On life

Life is sometimes elusive. So elusive that at times I feel alienated by it.

It throws knuckle balls at you when you least expect it. At other times it keeps you forever on your tiptoes and you end up juggling madly to maintain your balance. Then it sends you that care package you had stopped hoping for. And when you feel like settling down it whacks you behind the head to shake your inertia off. Well, that's what she thinks! I was happy to settle down to catch my breath in that cherished comfort zone under my plush and cozy knitted throw. Why the hell push me out of the nest? What did I do to her to deserve that? Where is that fine print that I overlooked? I do feel at times she makes it hard on myself and I get really pissed at her. And since all it is deep down is anger towards myself, my being angry at life just backfires in my face. And that’s making me angry yet again, setting in motion another chain reaction. You see the relentless madness of this circle?

Fight or flee. Surrender and let go or fight and go forward. Who can confidently affirm that they know? That deep down they know. What to do, what to say. That they know most of the time? All the time? I don't. Not that I don't assume the consequences and responsibilities of my actions. Not that I want to know the end result before hand. But the wacky twists of some situations just knocks me off my socks. Yep, my first pair. On the needles. But let's not digress. This blog is not just about knitting, but about life and knitting and how they both intermingle in something bigger than ourselves.

I don't want to regret my actions but I do seem to have a knack for picking the wrong reaction or direction. The same with my conservative-daredevil bi-polar compulsory-lazy attitude towards knitting... and life! I don't know how that "innovative" idea will turn out and look until it's done. If it's great, there is no end to how smug I will feel about my knitting instincts and myself. If I fail, well... I can chastise myself for not following the pattern. But guilt will get us nowhere and will produce endless stockinette garments and sensible decisions in your life. No surprises. No roller coaster rides. But how can one flirt with excitement without ending up in disaster? How do you do it? I either am welded in place by fear, hesitation, indecision or I jump with no parachute. It's almost been 40 years of that now. It seems to be a trend. Or a trademark. But one thing is sure: I want to do it my way and not be coerced in a direction my gut tells me is no good. The same with my knitting. I don't want pre-chewed teaching and someone who does it for me. Getting there is as much fun as being there. So I am a process knitter. So be it.

In the case where my innovative streak succeeds, I can fling it and pretend I designed it. Real ego booster if it's actually a mistake. Hell, if it's good enough for genius inventors it's good enough for me! And if it failed, be it the "innovation" was well thought up or just improvised, I can either unravel the whole thing and try to fix it or live with it in all it's imperfect glory and humanness. The humanitarian versus the perfectionnist. Fight to the death. I can pout and put it aside and never finish it, punishing it for not living up to my expectations. Or being creative and boldly use the yarn for something else, turning the page and my back on that "episode". It speaks a lot about me, about you, about how we tackle a project, big or small, about how we deal with success and defeat, about how we live our lives.

I've been stuck in a rut for the past 2 years. You know, that fuzzy in-between state where you're not quite sure if it's time to cross the threshold cause you're not even sure there is indeed a threshold or a door for all that matters. It's a juggler's act between me being centered on myself to gather strength and inspiration for what's to come and that nagging feeling that if I don't stretch out and set things in motion, nothing will ever happen and I will miss out. Miss out on what? I wish I knew. I guess that same compulsory feeling that makes us build stash to sustain an alien invasion I suppose.

One thing is sure though. Knitting is my solace. I knit my sorrows and my solitude away. I knit my anger and frustrations and regain my inner peace. I knit my love and appreciation in those cherished give-away pieces. I knit my creativity and my prayers. Stitch by stitch.

Knitting saved my life.

Knitting reminds me that if I compulsory cast-on something in a frenzy without that gauge swatch and thorough lecture of pattern that I might pay the price and end up with something quite different from what I first thought up. For good or bad. And if I take all the time needed to do all the math and calculations for a customized fit or personalized style and tweak a pattern, well, I can gain weight during the time it takes to finish the project, rendering all that exercise futile. Or all the hype and time needed for preparation can deflate my interest to the point of me struggling to knit the whole thing through since there are no surprises left. Just dedication and hard work. One stitch at a time.

Yes, I lack constancy in my life. And in my knitting. My avid interest needs to be fed constantly. And no, I won't tell you how many UFO I have on the needles right now. Not even under torture.

But maybe for a hank of cashmere or qiviut...
:)

PS: Sorry for such a long delay. I neglected you all. The flu got the best of me lately. The sock yarn didn't win by the way. I got sidetracked by luscious hand dyed Misti Baby Alpaca. Warm tones colorway. Purlple and fushia and shocking pink and tomato red with a hint of khaki. Beautiful. Like I needed more yarn. I mean there are skeins upon skeins screaming to be knitted in my stash. But geez, what a pleasure to knit alpaca. It's almost indecent. My fingers sing and dance about and I stop all the time to pause and look at my progress and to delight in its soft touch. I am making a broken-rib hat out of it. My first one. On circulars. And when I realized I had casted-on too many stitches upon stringing the stitches to try the hat on last week, I was pinned to the wall by the eventuality of almost 3 inch worth of circular knitting to unravel. I casted-on my first pair of sock instead. The frustration led way to a diversion. I guess I must thank life for that. Or my knitting compulsion. Or both.
;-)

Saved

My Day! My kinda day! The one with the heaven sent extra hour!

You get up late and feel good about yourself, cuz hey, it's not that late. Just in time to catch breakfast at the corner diner without dashing before end of service. I can even safely knit a few rounds without worries of having to cook my own messy breakfast upon missing out. Perfect sunny side-up that I didn't have to cook? That ought to put a smile on a witchy knitter’s face!

Can you tell me why they agree to make all those cloying foods like poutine at 3 AM but refuse to make bacon and eggs past 11 AM? Injustice! Segregation! Conspiracy I tell you! They do need bacon all day, don’t they, for all those un-kosher bacon cheeseburgers? And they have the nerve to serve us this lame excuse by pretending it messes everything passed breakfast service time. Big brother has taken over I tell you, sowing gloom all over by preventing honest people to access honest and simple pleasures, like breaking their yolks to make a happy face. Who will save their soul?! AH!

But let’s put that aside and rejoice: one extra hour spent knitting on tiny needles delicious tiny stitches in deliciously thin baby yarn. Oh! the pleasure.

And to top it off beautifully, you go to bed and it's not that late either!! You’ve accomplished a lot without burning the midnight oil. And I can go about at my relaxed pace all day without guilt. I have all the time in the world: I have an extra hour.

And last but not least, Monday morning, I will be radiant. No blues. No grumpiness. All smiles. With or without yolks.

Ah, if every day could be like this!