I think I might start posting my knitting on this blog. Instead of writing, I have been knitting like a fiend. Because of the pandemic, I no longer know how to talk to humans and have probably forgotten how to drive–but my knitting mojo has exploded. It seems to use a different part of my brain than I use when poring over the right combinations of words and has been just the thing to quiet the anxiety of this long season. It has been so mindless and soothing at times that I have felt a twinge of guilt and uncertainty: Just who am I becoming?
Some people hide their booze bottles from family members while I may or may not have yarn stashed artfully throughout the house….
I put on my headphones even when I am not listening to anything beyond the interior of my brain and the movements of my needles.
Here is one recent project, socks for a neighbor with cancer.
Socks are simple and contemplative, and I don’t think I can ever truly tire of making them. Also, since my main love language is Acts of Service, I can love through making and also care for those who receive my knitting by praying for them.
Wow, don’t I sound like a saint?
Quick, hand me my credit card.