As a teenager I used to read prolifically (I even managed to walk into a telegraph pole once because I was reading and walking). As a gawky, uncomfortable, picked on teenager it was an escape into something wonderful. I could live vicariously through those characters, I could imagine being the popular girl, the pretty one that everyone wanted to be friends with, I could have that boyfriend and be somebody other than me. I always used to feel really sad when stories that had struck a chord with me came to an end, sometimes I would cry just because the story was finished. I used to wish that the author would write a sequel to whatever book it was just so I could continue on in that world. It didn’t matter how bad my day was, or how sad I was feeling, the characters in those books never changed. They were my constant, they were my escape. I remember my mum telling me that she could never read a book more than once because the story is boring a second time around. In contrast there are some books I have re-read many times, simply because it’s like sitting down with an old friend.
With 5 kids I don’t get a lot of time to read. There’s either someone trying to talk to me, someone fighting, or someone needing something. Or worse still, I start reading and automatically want to go to sleep. So my knitting has taken the place of reading in my life. Knitting is my escape, it’s my happy place. When I’m feeling down I visit my favourite online yarn stores and indie dyers, soaking in the beautiful colours and imaging what I would knit. Or I browse around ravelry seeking out that next must make project. Sometimes I cast on a new project just to give me something different to think about. For me knitting is an old friend, it’s constant, like those characters in my novels. Sometimes my knitting and I fight, sometimes we hurt each other and sometimes we challenge one another. Sometimes I may want to throw my knitting at the wall but I know that all I have to do is work on another project and all that animosity and angst will disappear.
It might sound strange to personify my knitting in such a way but it’s like a good friend. My knitting is a constant in my life, it doesn’t change, I know my knitting won’t let me down, or go out if it’s way to hurt me. It’s that friend that I think all of us crave for; the one that won’t ever let me down, or turn its back on me when I need it most, or be unavailable when I need to talk. My knitting doesn’t have bad days (it might have moments when I forget a yarn over but it’s not devastating to a static object), it doesn’t have a personal agenda, it doesn’t have its own issues to deal with. When times get tough it’s the place I can turn to for a piece of sanity, for a little escape away from the cold hard reality of the real world. I love my knitting and the calm that it brings to my mind. Even just a few stitches can give me that space I need to take a breath before I dive back into chaos. I am thankful for my knitting and the positive impact it has had on my life.
Millrace is still in progress, I’ve finished all the increases so I know that I must be around about half way. I’ve decided that once I’ve finished off the first ball of yarn I’m going to work on something else for a while. It’s not that I’m bored with it, I just have itchy fingers to have something else on the needles. My biggest concern with Millrace is how I’m going to block it. I don’t think that the rubber mats I have will be long enough to accommodate the length of this scarf. I think I’m going to have to buy more mats (who knows where I’m going to store them), so it may be a while before I can block it anyway.
I’m not sure what I’m going to work on next, maybe The Weasley’s Homestead Sock or Artichaut. Considering that I want to knit 3 of the Artichauts that might be the wisest path to take. I love socks though, so maybe I’ll cast on both :p.