Knitting Lessons

My mother was a stay-at-home mom most of my childhood. Not that she had much choice in 1950's middle America. Back then that's just what women did. She was also a perfectionist and somewhat "type A," so she threw herself into homemaking....cleaning, sewing, cooking, entertaining, gardening, and knitting. Non-stop. She was a Martha Stewart before there was a Martha Stewart (okay, not so much with the cooking, but everything else...), and I remember her sitting in the rocking chair in the living room, the clicking of her knitting needles in the background as we watched TV. In the 70's, she knit these hip ponchos for all for all four of us girls -- in red white and blue stripes, or gray and ivory. She also knit this floor-length, lined coat (a maxi-coat). My dad remembers her knitting that thing for a year....and by the time she got it done, it was too heavy for her to wear. So she cut it off so it was knee length. About 10 years ago, when the 70's fashions started coming back and when my mom was still alive, she said "Hey Karen, remember that coat I knit? It's back in style and I think you should wear it." So she gave it to me and I actually do wear it from time to time. My mom was the coolest.

When she died and we went through my parents house, getting rid of all of the things my dad didn't need in his new, smaller condo, I found a wicker basket filled with all of my mom's metal knitting needles -- tons of them in all shapes and sizes. I also found a half-knit ivory sweater with an intricate pattern on the front. "Oh yea," my sister said non-chalantly. "Mom was knitting that for you." I cried.

So I packed up the half-finished sweater and all of the knitting needles and brought them back with me to Chicago. I taught myself how to knit. Actually, I think my mom had taught me when I was a kid, so it came back easily. The first Christmas after my mom died I knit scarves for my three sisters and one sister-in-law. Sort of as a tribute to my mother, I think. There's something comforting about a hand-made warm and fuzzy scarf, and we needed all of the comfort we could get that year. Then I knit a poncho -- out of alpaca wool that I found out I'm allergic to. The first time I wore it I sprouted hives all over my face. I also started a baby blanket for a friend, which is still unfinished and her baby is now 2. And a half-finished baby hat that would have looked like the top of a tomato if I had finished it.

For the past year I've been working on a brown shawl. Yes -- the past year. I started it last summer, hoping to get it done before the weather got too cold to wear it. Then I gave up on it, and didin't pick it up again until recently. The problem is the pattern is unforgiving. With most knitting patterns, if you drop a stitch or make another mistake, you can go back and fix it. It's frustrating, but do-able. With this pattern, you're SUPPOSED to drop a stitch every five stitches to make a "channel" where you can go back and insert a ribbon. However, if you happen to drop the wrong stitch, it's almost impossible to go back and fix it.

I need to be able to make mistakes. I need to allow myself to fail. It took me a long time to figure that out in my life -- that it's OK to fail and make mistakes. To remember that usually you can fix your mistakes. But even if you can't, it's ok. My mother passed her perfectionism on to me, and for a while it paralyzed me (and still does). If I can't do it perfectly -- I won't even try. Slowly, over the years, I've tried to be gentle with myself. To allow myself to fail, to make mistakes, to not be perfect. To forgive myself, to move on, to not let a little slip-up paralyze me. But I struggle with it. Even in my work, I second-guess myself (did I say the right thing? Is my writing good enough? Did I make a mistake?)

So my brown shawl is 12 inches from being done. I am going to keep going until I finish (David says it's painful to watch). But I'm never going to knit another pattern that is so unforgiving.