Yarn, Knitting Needles, and Socks, Oh My! - Teach Yourself To Knit, I Did

When Pam, the owner of a lovely knit shop in my area, emailed to ask me to her shop to chat about an idea she had, I wondered what she could possibly have in mind. I was not a knitter, and my crochet skills were quite rusty. I had just closed my retail rubber stamp/scrapbook/paper crafts store after 13 years, and I was ready to relax a little, and, as I like to put it, have a life! Curious to hear what she had to share, I called, and we arranged to meet at her shop the following day.

When I arrived at the knit shop Pam was on the phone, helping a customer. I began to look around, giving her some privacy. Soothing piano music, the aroma of fresh brewed coffee, large wooden tables and cabinets, and soft overstuffed furniture created a charming, homey ambiance. My eyes, (and eventually the rest of me), drifted further into the shop. There was yarn everywhere; stuffed into diamond-shaped shelving, pouring off of tables and dressers, overflowing from baskets and barrels, draped over hooks on the wall. The sensory effect was striking while at the same time, soothing, and almost overwhelming. I found it difficult to focus, as my eyes darted and flitted like a trapped bird, skimming from one display to the next. I could almost feel my brain straining to absorb the yummy colors and unique textures of the yarns and rich fibers. Knitted sweaters, scarves, gloves, shawls, and every imaginable knitted accessory filled every nook and cranny of the shop, their very essence luring me further into this web of creative beauty.

Small groupings of scarves here, shawls there, mittens, gloves, and sweaters enticed me. I began thinking maybe I could try this knitting thing. My excitable, spontaneous right brain convincingly beckoned, "This is amazing, you can do this. You're creative, you know you would like this. You can make the time. Imagine all the gifts you could knit; gloves, scarves, tea cozies." The thoughts cascaded like an avalanche, and I was helpless to stop them.

Giving in to the seduction, I went into zombie-mode. A familiar, foggy trance enveloped me, and I morphed into a robot, grabbing yarns, needles, and supplies. Visions of knitting happily into the night on the couch, hubby watching tv in his chair beside me, whirred through my mind.

Then, just as I was about to reach for more yarn, a customer came through the door, waking me from my hypnotic stupor. My more practical, reasoning left brain snapped me to attention, "Are you crazy?" "You just closed your store, you have plans, remember?! You are going to take some time to ponder, to enjoy your other hobbies and interests. RUN! Now, before it's too late, get out of there!"

Oh, yeah; pondering, plans, hobbies. I couldn't let myself fall prey to the siren's call of this lair. What was i thinking? I really do not need another hobby. No! I would resist, get down to the business at hand, and get out of there as soon as our meeting was over. Feeling smug that my little pep talk saved me from yet another addiction I went to find Pam.

Then it happened. My eyes fell upon....drumroll...the SOCKS!! There they were, displayed ever so cleverly by the enchantress, Pam. I felt my resolve melting once again as I fingered the socks on the display. Unintelligible sounds emitted from my throat, "oooooh, awwww, huuuh, look at th..., are those kni..., and finally, the ultimate sigh of complete resignation.

Lest you think I'm a pushover for marketing savvy, let me pause to explain my reaction. I am a total nut for socks. I love them. I love pretty socks, funky socks, smooth socks, bumpy-textured socks, wild patterned socks, cute socks, and elegant socks. I never met a sock I didn't like. Hence, when the display touting socks in dozens of styles and patterns caught my eye, it was love at first sight!

So, there I was, hopelessly tangled in this amazing web of yarn. My over-stimulated senses began shutting down, allowing my mind to catch up and absorb what was happening. Pam, off the phone, recognized the deer-in-the-headlight look. I thought I detected just a hint of a snicker as she ambled toward me. As if the hook wasn't embedded deeply enough, she offered the piece de' resistance, SOCK KNITTING CLASSES! As she checked her class book for the date of the next class, I spotted the darling little sock sacks, cleverly arranged among the sock display. They were cute little fabric bags, designed to hold small, in-progress knitting projects, perfect for socks. That was the deal closer. You see, my other obsession is totes, bags, and containers to house and carry my "things." I have large bags, small, patterned, designer, fabric, wicker, canvas, quilted bags. I have a bag for my doodling, one for puzzle books, several for stamping and scrapbook supplies, the list goes on ad infinitum. I needed one of these bags, specifically designed to hold sock knitting in progress. It was almost more than I could handle.

