Things I Learned From Knitting Read Online Free PDF Page B

absolutely, viciously, breathtakingly terrible. Truly, they’re embarrassingly bad. In fact, they’re so bad in so many ways that it is impossible to narrow down exactly which offenses of knitting make them so bad.
    It could be that I chose the very worst of all possible materials, selecting for only economy rather than quality, since I was young and poor and I didn’t understand that unless you’re a miracle worker, if you start with crap you end up with crap, no matter how expertly you knit the crap. Speaking of things that are expertly knit, these are definitely not. They have bizarre and randomincreases mid-row that somehow involve an extra stitch (or ten) and rows in which I decreased away those extra stitches, thinking that this was a brilliant way to deal with them and restore order. (It isn’t.) One of the sweaters is so poorly knit that it has a neckline I executed with all the skill of a clutch of drunken emus. Worst of all, every single one of these errors is compounded brilliantly by the fact that when I knit these monstrosities, I seem to have had all the color sense and good taste of a blind showgirl on an acid trip.
    Now, time has passed and I have become a good knitter, having learned a great deal since I knit those early abominations. I’ve gained skill and understanding, I’ve learned that gauge matters and that there are some colors that don’t look good on me (or any human, really), and I know enough now to correct my mistakes as I go along instead of knitting them into permanent infamy. I am so much better at knitting now, that sometimes, when I’m putting away towels and I catch sight of those early knits lurking in the back of the closet, I think about getting rid of them — throwing them away or donating them to charity.(Actually, nix that. Some of the people who get their clothes from charity have enough problems. getting my mutant knitwear could only make things worse.) I’m rather proud of the knitting I do now, and I shudder to think of someone finding this stuff after I pass away. When I’m feeling prideful, I don’t want these to be the artifacts I leave behind. I think a person should be remembered for her best accomplishments, not her lapses of knitterly judgment — or sanity.
    These moments though, are misplaced conceit. I don’t seriously want to throw away my old stuff. When I really think about it, these horrible knits are exactly how I want to be remembered: as a person who got better with practice. When I think about all that I felt skill-less at — parenting (the first time I picked up a baby that was mine, I couldn’t believe they’d given an incompetent like me this responsibility) and writing and marriage — I look at those incredibly crappy knits and I think about how awful I was and how much I’ve learned. Even though I screw up all the time and make horrible mistakes and feel as though everyone in the world is better at everything than Iam, I can look at those horrendously bad pieces of knitting, then look at my knitting now, and remember. Everybody gets better with practice. Knitting has taught me that, and knitting is the proof. I can be taught. I’m a good learner, and I’m keeping those knits for the next time I have trouble remembering that.
    Thinking about it now, though, maybe I’ll put a little note on them. If I drop dead I don’t want people to think I knit that way on purpose.

the 14 th thing

You can fix almost anything.
    I AM THE WIFE OF AN INTELLIGENT and engaging man, as well as the mother of three bright, creative girls with high self-esteem. These fine qualities make the man exasperating and the children difficult, but assuming I survive them, they are a lovely family with high entertainment value.
    My husband wants me to run rapids in canoes (I can’t tell you how many times in my life this will likely get me wet and bruised), and I’ve had to talk him out of