Well, knitting (challenge no. 28, as suggested by Hilde)
It’s possible I’ve found my top boring-to-blog-about-unless-I-can-think-of-something-real-quick weekly challenge. First, I cast on, then, I knitted a row, THEN I pearled a row THEN I repeated the second and third thing, and then again, and again and again… after a while I changed colours. I mean… really. There’s only so much you can say. But let me take you back, deeeeep into my past, where this all began, and hopefully make something interesting of it.
You know how everyone has that teacher? That one amazing teacher who they will never forget? Well my primary school was populated by them. I had one shit teacher. And she was REALLY shit. It’s as if she got all the shit quotient to compensate for all the amazing teachers around her. I loved every single one of my other teachers, but there was only one Mrs. Pratt. She was the King, the President, the God of all the amazing teachers of my youth. Mrs. Pratt made me love geography, and reading, and writing – but also times tables and maths and other things I was hopeless at (it didn’t last, but still). She made me take pride in excellent grammar and spelling. She introduced me to a life-long love of random facts. Every week she would write 10 words on the blackboard and by every Friday we had to have researched those words to talk about. They were cryptic (for 9 year olds), and there was yet no such thing as Google, so you had to ask your mum and dad and your grandparents, you had to pull out dictionaries and encyclopeadias (HEY Microsoft word, don’t you dare tell me I spelt that wrong, I won the spelling competition in Mrs. Pratt’s grade 4 classroom with that word, I’ll fight you and your American ways!). If you were me, you pulled out your “Tell me Why?” and “Here’s More Tell Me Why?” books and you learned.
Mrs. Pratt taught my whole class how to finger spell, after we read “Helen Keller’s Teacher” together. This began yet another love of mine, and when I was 19 years old I went to TAFE to learn Auslan. She also, (and this is what this whole thing is leading up to, obviously) taught us how to knit. She had parent helpers, and we were divided into groups. And each week you learnt a new skill; knitting, sewing buttons, French knitting… and one other. I can’t remember it exactly… I think it had something to do with hammers and nails… I remember enjoying it immensely. My French knitting was 2 stories high by the end… we tested them by throwing them off the balcony.
So, I guess you could say, for a professional procrastinator, knitting is my ultimate, it’s the be all and end all… because, despite knowing how to knit since I was 9 years old, despite having fondest memories of learning how… I have never. Not once. In my whole life. Ever. Actually. Finished knitting. Anything. In fact, this afternoon as I was nearing the final row it dawned on me that I didn’t know how to finish! I youtubed it… it’s called binding off and is really easy, but the point is that having never made it that far… I’d never needed to know! Hilarious.
And now I have finished something! I cannot even describe to you how good about it I feel. Ok, yes, it’s scarf, which is potentially the easiest thing ever to knit… but it’s a completed scarf, it is a scarf that is currently wrapped around my neck, and that is an achievement of the highest heights! I dedicate this scarf to Mrs. Pratt.
Funny story, we had a Mrs. Pratt, who was actually lovely, and a Mrs. Nice… who was also lovely. True story.
Photographs from the first knitting day:
We had to roll our own wool balls from those big loop things. It took some time. Here, Samara demonstrates how grateful we are to the wool gods, for their gift.
