I started knitting when I was in my late teens, determined to make my own Harry Potter Gryffindor scarf. It took forever, was correct only in color, and never saw a purl stitch, but I loved every thing about it.
It wasn’t the greatest; it didn’t need to be. The scarf was awesome in its own right. It was my first knitted anything, which came with a great sense of accomplishment. It’s also one of the warmest scarves I still own, which is saying something.
As I got older, my mom and I would spend our Friday nights watching a week’s worth of All My Children and set about our crafting; she crocheted and I knitted. It was a wild night, for sure. Toss in some chocolate cake and it was a party.
Through moves, college and more moves, I continued to knit, venturing into hats and more complicated scarves. Then somewhere along the way, I stopped. My needles sat cold in a box.
When I did sit down to start a new project it would be a good long while before it was finished. What would have taken perhaps a week, took me over a year to complete a scarf for my husband.
Years later and once again self employed, I thought I would pick knitting back up again and, to a point, I did. I finally finished a scarf for myself, which had sat on the needles for, you guessed it, a year.
But this month? I’ve been a knitting machine. Three scarves, half a dozen or so dish cloths and “scrubbies” with more in the works. I’ve never knitted so much, so consistently. Nor enjoyed it so much.
Ah, I’ve missed you, knitting, old friend.
I thought I’d share a few of the scrubbies I made – I love the colors and texture of these things. Plus, they are pretty great for dishes.