Monday, April 21, 2008

Random Acts of Knitting

When I was young and before I was a knitter, my mother would pick up needles everytime she heard someone was expecting a baby. There were cardigans and blankets and hats and booties. She knit for the hairdresser's daughter (whom she had never met) and neighbours and vague acquaintances. It was what you do to welcome every new baby to the world. So I became one of these knitters. I presented baby knitwear to everyone I knew who was expecting. Even if I did not know them enough to be invited to a shower. This seemed as natural as breathing to me. But I often got an unexpected response. Tears or speachlessness. I guess it is not as common as it was in Mom's days (maybe it wasn't that common even then?). The recipients were in awe that I would spend so much time making something soft and wooly for their unborn child. Little do the Muggles (non-knitters) know that baby things are ten times faster than knitting for adults, and can be created from leftover stash. Baby is warm AND I put that last ball of cashmerino to amazingly good use. My last gift was a baby blanket for Lori, and she had a lovely reaction, almost tears and joy that this was the first (probably only) knitted gift, and she loved it. She has since had her baby, Chloe, and brought her at 12 days old to visit me at work. What a delight for me. Ah, random acts of knitting. We should all commit more of this.
Not to be confused with the "drive-by knitting". This is when a bad situation screams to be corrected with wool: as in: your friend gets a fabulous new golf baf in black and brilliant yellow - BUT her head covers are the boring black manufactured Ping covers. To rectify this glaring faux pas, I found yellow eyelash and made a set of Wood Hoods, and secretly replaced the Pings with the new covers. I was long gone by the time she arrived at the club and found them, but my fingerprints were all over the wool, so she knew who to blame (and thank!).

I'm not admitting anything, but if anyone found some soggy Ping headcovers, washed up on the beach in Port Dalhousie, I hope they are not reading this.

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