I have a lot of friends who can knit. And I mean knit. Like knit Nordic patterns, cableknits, socks, mittens, hats, baby blankets and ornate sweaters. They crank out the doilies and giant blankies with aplomb. I don’t knit because they knit, even though they seem to be always knitting and inspiring me to keep at it. I knit for my own complex reasons, which I will explain after I lament to you how bad I suck at knitting.

I suck at knitting. I mean, I have very large hands. I never met a man with hands bigger than mine. My fingers are extremely long and my parents should be blamed here for not adequately recognizing this early in my life and getting me on some regime of piano lessons. My grandfather was a great musician and my general foot and hand size has often been compared to his. I guess they thought since I had really nice handwriting I must have good manual dexterity. I guess they didn’t notice so much that I was a klutzy kid who could only draw and write but whose hands otherwise were like giant mutton chops.

So, my aunt, the one who fostered all things creative in me, was the first to mention that since we’re all ADD in our family we need something to concentrate on to keep our minds calm. She recommended knitting as she found it kept her hands busy and her mind focused. I used to laugh when she said we were all distractible, but as an adult I’m starting to come around on her point. I’m not sure if actual research has been done, but a cursory google of “ADD knitter” brings up enough hits to tell me she was on to something.

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Since I find myself sitting around a lot waiting for various children to finish some class, and since there are other people there and it would seem rude to read or write in their presence, I knit. If I didn’t knit (and I tried this) my mind would go batty. I would be rammy and my mouth would run too quickly. I’d have the urge to move around too much or to leave. So I knit. This is about the only time I ever get to knit, while sitting among my women friends.

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Still, I’m not a prolific knitter. Maybe it is a family thing. My mom isn’t the crafty sort. Neither of my grandmother’s appear to have taken up a craft, or an art. They were stuck in an inbetween place, not quite from the old world like their parents were, and not yet part of the new world. So, the first time I found out about knitting was while studying in Germany. For weeks on end I sat in college prep classes with my new friends all around me clacking away on knitting needles. Both boys and girls knitted incessantly. I was the only one who doodled instead. After awhile they all did an intervention. “Kim…we were just wondering. Why don’t you knit?” This was the 80’s folks. No one in America knitted in the 80’s. A few grandmas (and you sure as hell know they weren’t my grandmas) still crocheted clowns out of synthetic wool, but not a soul could knit. I explained that in America I’d never seen anyone knit. I can still recall the looks of horror on every one of my classmates faces. After some of the shock subsided, one asked, “But where do you get your sweaters from in America?” Well, I had to tell them about K-Mart and they were appalled. At that time in Germany, sweaters were not cheaply produced by machinery in 3rd world countries and sold for $10. They were knitted by the wearer. I was taken under several wings at once and promptly forced to knit a blue mohair vest that I hated. It was holey and loose and shapeless and without charm. I gave it to my mom for Christmas so I wouldn’t be expected to wear it. Thus began my knitting career. It hasn’t improved much since then. In fact, after the vest incident, I took about 10 to 15 years off…

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When I climbed back on the knitting wagon, I found my technique was still full of holes, sloppy, loose and otherwise neglectful. I can’t count stitches any more than I can count beans, because I already told you, I’m too busy chatting with the moms to really pay attention to detail. Also, I can’t keep my work tight and consistent looking, because my brain’s whole entire success rests on its ability to leap around from thing to thing, often just tying things together in random flashes of comprehension. I am the kind of person who reads magazines backwards for God’s sake.

To make matters worse, my knitting pals here in the modern world can’t teach me squat, because number one: I knit continental (aka German) style and everyone else seems to knit English style. Number two, they’d have to stop knitting their own gorgeous projects and unravel about 5 feet of messed up yarn in order to explain yet again how to simply yarn over. I’ve seen the look of barely controlled rage in so many girlfriend’s eyes, as they smile and sweetly clench their teeth while demonstrating yet again how to tie a freaking slip knot. They want me to succeed, they really do. But it would be easier for them to teach my cat how to make an afghan. The problem is, I seem to only learn by doing. So if I could mirror someone then I’d learn how to yarn the heck over. But if they are doing it English and it will end up all twisted in continental, I’m pretty much screwed.

If you consider also that I don’t care much for written instructions, find them devoid of a certain human touch, then you might be able to imagine how I am a sort of co-dependent knitter. Can you explain this abbreviation to me? Why do my P2togs always end up falling out on the next row? Do you think I really have to do a swatch? Its a wonder they let me sit near them at the lunch table.

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The other concern is my attention span. It has often times taken me months to knit just a freaking potholder. I knit only in public. I make many errors. I lack manual dexterity and I am impatient. One or two rows usually exhausts my concentration in an average sitting. I have been known to knit for about 40 minutes upon occasion, but only when I’m doing something really goofy like using fun yarn and 70’s hair yarn as thick as your thumb. Then I can get in to the groove.
In spite of the fact that I am the suckiest knitter I know, I enjoy it immensely. I enjoy the feeling of a good yarn as it slips through my fingers. I enjoy seeing the knots form and become part of a pattern. I enjoy the place my brain seems to go, even while I am talking to others while knitting. My thoughts unwind as I wind up the yarn. There is a sort of meditative calm I can’t seem to get from anything else except coloring. I enjoy the comraderie of knitting with others and the feeling of handiness (or at least the pretense of handiness), that knitting creates around me. I love how children and animals are intrigued by the string and the calmness it forces me to exude. I love the way knitting connects me to a world, however tenuous the strand, where people create organic things, utilitarian things. I love admiring all of things that can be made via knitting and I say to myself and my friends hopefully, “Someday I may get to the point where I can knit a sweater, or knit stripes. But I like taking my time getting there. Small steps” Meanwhile, the too large, un-swatched holey sock I am knitting grows one or two rows a day. Heaven knows how I will cope when I reach the point where a heel must be created, but I bet it will involve cornering some handy knitters I know.