Knitting and Alzheimers/Dementia

While I was blow-drying my hair this morning, a thought came to me. I realize that many of you may consider this thought strange. Okay, with all honesty out on the table, much of what I consider on a daily basis, most individuals would consider strange. However, that is another matter entirely. As I have been knitting, I frequently refer to either the instructions or the chart for the pattern, whatever the case may be. Knitting instructions, in an of themselves are sometimes harder to interpret than Egyptian hieroglyphics. I can assure you, that I am not the only one who holds these truths to be self-evident. Every knitter I converse with says the same thing. Not all instructions are worded in a way that is easily decipherable. In the process of figuring out what majestic work of knitterly art the designer is helping me aspire to, I have a lot of thinking to do. (I am assuming said designer has, in his or her heart of hearts, good intentions for me and my project, and does not purposely mean to frustrate me and my knitting to the point of rashly and angrily deciding to flush said project down the toilet, gobble it up in a garbage disposal or stomp up and down on the darn thing like a two-year-old in a full blown tantrum.) With all of that thinking and interpreting, I am in a full-blown state of reasoning, analytical thinking and decision-making, too.

So, let's take this one step further. There are many articles and probably a plethera of studies about what we can do to keep our minds sharp as we age. Would it be too far-fetched to conclude that knitting can actually help in warding off or slowing down the process of Alzheimer's or demetia? I believe so! (All other knitters out there, please say "I concur!") I know there are other factors involved in these diseases or conditions, but I figure I can now use this one as a sword against all those who look at me while I'm knitting in public (and for those, too, who do the same while I'm knitting in private - you know who you are), and think that I am two rings shy of a three-ring circus. I mean, if the government can give grant money for a study about happiness and smiling being contagious, then why not do a study regarding knitting and Alzheimer's/Demetia? Well, I'll leave it to you to consider for a while...

More Saturday Contemplations

Back from pancakes and feeling cozy in my bed. Do I work on Mr. Sock, or perhaps the lovely Rowan sweater called Lotus. I have two baby afghans also, although, if truth be told, I really only like one of them. The one called Crowns and Cables is so pretty in it's simple cream color, but the other one, I will have to change yarns. As the Yarn Harlot wrote: "When you start with crap, that's what you end up with." (That's more or less what she said, although I am paraphrasing it.) I hope that it might be better with another yarn that's not all acrylic. Please don't be offended. Am I a yarn snob? Most likely, but I once had someone tell me that she tried to learn to knit once, but the feel of the yarn in her fingers made her "skin crawl." Really? Are you serious?

that yarn must have been some really scratchy stuff. For me, there is nothing more soothing than a beautiful merino, baby alpaca or cashmere. Am I right? Yes? I though so. Well, back to the matter at hand. The Rowan sweater. That's it. Absolutely. I'll think on the ugly baby afghan so more - maybe change to another yarn...then I'll let you know.

Confidence in Knitting

I recently picked up a copy of Stephanie Pearl-McPhee's (aka Yarn Harlot) book Free-Range Knitter and have realized something about knitting that I had never considered before. Well, actually what I am about to say, I am sure many of you will read it, read it again, and think, "Well, duh..." or "Is she really that dense?" But if you will just humor me for a minute, I have been in the lone and dreary world of knitting all by myself for quite a while, and it was not until I moved to Utah that acceptance and even embracing of my passion was acquired.

As an example, my step-mother lives in Southern California and is an avid quilter. She made a trip up here this last weekend and, of course, the first thing she wanted to do was shop at every quilt store I could find to help her with her stash. When I inquired about this desire, nay, even primal drive to shop for fabric, she informed me that three quilt shops that were even remotely near her home had recently closed. Ergo, "Utah is the crafting capital of the world," she proclaimed. Really? But then I thought back to the time I had lived in Southern California too.

The first time I entered a yarn shop, as you know I was pregnant with my first child. It was in Sherman Oaks, and the shop was small, but bright and friendly. The staff was all too eager to show me the two basic stitches of knitting: knit and purl. From then on I was on my own. I developed my own style of knitting and learned from books, while only when extremely frustrated, entering a yarn store to ask a question so I may receive clarification. I became a closet knitter.

