Portrait in Linen

Results of Knifty Knitter frenzy one week ago…

Plain, unadorned beanies (no brim) for each and every kid. In addition, knitted two more hats–one for sister, one for cousin–with brims. Seven hats in three days. Still, “loom knitting” didn’t feel as “serious” as “real knitting.”

A week later…

I can proudly proclaim that I now know how to knit.

It was desperation that drove me to Barnes & Noble for a late-night purchase–A Stitch of One’s Own–not because a flip-through revealed it was especially idiot-friendly, but because needles and yarn were included, and Hobby Lobby was closed. It was an epitomical act of impulse, but it was worth it, because I can now “knit” and “purl.”

I have “knitted” and “purled” about twelve inches of clumsy, elementary practice stitches, riddled with holes, uneven lines, and loose loops. But the weave holds, and the product is indeed recognizable “fabric.”

It is a momentous occasion. Oddly (and laughably), I enjoy a silly new sense of pride and worthiness, feel a little closer to the iconic “warm, lovely Mother figure” that seems to grace the mantel of my mind, the image of “success” that is both a dream and a lie, because it is Perfection, which is non-existent, and vain in the shadow of a woman’s true value.

It doesn’t take much reflection to dismiss the illusion that I am somehow closer to “good” because I can knit. Once reset in a right mind, I consider the blessing of this newfound knowledge.

The possibilities are endless. I envision all the warm wool socks I’ll make for winter; the rich, comfy throw that will be so loved and worn over the years as it lies over my lap and through project and project; the holiday shawls that will drape the girls’ shoulders in family portraits. Little pieces of love put to everyday use.

There is something so soft and humble about knitting. It brings to mind love and sacrifice, of time and of mind. This is why you wear an ugly old knit sweater your mother gave you–because you know the extraordinary power of love that comes in the wearing.

Is this what is knitting? Being empowered with another way to express a deep, outflowing love? Is this why it feels so right to a Mother? a Grandmother? Because it’s another way to give?