I really should have known better than to buy a skein of sock yarn just because I like the colors. It seemed logical. It’s best suited for socks, so I should knit a pair of socks. I looked up some basic sock patterns, bought needles and jumped in. Then I got the skein tangled so bad, it took me a week to wind it into a ball. And the needles feel strange; I didn’t expect them to flex. Now, after knitting on the bus to New York, knitting on the subways, and knitting on the train back–not to mention starting over four times, I have new respect for the people who wove those incredibly fine baskets we saw at the Museum of Natural History. Such patience!
But all the frustrations form only a small part of the knitting. I also decided to knit socks because I knew it would take a while. A good, long while to enjoy the simple act of knitting. I recently heard a discussion about crafts, and how using your hands and a bit of counting occupies your mind in a very satisfying way. I think those Indians really enjoyed making their baskets.
Sometimes the journey really is the important part.