I’m still making progress on my neck warmer, about six inches from the end. It’s probably the only thing that could make me grateful that it’s mid-April and near freezing rain in Chicago today. “Snow” and “Easter” are words that should never appear in the same sentence, but it’s happened in Chicago some years.
But that’s not what I came to say. I came to make the following declaration:
Knitting is disappointing.
Sometimes it’s wonderful, and I need it in my life in a way that is perhaps unhealthy, but there are days...
I worked forever on my shawl for Easter. I worked so hard it became work--as in the opposite of fun. I buckled down and knitted even when I didn’t feel like it anymore because I’d given myself a deadline.
Like I don’t have enough of those in my life as a writer anyway. Clever of me, don’t you think?
I don’t miss my writing deadlines. Bad things happen if you miss those. Bad things everyone recognizes as bad things. Families will go without decent dinners, friends will let you bail on your lunch dates, and you can generally act like a cranky child and people just put it down to your highly artistic nature and hope you get over yourself soon. All in the name of making your deadline.
Fail to get your Easter shawl done in time for Easter, and people just look at you funny. They’re not nearly as understanding of your crankiness, and they are not willing to eat something microwavable just because you’ve got a whole foot of size nine needlework glaring down your proverbial fiber gun-barrel. Giant, unspoken waves of “get over yourself,” waft across the room.
As a woman of faith, I try to remember the bigger picture here. Easter is not about pastel shawls. It’s way much bigger than how I manage to drape my shoulders any given Sunday. But those of you in possession of yards of un-knit holiday themed yarn, the ones with baby blankets still needing rows even though their recipients are getting their braces off next week, the ones with one lonely Christmas sock still yearning for its mate, you feel my pain. My disappointment at not having pulled it off. My uncelebrated, missed-the-boat coming completion that will now be bittersweet even if it rocks in all its pastel artistry. You get it.
Now, if you could just explain it to the rest of the world...