Let me tell you a sad story about a girl named Haddy....
So I knit this
clapotis, right? Out of
koigu. My first
koigu ever. It turned out lovely. Soft and squishy. It's probably one of the best things I've ever knit. Along the way, I started to really think about the color. Was it too pink? Was it for me? Would I wear it? Then one morning while knitting on it on the train, I had this great idea to give it as a Christmas gift to my dear friend who has a thing for pink. Maybe I'd wear it to try it out, but I was 95% sure it was going to this special person for Christmas. It was so in the bag. Me! A Christmas gift done in October?!?
YAY!
I blocked it Sunday and I knew that tonight it would be dry. We had an impromptu dinner at my mother-in-law's tonight. Hubby's Auntie is in town. She used a knit a lot. I'll take it to show her. I came home from work, changed my clothes and
un-pinned the
clapotis. It was better than I expected. I was still on the fence. For me? Christmas gift? Maybe I should try it out, then decide. We were short on time, but I made Hubby snap this pic:
I took one look at it on the preview function and said something about how frumpy I looked. Not enough time for another pic now. Maybe later. Oh.... here comes the sad part....
So, we go to dinner. It's a raucous good time. Dinner's winding down. I decide it's a good time to show Auntie. I bring it over to her. (Brace yourself...) She sees it and says, "It's beautiful! Thank you."
Inner monologue: WHAT!?!?!?!?!
I say, "I knit this." Trying to redirect. She says, "I know. It'll look so lovely with my new pants."
Inner monologue: Oh F*CK!!!!!! She thinks I made this for her!!
Auntie is getting up there in age and her hearing.... well it sucks.
Inner monologue:
Omg.
Omg. Someone help.
I look around. No one is noticing this sh*t. She says she loves it and it's so beautiful and thanks me again with a big hug.
Inner monologue: Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.
I take one last good look at it and consider petting it one last time before I return to my seat. No one else was really paying attention, so no one came to my aid. I sit down and think several of these things at once:
stupid idiot! Why'd you bring that? Why didn't you show Mother-in-law first? How can I get it back? I can't believe that just happened. I only have one frumpy picture!!! Nooooo!Then, I look over and Auntie is crying. She is petting the scarf and admiring the stitches. No one else noticed what was going on. She was all teary over this scarf. She just kept petting it. She gets up and slowly walks the scarf up to her room.
At this point, I'm still praying that perhaps this hasn't happened. Maybe I can go upstairs and steal it back? No. She loves it. I hope she loves it? Does she love it? I actually glanced over to where my coat was hanging. Perhaps this is a dream and it's still hanging where I left it. Drat. Just a plain black coat over there.
The thing is, I'm pretty okay with things going. I consider myself a process knitter. I love me a finished product, but ordinarily I'd let a project go freely. Not this one. This one was so special. Even to give it to my friend was going to be a sacrifice. I knew this and this was part of why it was to be such a special gift for this friend. I was willingly going to part with this for my friend. I knew that she would love it and wear it in a way that any knitter hopes that a knit will be cherished.
The other thing is that I love Auntie too. She's wise, beautiful and she's had a tough life. She deserves that scarf. She really does. It just kills me that I can let it go. I need absolute reassurance that that scarf won't be tossed aside, or re-gifted, or found by someone in the dirty salvation army bin. Oh, the horror.
So here's what I need. Help me to believe. Please, I beg you.
Do you ever think your knits have minds of their own? Like maybe they want to go with certain people? Or perhaps you have certain plans or expectations of your yarn and try as you may it just wants to do what
it wants to do.
As of right now, I'm believing it. That scarf was meant to go to Auntie. I'm going to believe that my idea for this scarf was good, but somehow that scarf just knew it needed to go home with Auntie. It knew it would be loved and cherished. It knew that it could provide her with something she desperately needed.
Please help me believe this. Otherwise I think I might never knit again.
PS - She lives in Florida! A wool scarf owned by someone that lives in FLORIDA! Oh, help me. I may not get over this.