Strange and lovely

With two full days to get through waiting for my son and husband to do other things, I went to a yarn shop in Knoxville. Even though the sign indicated the shop would open at 10, I know knitting shops. I have seen those signs on doors of shops that didn't open all day. It has been a running joke with us as we have traveled out of our way in cities to arrive at shops that are not keeping their posted schedules.

I have also had mixed receptions at yarn shops: one shopkeeper acted as if I were trespassing when I touched her sample knits; one shopkeeper snorted when I said my fair isle techniques were not as neat as hers (this was a long, long time ago); some keepers keep out of my way; some are friendly.

I arrived too early, went to get coffee, played with the iPad a while, then returned to the shop. OPEN! Score.

I wasn't planning to buy much, but I so infreqently get to touch and see finished garments that finding a good shop is always a treat even if I am not buying much and even if the shop is not friendly. This shop (Loopville) is a great in-between shop. Not too much attention, but plenty when I asked for it: an invitation to peruse their magazines and books, an invitation to use their shop computer to look at my Ravelry queue.

Good conversation, too. I shared my thoughts on yarn with one of the workers, and we hit it off. Similar tastes in patterns, yarns, eco-friendliness. She was very helpful, and the more we talked the more we had in common. I have just started a new career journey, and she was just ending a career in the same field; she has just started working in a yarn shop, and I long to be able to do that someday when I have taught all I can stand to teach.

I left the shop with a bag of yarn--not too much and not too expensive--and a feeling that even though I am not prone to finding new friends, I am capable of it. Given the time and opportunity and pool of people, I can do it.

That experience gave me something to compare to my experience back at the baseball camp where I sat for hours waiting for my son. No one there had anything to say to me, even though many of the people sitting around know me and my kid. I was, in fact, being ignored (probably because I am a shy person perceived as being a snob and probably because I am indeed a snob about books, cheese, knitting, and pretenders).

I know that the shopworker wanted to make a sale--it IS her job, of course--but she wasn't faking her genuine conversation. I prefer that. I can make small talk if I have to, but I'm perfectly happy waiting for good conversations to happen organically. If I can have good conversation once every few years with a fellow knitter, book lover, and composition instructor, I'll wait for it.

Designing Woman

On Christmas morning, I woke up remembering that my friend Donna (who NEVER forgets my birthday) would be home for her birthday this year.

Having a birthday the day after Christmas must have been pretty hard when she was a kid. I can imagine all her presents wrapped up in shiny Santa paper and nestled in very wrinkly recycled tissue. That probably isn't what happened, but I've always felt that the two friends I have with birthdays the day after Christmas missed out on anticipating their next birthday. If all the presents come in a two-day span, that makes for a long year with nothing in between.

I'm basing all this from the point of view of someone who had a perfectly mid-summer birthday herself. No Santa wrapping for my presents. Well, not usually.

Anyway, Donna never forgets my birthday, and I sometimes forget hers. But not this year. This year she's getting something designed just for her: an asymmetrical neckwarmer.

I have had these two hanks of Noro Cashmel in the stash for a few years now. I made myself a February Lady Sweater from the rest of it, and I had knit this yarn into several small items that never seemed to be finished. Two hanks isn't much, and not everyone deserves cashmere. A few weeks ago, I raveled those small items, washed and straightened the fiber, and hung it to dry. This neckwarmer was designed to fit inside the collar of an open blouse or slipped over a t-shirt neckline to keep the drafts away. The cashmere is soft and not itchy and the fabric is densely knit.

It was just waiting to become Donna's birthday gift. I hope she loves it.

Giving

For many years, I worked with a colleague whom I admired. Tough, smart, quick-witted: attributes that are necessary when working with students and teachers. Admirable and necessary until they were turned on me.

At least twice a year, she would find some way to hurt my feelings. I say "find" because I believe that she did indeed look for ways to cut me--an ugly word, a rolled eye, a comment to students about me or my abilities--all "uncalled-for," as my mother would say. For a long time, I tried to stay out of her way, but as I became more confident in my abilities, I decided not to care so much about it.

If she were cordial, fine.

If not, fine.

I can change no one but myself, right? I have so much trouble trusting people, and even more difficulty finding people with whom I have something (enough?) in common, but I have usually been able to find such friends among my colleagues. What is so odd is that she and I had more in common than anyone else I worked with, but she always made it clear that she did not intend us to be friends, and since we had to be colleagues, she could make that miserable, too.

But as I said, I stopped worrying so much about it. This is the point in the story that most narrators would say, ". . . and once I stopped caring and worrying, our relationship became magically wonderful." It didn't.

We carried on working together, sometimes with common goals, but more often without them. By the time I was ready to move on to another position, our dissatisfaction with our jobs was one thing we did have in common. I asked her for a recommendation, and she agreed to give it.

Now that I have moved on, I have received notes and a phone call from her. I'm not sure what to do about that. I know she is very unhappy in her position; I have deep sympathy for her. I have been where she is.

Do I reach out to her? Do I answer her notes with notes of my own? Doing so would be painful if she reacts in the way she has reacted in the past. Does it matter?

She has a birthday soon, and I woke up this morning thinking of her latest card. My sleepy brain began working through small gift possibilities that could be left on her doorstep. I'm going to spend some time today thinking about what to do.

Going Nowhere Fast

I've been spending a lot of (too much?) time knitting lately, and my skills have really improved. My pattern reading, shaping, innovating, and modifying are much better than before. While I focused on small items that could be given as gifts (in a pinch) instead of complete garments, I spent hours finding the perfect projects for those small amounts of yarn that have been gathering dust up there on the second floor. Each item is nearly perfectly knitted and finished because I was working hard on my presentation skills. I don't want someone to see that the items are obviously hand knitted. It's that whole "homemade" vs. "handmade" dilemma.

I have three new scarves (gold mohair, red cashmere, and chartreuse leafy lace), a new vest, and a new hat. I donated hats, scarves, and neckerchiefs to the charity auction at work. My brother was given a hat; my nieces and sister-in-law received hand warmers to wear over their gloves; my mom has a new lap robe to use in her new car while she and Dad travel this winter.

But the stash reduction--my original goal--is not proceeding quickly enough. How can it multiply in this way? No matter how much I knit, I cannot catch up with it. The baskets and bins do not look much different. And I've been pretty strict about buying no new yarn. I even occasionally test myself by stopping into a shop or browsing Etsy yarn sellers.

I have allowed myself to buy new knitting tools and a few magazines, but no new yarn unless it is needed to finish a project begun with stash yarn. (Yesterday, I bought two hanks of yarn from fellow Ravelry users so I could finish a scarf made from yarn I bought five years ago. Sad. I know.) So why can't I catch up? It makes me angry at myself for being so out of control with my purchases. Hundreds of dollars worth of yarn. Can I really wear this many items? Can I ever convince anyone else that these items cost much more in both fiber and labor than one purchased from a store, and they, therefore, should be loved and cherished?

Probably not.

So, for now, I'm plowing on through, resigned to the knowledge that I'm going nowhere fast.