as quickly as it waxed, but a few other factors contributed to keeping me on track. My friend K was expecting a baby, so I had an excuse to knit up the cute little things I saw online at Ravelry.com – booties and hats and such. My first attempt at a bootie was only vaguely recognizable as sock-like. My second was much better, but much bigger; way too big for a newborn. My first hat was way too big for an adult. My second hat I did in garter stitch (knit across, purl across). Garter stitch curls, so they could roll up the hat to make it fit the kid. And the booties were better after I significantly scaled down the pattern.

And therein lay the hook. The patterns. I love patterns. I love writing. I find the logic puzzle of constructing a pattern seductive and the task of explaining it, of providing clear, correct, concise instructions an almost irresistible challenge. Almost? Who am I kidding? I love making patterns. Of course, I barely know what I'm doing, after only two months at it, so my patterns are rather basic. And tend to be modified as I knit. Is that the usual way, you come up with a plan, and modify it to bridge the gap between what was anticipated and reality? Hm. Yeah, not sure if I'm talking knitting or life in general with that one.

Even before I discovered my love of patterns, one other factor would have kept me knitting, at least for a while. I am oddly competitive, as in, I compete in my own head in things that really shouldn't be a competition. Specifically my friend D was taught to knit by our mutual friends M and O. Not sure when it happened but she was hard at it by December. I remember sitting in D's living room laughing at the knitters, which included D, M, O, and even C, D's roommate. "That'll never be me!” I snickered. Less than a month later, it was. Because I wanted to keep up with D, I think. There's no contest, D is better at, spends more time doing (maybe), has fewer distractions (hah!) and, unlike me, doesn't have kitties who try to make of with her balls of yarn as she's knitting with them (true). I compare what I'm doing with what she's done and keep going because I want to be better. Only not really, because again the competition is only in my head.

Yes, a long and winding road lead me to where I am now. (Or do I just mean I'm twisted? Hm. Not sure.)

These are my yarn tales. Thanks for leading me your ear.