Knitters use knitting to value-add to the world.
As usual, the sock yarns have no idea what is going on.
When people see me knitting, I tell them I’m a knitter. Not the sort of knitter they may have run into before, but a passionate, constant, deliberate knitter. I knit everyday, all the time, everywhere I go.
I’m a knitter. My projects are the ultimate in ’some assembly required.
When you are knitting socks and sweaters and scarves, you aren’t just knitting. You are assigning a value to human effort. You are holding back time. You are preserving the simple unchanging act of handwork.
I explain at the parties that I believe knitting is a transformative and intriguing act that can change the life and brain of the person doing it, and that knitting is a perfect metaphor for life and insight into some better ways through it.
It is a little known fact that much like birds, who can always find north, knitters can always find yarn.
The chances of running out of yarn on a project are directly related to the difficulty that you will have getting more.
With great effort comes great gratification.
In the nineteeth century, knitting was prescribed to women as a cure for nervousness and hysteria. Many new knitters find this sort of hard to believe because, until you get good at it, knitting seems to cause those ailments. The twitch above my right eye will disappear with knitting practice.
Knitters just can’t watch TV without doing something else. Knitters just can’t wait in line, knitters just can’t sit waiting at the doctor’s office. Knitters need knitting to add a layer of interest in other, less constructive ways.
The twitch above my right eye will disappear with knitting practice.
Knitting is a boon for those of us who are easily bored. I take my knitting everywhere to take the edge off of moments that would otherwise drive me stark raving mad.
Since I became a knitting humor writer, I seem to be understood a little better – at least for the purposes of social discourse.
I do know that there isn’t ever going to be a time when there aren’t any knitters.
The rules of Canadian engagement say that if we encounter a celebrity, we have to pretend we’re not encountering a celebrity.
The essay is one of my favourite forms of writing, and I feel like what’s inside is really personal, more so than with shorter pieces.
Hat head is a sad affliction wherein the chosen hat and the selected hairstyle are grossly incompatible. The unfortunate combination results in a condition that can be hidden only with the application of another hat.
I will resist the urge to underestimate the complexity of knitting.
Sweaters need to be imagined, dreamed over.