Lesson Learned Along The Walk of Shame

checkyergaugeHow long must a person knit before she accepts a basic–and crucial–understanding about the craft? How many misshapen, unexpected, Star Trek costume-like sweaters does she need to knit before she realizes she is doing something very, very wrong? How many hundreds of dollars must be wasted on good yarn that is turned into shrouds for octopuses? Continue reading “Lesson Learned Along The Walk of Shame”

Putting It All Together

My sister was the one who started the idea in my head. “Have you ever heard about a ‘weather scarf’?” she asked. I hadn’t. She explained that she had heard that someone had knit a scarf with colors for daily temperatures and she thought I might want to do that now that climate change has brought my Northern Virginia hometown more wild swings in temperatures. Continue reading “Putting It All Together”

In the Absence of Creation


IMG_6875I knit a lot for charity. It’s rare that I knit anything for myself. When I focus on a need that I can help fill–in my very small, but creative way–I get fully immersed in the work to the detriment of all else.

Until recently, I wasn’t aware of just how detrimental my singular focus could be–to me.
Continue reading “In the Absence of Creation”

My “Why” for Knitting

 

“Stitch by stitch, moment by moment, we are knitting a fabric of
present moment awareness.”
— Becky Stewart, KnitOm

I follow Becky Stewart of Knit Om, a private knitters’ group on Facebook. She is a constant inspiration, helping my bring awareness to my knitting. She’s leading a 30-day knitting challenge, each day challenging us to think in new ways about our knitting, and to knit mindfully, meditatively. Continue reading “My “Why” for Knitting”

The Cry in the Night. And My Answer.

Maybe it was “The Picture” that that pushed me to action. The little girl in red, crying as her immigrant mother is searched and arrested by Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents. That photo (by John Moore/Getty Images) of the terrified 2-year old and her mother hit me hard, as though the center thread holding together my sense of America’s goodness had exploded, that everything I believed and knew had ended. Continue reading “The Cry in the Night. And My Answer.”