The Madness Begins

My mother is the most kick-ass knitter, quilter, seamstress, artist, baker, etc. that I’ve ever met. (She is a sucky crocheter, though. Go figure.) Growing up, making your own stuff seemed both normal and desirable.

She made my high school graduation dress (sewn, not knitted), the quilt that was on the bed of my first apartment (made of old jeans), and a sweater that started out for my father, but, as she never swatches–ever–ended up for me (it was the ’80s, and sweaters to your knees with leggings were the height of fashion), among many other things.

But, for a long time, I just assumed that the stuff my mum did was too hard for me. If I wanted things that were made to my specs, I needed to bug my mum until she cranked out a blanket, hat, scarf, whatever.

So it was providential that she bought Debbie Stoller’s Stitch and Bitch on a sale table in 2004. She bought it because she thought the backpacks were cute. I had been dinking around with garter stitch scarves, so, when I was at her house for dinner one night, I stole it. I still haven’t given it back.

I am a dreadful seamstress, and my art skills are non-existent, but I think at this point I give her a run for her money with the knitting. I think I’m more stubborn, so I’ll stick with something that is driving me nuts, rather than just changing it up as she does; I’m also very lucky that I learned to knit now–in what I’m sure is some sort of knitting renaissance the like of which will never be seen again. My mother learned to knit in school in England, and “innovations” like top-down sweaters were not part of her process until I introduced her to them.

One of the best things about all this knitting is that I’ve got Christmas and birthdays whipped. There is nobody on earth easier to buy a present for than another knitter.