Purl, Too: I Am Not Dumber Than Yarn
A while ago I bought the Klutz knitting kit because I figured I could possibly understand knitting instructions geared toward children. I am ignoring their beginning “how to make a knit stitch” stuff, since it doesn’t show steps for knitting Continental, which is what I’m trying to do. The patterns, however, are spelled out r-e-a-l-l-y simply, and they have clear illustrations for every step along the way. Here are the book and kit, in all their glory.
Working on the Scarf That Time Forgot is driving me ever so slightly mad, and I shall discuss that another day. I started an additional project, the little change purse in the Klutz book, because I think it won’t actually take me too long to finish.
The yarn in the kit comes in skeins and you have to wind it into a ball. There are steps in the book explaining how to wind it into a ball. This sounds deceptively simple. “Untie or cut the yarn that is tied around the loop and find the end.” That was my problem right there. The piece of yarn tied around the skein to keep it together was so long that once I untied it and found its ends, there was absolutely no point in doing step number two, “Ask a friend to hold the yarn for you or drape the yarn over the back of a chair so it doesn’t tangle as you wind.” It was already hopelessly tangled by that time. I wouldn’t have had this problem if I’d cut that piece of yarn instead of untying it, but the kiddie book didn’t say I had to…
I spent the next hour coaxing the yarn out of its hideously tangled mess and into a nice round ball, all the while thinking, I am dumber than yarn. I am dumber than yarn. I am dumber than yarn. I can’t believe how long it took, or that I managed to do it without screaming. Eventually, though, it was finished, and I could start thinking, I am not dumber than yarn. I am smarter than yarn. I am stronger than yarn. I am more patient than yarn. I beat that yarn into submission.
By then I was too tired to start work on the little purse. I went to bed, resolved to tackle the Pocket Purse the next day.
Before I started work on it today, I realized, Oh, crap. I’m gonna have to learn to purl. I learned the knit stitch in August. It is December, and I hadn’t bothered learning how to purl until today. Why? Because I can’t make anything with my hands and I have no kinesthetic memory whatsoever. Thinking about learning a second stitch (even though it is the second of the only two there are) made me want to hyperventilate. But I didn’t hyperventilate (much) today; I just checked out pages 49-50 in Stitch ‘n Bitch and watched a couple of the purling videos at KnittingHelp.com about four hundred times. And I learned something.
I learned that I am dumber than yarn.
I also learned that I probably should have made a purling practice piece instead of starting on the stupid little change purse right away, because I cast on fifteen stitches, knit fifteen stitches, tried to purl, and didn’t even know where to start. So I watched the videos four hundred more times, and tried to purl three stitches. I don’t know what I actually did to those three “stitches,” but it wasn’t purling, so I ripped everything out and started over. Cast on fifteen stitches, knit fifteen stitches, then horribly mangled what were supposed to be purl stitches. Ripped it out, did the whole process again. And again. This time I actually had fifteen things that I were pretty sure were purl stitches… and an extra random loop of yarn in the middle. I didn’t know what it was, or where it came from, so I ripped everything out again and started over. I was beginning to despair. Even if that row mostly looked correct, it was horrible and awkward trying to make it, and it didn’t feel right at all. I thought, I am never going to learn how to purl properly. Although I will be able to do knit stitches with ease, every time I have to purl a stitch, I will sweat and force my hands into unnatural positions and half the time I will probably mess it up. I just can’t purl. I am dumber than yarn.
Only you know how sometimes you can’t do something, and you can’t do something, and you can’t do something, and then you can? All of a sudden I was working on another worrisome purl row, and it stopped being worrisome. It felt natural. It felt like knitting did. I couldn’t purl, and I couldn’t purl, and I couldn’t purl, and then I could. I can fly, I can fly, I can fly!
I can’t fly, of course. I can only purl. It’s something millions and millions of people can do. It’s nothing special at all. But it feels like it’s something special, and isn’t that what matters?
The Pocket Purse might be going okay, I think. I have the beginning of something that looks suspiciously like stockinette.
There is even a very real possibility that I am not dumber than yarn after all.
March 26th, 2006 at 1:09 pm
I went through the exact same process when I tried to wind my first hank into a ball — spent more time untangling than winding, but I finally got it done. The second and third balls were less problematic.
You are not dumber than yarn — yarn will never ever untangle itself, nor will yarn ever knit itself into something useful. Only an intelligent being with fingers and a brain can do that.