The next time I seriously picked up the needles again, I was living in the Inland Empire (hotter than Hades there, I might add). I went to the only store I could find (which was 30 minutes from my home) and inquired about some classes. Gleefully signing up and paying my money, as I exited the store I was walking on clouds and couldn't wait for the class to start. I envisioned finally rubbing elbows with other knitters and commiserating over patterns and yarn. I arrived at the designated time, opened my carry-all and sat down to knit. I noticed tiny snickers and twittering, and out of the corner of my eye saw some strange glances. One brazen women looked me in the eye and proclaimed: "You are totally knitting the wrong way." Did she help me with the "right" way? No. So, mortified, I slinked from the shop never to enter the establishment again. I sadly put away my needles and forced my burgeoning passion to the back of my mind.

Fast forward to moving to Utah. I found a store, and with not a small amount of trepidation entered the portal to the Land of Yarnia. This time the girls in the shop was friendly, kind and extremely personable. I timidly relayed my experience in California and the owner of the shop asked me to show her how I knit. She too began to laugh, but for a completely different reason. She said I knit in the Continental Style and then she said to me in the kindest voice, "Oh, honey, there is no right way to knit. If the stitches aren't twisted, then how they get there doesn't matter." Whew! Well, now I was mad. Do you know how much time I wasted without nary a knit stitch in sight? Do you know how many moments my kids would have fallen on their knees and thanked the heavens that mom didn't kill them for something they had done? Why? If I had been knitting, I would have been calm, serene, yea, even the very model of saintly patience. But did my children receive this treatment? No!!! Why? Because I believed some impudent, ignorant woman whose shop I most fervently hope has perished into the vast wasteland of the California recession.

So, here is my point. ANYONE can learn to knit. Whatever makes you feel comfortable, is the right way. As long as the stitches look right, who cares? I learned to crochet first, so holding the yarn in my right hand is uncomfortable and completely useless. I might as well try knitting with my feet to hold the yarn this way. When I purl, I still hold the yarn in my left hand, but then I kind of "throw" the yarn anyway. Why? I don't know. It's just how I do it. All knitters are each uniquely and profoundly different from each other. So, put your needles in the air and proclaim: "I can knit! I can create! I am worthy!" Ha-ha-ha-ha (evil cackle)!!!!

Obsession

I have come to the conclusion that I am obsessed. Note to self: mother has obsessive compulsive tendencies -- can't stay away from Home Shopping Network or QVC. The UPS man knows her by name, since at least one package a day gets delivered to her home. Could those tendencies have come from her? Hmmm..... Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I was at my favorite yarn store knitting with some of the women who were making a bobble purse. We were absently talking about kids, husbands, work, you know, the usual, when I said I should find a project for all of the yarn under my bed. Slowly, all eyes were directed toward me. What? What had I said? Don't you have yarn stashed around waiting to be knit into cute little sweaters, mittens, hats or gloves? "No," one woman said. "I buy the yarn for the project I am planning, finish the project, then go on to the next one." "You only work on one project at a time?" I inquired. The answer was slow and deliberate. "Why, yes. Don't you?"

Now, I have met quite a few knitters since my reintroduction into the enticingly soft and delightful world of Yarnia. Most of them have several projects going on at the same time. Yet, I am the odd (wo)man out in this instance. I start thinking about all of my abandoned projects, my neglected yarn, so forlorn, lonely and dejected. There are two large plastic boxes filled with yarn in all varieties, textures and colors -- hidden, for my own selfish desires -- under my bed, not very unlike a pirate with his secret treasure trove carefully stowed in a trunk and hidden in some dark and mysterious cave. Whenever I encounter a store that sells yarn, I walk through the proverbial armoire into the land of Yarnia, where my hands touch, caress, even stroke each and every lovely skein. I can't help myself. I am weak. I know it. Compelled by some unforeseen force, I purchase some and greedily bring it home, opening my "booty" trunk and quickly stuff it into the box, so no one but me can enjoy the bounty of my stash.

I love color. I love texture. I am obsessed with it. I can't help myself. When I find the right project for each of my little treasures of yarn, I will knit it up. But until then, I will secretly continue to savor each moment as I open my trunks of treasure and dream of the day every one of them with have a purpose more glorious than my obsessive, greedy little self.