Stephanie Pearl-McPhee in the foreword to her book, The Secret Life of a Knitter: Yarn Harlot, said "Each knitted gift holds hours of my life." And today while I laboured on Labour Day that statement really struck me. Let me clarify.
Some of those hours are spent finding the right yarn. Every yarn I purchase brings with it an inspiration. It could be the colour as it often is when knitting food, or it can be the feel of the yarn, some being so soft you know you'll enjoy the entire time you work with it. Or it might be that you can "see" the final product done up in this yarn. So the yarn already carries certain power over me before I pick up the needles.
Some of those hours are spent locating the right pattern. Patterns speak to me in much the same way as yarn does. The intrigue of trying a new technique, or the pure simplicity of the technique, or finding that perfect substitute yarn for a beloved pattern or knowing the way the final product will make someone feel once "it" is done are all magical. (Sometimes the magic can wear thin when the technique is more than you can muster, but I'll stop here as to not break the ethereal picture I'm trying to paint here.)
Some of those hours are spent purely in a version of bliss. The gift receiver can also be particularly motivational in helping to create the end result. As the two afghans were being knit for my sons and their then soon-to-be wives I could think about the upcoming weddings, of their lives together, and reflect on how the completed afghan could become a part of that new home. These two afghans truly did ". . . hold hours of my life." And I'd like to think a little bit of me is there with them, even now.
The little green kimono sweater I started watching Dad work through his time at the hospital certainly defined hours of my life (if only to me), even though the person receiving it will have no idea what special hold that sweater has for me.
The gray blossom and yellow kimono sweaters both were created during the extra free time I had in July and August as Paul travelled. They were like friends at the time. Again, only I will fully understand the happy hours of my life dedicated to their creation.
Stephanie puts it so much better than I can. "I know it looks just like a hat, but really, it's four hours at the hospital, six hours on the bus, two hours alone at four in the morning when I couldn't sleep because I tend to worry. It is all those hours when I chose to spend time warming another person. It's giving them my time--time I could have spent on anything, or anyone, else. Knitting is love, looped and warm."
That sums it up perfectly. A gift knitted, when given by a knitter and not only this knitter, is a gift made out of love all looped and warm. It might not always completely convey that message as clearly as it should but it is most assuredly the intent.
Some of those hours are spent finding the right yarn. Every yarn I purchase brings with it an inspiration. It could be the colour as it often is when knitting food, or it can be the feel of the yarn, some being so soft you know you'll enjoy the entire time you work with it. Or it might be that you can "see" the final product done up in this yarn. So the yarn already carries certain power over me before I pick up the needles.
Some of those hours are spent locating the right pattern. Patterns speak to me in much the same way as yarn does. The intrigue of trying a new technique, or the pure simplicity of the technique, or finding that perfect substitute yarn for a beloved pattern or knowing the way the final product will make someone feel once "it" is done are all magical. (Sometimes the magic can wear thin when the technique is more than you can muster, but I'll stop here as to not break the ethereal picture I'm trying to paint here.)
Some of those hours are spent purely in a version of bliss. The gift receiver can also be particularly motivational in helping to create the end result. As the two afghans were being knit for my sons and their then soon-to-be wives I could think about the upcoming weddings, of their lives together, and reflect on how the completed afghan could become a part of that new home. These two afghans truly did ". . . hold hours of my life." And I'd like to think a little bit of me is there with them, even now.
The little green kimono sweater I started watching Dad work through his time at the hospital certainly defined hours of my life (if only to me), even though the person receiving it will have no idea what special hold that sweater has for me.
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| The Green Kimono as it is so far; not a great week for knitting |
Stephanie puts it so much better than I can. "I know it looks just like a hat, but really, it's four hours at the hospital, six hours on the bus, two hours alone at four in the morning when I couldn't sleep because I tend to worry. It is all those hours when I chose to spend time warming another person. It's giving them my time--time I could have spent on anything, or anyone, else. Knitting is love, looped and warm."
That sums it up perfectly. A gift knitted, when given by a knitter and not only this knitter, is a gift made out of love all looped and warm. It might not always completely convey that message as clearly as it should but it is most assuredly the intent.
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