When the Trump administration moved in, like many others , I began spending many (too many) hours of my nights watching the evening news – rotation after rotation of people discussing the latest political bombshells. Reports on leaks. A lie followed by more. Yet another forgotten Russian meeting.
One can’t watch that kind of constant chaos without having some kind of release. I needed to do something to do with my hands and knitting sounded like just the ticket. Think about it, when you imagine knitters, you think of calm – amiable women sipping iced drinks in the comfortable shade of trees, sharing stories while efficiently knitting baby blankets.
A few weeks ago, I attended a Howto Knit workshop where I learned how to cast onto my bamboo needles (if I’m going to knit I want wooden needles.) I was taught a knit stitch and then when I had that one down, how to purl. I have been knitting off and on since then. It’s something that appealed to my inner granola-wannabe. I had visions of knitting hats and mittens for my family – a way they could wrap my love around and be warm.
I purchased some gloomy Eeyore-grey yarn (foreshadowing?) and began working at my project. But then the news got the better of me.
Because I get too caught up in what’s happening, it turns out that I am, quite arguably, the world’s worst knitter.
“You have really tight tension.”
“You need to tink (unknit) this row back.”
“You’ve added extra stitches here.”
“See that hole? You dropped a stitch there.”
“I don’t even know what you did here.”
This morning, I joined my third and last skein of yarn to my project which was supposed to be a simple knit-purl scarf. My poor attempt has long ago given up any pretense of being a useful scarf and instead has morphed into my personal statement reaction piece to what’s happening in our nation’s capital.
I completely blame the news. “What did he say?” “Who does she think she’s fooling?” “Are you KIDDING ME????” I do not have the super-power of being able to ignore what I hear. I connect dots. I see trends. I seethe and I end up splitting my yarn. Anderson Cooper can’t even keep me calm.
With every newscast, I find myself wrapped-up in the turmoil. My attention unevenly darts between the pundits and the (surprisingly sharp) needles in my hands. My project lost bigly the day when it was pitted against the news of the F.B.I. Director being fired. It was then that an entire row got reversed resulting in a complete change of direction. Smooth side became bumpy.
I’m determined to continue to the bitter end of my third cloudy sky colored skein, able to appreciate the mediation provided by repetitive movement.
When I’m done, I could rip my “scarf” apart – hide all my mistakes which never need to be seen by others. I could take deconstruct it and create something useful out of my frustration.
Or I could keep it, warts and all knowing that even in the constant turmoil surrounding its creation, I still, methodically stuck with it, determined stitch-by-stitch to make something of comfort from the chaos of what now is.
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Wendy Thomas writes about the lessons learned while raising children and chickens in New Hampshire. Contact her at [email protected]
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