Pep-talk notwithstanding, I surrendered. Little sock sack clutched in my clammy hands, I joined Pam at the cash register counter to sign up for a beginning sock making class, only to learn that I actually had to know how to knit to take the class. Who thought! Obviously, not me! Not one to be put off so easily, however, I found a book that promised to teach me to knit in one day. Pam had basic knitting 101 classes, but I wanted to start long before the next available how to knit class was being offered. I really wanted to get to the sock-making phase right away. I bought my supplies, then Pam and I had our meeting. (That's a topic for another hub). With the determination of a woman on a mission, I went home to teach myself to knit.

That evening, armed with my How To Knit book, yarn, and knitting needles, and my favorite Laurel Burch tote bag (newly designated for knitting projects), I announced proudly to my surprised hubby that I was going to teach myself to knit.  He muttered something about my not needing something else to do, and raised a dubious eyebrow at the large nest of yarn enveloping me on the couch.  Ignoring his less than enthusiastic response, I got down to my self-tutelage.  Don't get me wrong, I completely get where he was coming from.  His one tiny dresser is the only space in the house my craft and art supplies haven't infiltrated.  Yet.  But what's a girl to do?

I emerged a few hours later, with several inches of my very first knitted scarf hanging from my needles.  I did it!  I taught myself to knit.  It wasn't that hard, this knitting thing.

The next day I was at the shop, scarf in tow.  After the obligatory Ooohs ad Aaahs, Pam and her delightful staff helped me with some more advanced techniques.  They taught me the fine art of deciphering knitting directions.  If you have ever seen a knitting pattern, with the mysterious groups of letters (ssyok1, ss2k2, yosk2) you know that learning knit-eeze is mandatory.  After several inches of practice stitches and a few more inches on my scarf, I was ready to take my first sock class!

When class day finally came, I arrived at the shop early. I decided my first socks were going to be for my four year old granddaughter, Keeley. Baby steps. I chose my yarn, purchased my needles, and took my place on a comfy, overstuffed chair. I was daydreaming about all the wonderful socks I would be making over the next few months...long ones with this yarn, lacy ones with that yarn. Anxious to begin, I took my class supplies out of the bag. There were five knitting needles in the package, and since I only have two hads, I removed two and put the rest back in the bag. I figured knitters must be forgetful people, and lose lots of needles, so they threw in extra needles to replace the ones that get misplaced. I fished the starting end of the yarn from the skein, and laid the ball in my lap, stroking it like you would a small furry pet. When my classmates arrived, Pam explained that we would be knitting from four needles, using the fifth. I knew then that I was in way over my head! My fingers do not communicate well with each other, it's a simple as that. Dexterity is not exactly one of my strong suits. Pam, however, being the expert teacher she is, had us all knitting with our five needles in very little time. Up for the challenge, I persevered, and was soon on my way, knitting happily on my needles. An hour into class, I presented Pam with a row of stitches that were off. Apparently, this was the first time anyone had ever done that particular entanglement, but soon she had me up and going again. Class flew by much too quickly, and home I went with my few inches of sock. Pam assured me I would be able to finish it at the next class, and then make the second sock on my own. I wasn't so sure.

At home, I worked more on my first sock.  About half way through the foot part, I attempted to place it next to Keeley's foot to see how much more I had to go.  She took one look at the funny looking needles sticking out from the knitting, and ran away as fast as her little legs would go.  She wanted nothing to do with that strange looking mix of yarn and needles.  I kept at it, though, figuring I could just estimate the length using one of the socks she had on to measure it against.

My tenacity paid off, and I'm proud to say I finished my first pair of socks.  They look great.  Keeley still won't put them on, but that's alright.  They're a little big for her anyways (that whole measuring without a foot thing doesn't work so well).  In a few months she will have forgotten about the thorny needle-stuck socks, and may be ready to appreciate them.  I can only hope.

I now have several scarves, shawls, lap quilts, and another pair of socks, and leg warmers to my knitting credit.  I take knitting with me wherever I go so I have something to do in the car (but only when hubby is driving), while waiting at doctor's offices, and any time I have a few minutes to spare.  

What next?  There's a pretty pink lacy sweater I have my eyes on.  Hmmmm, I wonder when that class is.