By way of explanation
Ok, I'll fess up: some might think me a bit of an imposter, and they wouldn't be entirely wrong. After all, I am a Canadian, a French Canadian at that--no Southerner, and so it might be said that I have a shady, if any, claim at twang, and that no amount of Flannery-and-Faulkner-reading, no amount of Lyle-Lovett-listening could right things. Granted. But here's how it happened: first I fell in love with Johnny Cash, and a Texan second, and the latter married me. And though we live in beyoootiful British Columbia right at the moment, we think longingly on the day when we will move to the Lone Star State. Texans are equal-opportunists: they realize that being born in Texas is a matter of good fortune, not good judgement, and are quick to welcome among their ranks those who have to good sense to move there. (To wit, the bumper sticker I plan to acquire when we get there: I wasn't bon in Texas, but I got here as soon as I could.) And so I listen to lots of Willie Nelson and Townes Van Zant, read cowboy literature and Katherine Anne Porter, and generally work on my twang. Bear with me.
And so to knitting. Knitting's always been looming in the distance: I knew it was something I had in me, that I would eventually get into. My maternal grandmother, who was also my godmother and whose name, Aline, is my middle name, was a legendary knitter, turning out Phentex slippers faster than anyone could hope to wear them out. She died in 2003, before I got a chance to learn from her. Other potential teachers drifted through my life, many missed opportunities, until my library coworkers started getting together to knit last November, and I finally took the plunge. Patient Toni agreed to teach me. I went to my LYS, the Beehive, where I bought some 6mm bamboo needles and, unadvisedly, some mossy green nubbly yarn. I seldom have been so excited about a $10 purchase. The night in question, we all gathered at Toni's, and she set about teaching me the basics: knit-on cast-on, and garter stitch. I had very modest hopes--I thought I would leave with an inch or two of scarf--but even these were crushed. I left with clean needles. Back home I rehearsed the motions Toni showed me, still to no avail, so I went to bed. I hardly slept. You know how it is when you've spent a day on a boat, and once you're on firm dry land again, you still feel the water's motion in your legs? That's how I felt all night, only the motions were those of knitting. I got up early, picked up yarn and needles, and successfully began to knit some rows. I swear it: I learned to knit in my dreams.
Now Toni and I eventually figured out she had taught me wrong: I can't remember exactly what I was doing, something like purling through the back of the stitch. Anyway, she set me straight, but the yarn was endlessly frustrating, and soon I gave up on my holey, misshapen pseudo-scarf. I had fallen prey to the temptation of knitting a scarf for my DH for Christmas, and relished working with the luscious Alafoss Lopi I had bought for the project (which is, also, destined for the frog pond, but that's another story.)
Since then knitting's more or less taken over my life--in a good way. I'm too poor for the too-eager-new-knitter yarn purchase binges, but my stash is slowly growing, and so is my list of must-knits. I've been lurking on many knitblogs for some time now, it's time to come out. Hello, my name is Fanny, and I'm a Knitter.
Pull up a chair, stay a spell, I've got many stories to tell.
And so to knitting. Knitting's always been looming in the distance: I knew it was something I had in me, that I would eventually get into. My maternal grandmother, who was also my godmother and whose name, Aline, is my middle name, was a legendary knitter, turning out Phentex slippers faster than anyone could hope to wear them out. She died in 2003, before I got a chance to learn from her. Other potential teachers drifted through my life, many missed opportunities, until my library coworkers started getting together to knit last November, and I finally took the plunge. Patient Toni agreed to teach me. I went to my LYS, the Beehive, where I bought some 6mm bamboo needles and, unadvisedly, some mossy green nubbly yarn. I seldom have been so excited about a $10 purchase. The night in question, we all gathered at Toni's, and she set about teaching me the basics: knit-on cast-on, and garter stitch. I had very modest hopes--I thought I would leave with an inch or two of scarf--but even these were crushed. I left with clean needles. Back home I rehearsed the motions Toni showed me, still to no avail, so I went to bed. I hardly slept. You know how it is when you've spent a day on a boat, and once you're on firm dry land again, you still feel the water's motion in your legs? That's how I felt all night, only the motions were those of knitting. I got up early, picked up yarn and needles, and successfully began to knit some rows. I swear it: I learned to knit in my dreams.
Now Toni and I eventually figured out she had taught me wrong: I can't remember exactly what I was doing, something like purling through the back of the stitch. Anyway, she set me straight, but the yarn was endlessly frustrating, and soon I gave up on my holey, misshapen pseudo-scarf. I had fallen prey to the temptation of knitting a scarf for my DH for Christmas, and relished working with the luscious Alafoss Lopi I had bought for the project (which is, also, destined for the frog pond, but that's another story.)
Since then knitting's more or less taken over my life--in a good way. I'm too poor for the too-eager-new-knitter yarn purchase binges, but my stash is slowly growing, and so is my list of must-knits. I've been lurking on many knitblogs for some time now, it's time to come out. Hello, my name is Fanny, and I'm a Knitter.
Pull up a chair, stay a spell, I've got many stories to tell.
posted by Fanny at 9:21 AM
2 Comments:
I LOVE your new blog.
i believe you when you say you learned to knit in your dreams. i wrote a song in a dream.
i will be glad to see y'all move to texas. i doubt seriously if it will be close to abilene, but anywhere in texas would be close compared to victoria.
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