The three(ish) year itch.

Tonight while reading one of my favorite knitting blogs, Knit and Tonic, I got to thinking about how I began knitting.

I remember when I asked my grandma Marian if she could teach me how to knit. I'm not sure now why I asked, I don't remember ever seeing her knit and I didn't really have any other exposure to the craft. I was 11 at the time, and even though she was ill my grandma sat me down on her bed with some red acrylic yarn and began teaching me how to knit.

Equally strong willed, my grandmother and I butted heads as I struggled to make my clumsy hands do what hers so expertly did. That day I managed to make just one hideous garter stitch granny square. Even though I went home silently fuming and defeated by the difficult task, I somehow managed to knit a few more (progressively less hideous) granny squares in the next week. I don't remember if I got to show these to my grandma.

Maybe because of her departure, or maybe because of my hard-headed irritation with how awful I was at knitting, I stopped knitting. I didn't knit again until I was 14. Same results as before: frustration that I was awful and no drive to practice until I improved. I knit half a scarf and gave up. I did manage to learn stockinette this time around, though.

At 18 I picked up the needles again. Off to college, I packed up some of my grandmother's old knitting things and brought them with me. Turns out knitting was a great escape from my new stressful academic career, and instead of running screaming in the other direction (as I had in the past) I buckled down and started mastering knitting. A beanie here, a cable there. . . I proved to myself that I could figure this craft out.

It's hard not to notice that I seem to give up knitting every three years or so. I'm nearing my 21st birthday, it's comforting to know that this time I reversed things: before I had three year no-knitting gaps in between tiny fits of knitting, now I have three years of knitting under my belt! With some new yarn and plenty of patterns in the wings, I don't anticipate any quitting this time.

It's funny how those few hours with Marian seem to blur out a decade of memories. Trips to the Living Desert, shopping for party dresses, swimming in the pools in their houses in Palos Verdes and Palm Springs. . . these memories still exist, but they're eclipsed by that one day of knitting. I think of her now as I knit, and every swatch I make that looks like one of those garter-stitch squares reinforces how much I want to continue knitting. She did a beautiful thing teaching me to knit, and I would love to be able to show my grandma some of the stuff I'm making now.