Tuesday, April 23, 2013

New Ventures....

I really wanted the first post on Skein Deep's blog to be about the excitement of starting something new and my love for yarn and knitting..  That will still happen.  However, while revisiting a project that had been hiding a drawer for two years (I had really forgotten it existed), I was taken back to the feelings I had when I first started knitting.  I think the lessons attached to those feelings are important ones to hang onto going forward both in business and in any craft.
Not my sock!

I started the sock below about two years ago, as mentioned above.  It is the ineffably elegant Belle Vitini pattern (at right) by Kristi Geraci (found on Ravelry).  I fell in love with the cathedral-like lace pattern and the fascinating challenge it promised.  I used what I can now only guess is Araucania Ranco Solid in what I assume is Teal, but it looks a bit lighter than the pictures I saw online.  Anyway, I don't remember much in the was of emotional association with this sock (and, if you've been knitting for a while, you know emotional association with socks is a very real thing), but I do recall upon finishing the first of the pair a) a feeling of success and b) a need to put it aside because I was not ready to go through that again so soon.  Two years later....

While digging through my stash I came across the finished sock in its completed glory.  (For some reason, I had made it short, but who cares.) By some freakish stroke of luck, in another area of my stash altogether, I found the remaining yarn (minus tag, of course).  I even remembered the needles I used and knew exactly where to find those, too!  It was fated!  And, Gentle Reader, two years had passed.  Not only was I already half-way to a new pair of beautiful lacy socks appropriate for springtime, but I had also been growing my talent as the farmer grows his tender crops! Oh, praise the the knitting gods!!!

My sock! (the first one)
Yesterday, I picked up my tiny size-1 needles and the still generous ball of aqua yarn.  I cast on the first row and managed to not twist (it had been a while since I have lately fallen in love with the toe-up methods).  So, good start.  Then, long story short, some other stuff happened. There were dropped stitches, overly twisted yarn, and misreadings of a pattern that began to swim before my eyes. "Balls" (my milder swear word of choice under these circumstances), said I as my work slipped off my preternaturally slippery needles.

Then knit got real.

After the first spate of cabling, I held my work at arms length and let it fall to the bed in an act of finality.

I was eight rows in and over it.

Mr. Deep witnessed this rare act of voluntary knit-pausing and said, "So, you're done, huh?"  "Yes," I replied. "For Today."

That was a long post to get to the point, but here it is: We get frustrated and we want to quit.  All of us.  But I think the difference between the beginning and the experienced knitter (or anything, for that matter) is that the experienced also have felt the success of a finished project, the pride of conquering a new challenge.  It just takes time to get there, to let the successes rack up against the frustrations.  And it's okay to throw your knitting against a wall.  Just make sure there the dog's water bowl isn't there to catch it when it falls (that's really good advice if you're paying attention).

I will finish that sock.  And soon.  I'm already eyeing it and wishing I had the rest of the day to work on it.  I thought that I had this crazy 3-way cabling thing mastered because I did it years ago, but I bet I found it even more infuriating back then.  But now I get to (re)learn a new skill.  And, besides, I'm half-way (plus 8 rows) to the end.