Remember that Oaklet Shawl I whisper-unwound Father’s Day afternoon as I revealed myself a process knitter? Well, I finished it. It traveled in my purse, beach bag, hoodie front pocket, ferry trips, and across my fingertips all summer long.
Its constant presence was more than something relied upon or just familiar feelings on fingertips. Doing a project twice was, in a way, unnoticable. The shawl was something I did each day, if only for a few minutes, like fold laundry or take coffee’s first sip.
As I cast off the last stitch, I clenched my teeth in a now what moment’s thought. I would have expected to feel as if this was the best thing I ever knit, with ending feelings such as these. But then it occurred to me.
Blocked and dried in the sun, it took this shawl and nearly eight years of knitting to realize it’s about the pattern taking up space in my mind, the color and feel of yarn, the weight and clank of needles more than it’s about the piece. It’s the trip and the time along the way.
Our baby girl starts preschool today. She’ll go with her new froggy backpack, holding hands with her best friend. She’ll share a cubby with her older sister, learn in a space where both sisters giggled and played and created from nearly the same age. She’ll be ok, a bit better than alright actually. She’ll be perfectly ready, perfectly proud. It took this event and nearly eight years of parenting to fill me this way, with a sort of speechless pride. I’m really without words to say more. And I certainly won’t be able to talk once she walks inside that door.
What’s in your basket, on your needles, inside your heart?
joining Ginny for yarn along.