My great knitting adventures have commenced in fury. Today, two football games were devoted to half a cowl: somehow, despite five false starts and a near disastrous dropped stitch, it is growing. I am proud of this small, crude handiwork. Persistence takes form before my eyes.
My mind wandered as I counted purls: mainly to A’s and my adventures. Our train rides in Japan, our engagement in the Francis Scott Key park, Newport coffee shops and Seattle grub. I remember the flowers, the trees, the wind (and the willows.) These stand out as anchors in our journey thus far.
Investment, grit, constancy, hope, vision: not only necessary for making scarves or hats or socks, but also for marriage, for family, for life. As raw materials we are priceless. We were formed by God, made in his image. Now to weave a tapestry.
The weaving may be frustrating. It is a simpleton’s bore at times. But the honest labor, the rough texture of the thread, the ache in the fingers and the crick in the neck tell us we’re alive. They bring us to the wraps and the turns, prepare us to mend mistakes, and are the foundation for the width and breadth of our lives.
Repetition. It is high time I bring it back: to my chores, to my work, to my lifts, to my studies, to my learning, to my love. Repetition with attention, repetition with care. From there I can improvise. From there I can live.