Why I knit

I knit. I admit it. And I enjoy doing it. Terrible, really.

I started knitting after mother called me lazy. Just to be perverse. Because it's hard to call someone lazy when they have knitting on their lap.

I made some potholders, then I decided to stop dicking around and get to it. My first real project was an entrelac shawl made with noro silk garden. (entrelac is a method of knitting that makes the fabric look like woven strips; noro silk garden cost me $85) Not the lady Eleanor shawl, but close to it; it's called "kaleidoscope" and it's from Donna Kooler's Encyclopedia of Knitting, my first knitting book. I taught myself how to knit backwards working on it.

It wasn't hard, per se, just difficult. I had to constantly remind myself of basic stuff, like how to purl. I survived it, and it's still survived. I gave it to my sister, and it looks a lot better on her than me. I've done cables, socks, intarsia, and my personal favorite, cabled intarsia in the round. What was I thinking? That project is now sitting on my lap, waiting to be finished up and then sent off to its recipient. Nothing's been as difficult as teaching myself Trig. And damnit, if I can teach myself trig, I can so do anything.

Regardless of what mother says.