Prodigal Knitter

This past Saturday, I was facing a 3-hour train ride with no new reading material.  Desperate, I rummaged through my Ravelry queue and came up with a fingerless mitt pattern that would use some sock yarn I had handy.  No harm in trying it, I figured.  But really, it was a leap of faith.

You see, there's something been happening lately that I haven't admitted to you folks.  In fact, I've had a hard time admitting it to myself.  Recently I had to face up to a disturbing fact: I'd lost interest in knitting.

These meant nothing to me.

Remember, I have numerous bags of knitting stashed around the house.  There is an entire dresser devoted to storing yarn and knitting/crochet sundries in my bedroom.  Many hours of my life over the past 6 years have been spent deciphering patterns, searching for missing needles, and perusing websites like WEBS and Knitpicks.  So this sudden discovery that I felt no urge to pick up the needles, no urge whatsoever to cast on a new project, was unsettling, to say the least.

It all started 2 weeks ago, when I worked up the nerve to confront an uncompleted lace shawl project that had been haunting me.  Realizing that it held no interest for me anymore, I frogged it (meaning, I pulled it all out, for those of you who aren't hep with the knitting lingo).  Ah, I thought, that'll do the trick.  That unwanted project was blocking my creativity.  Now I'll go find something I WANT to knit.

Was this what was in store for me?

Only, I couldn't.  I clicked listlessly through endless pages of patterns on Ravelry and nothing piqued my interest.  It's summer, I reasoned to myself.  Maybe I just need to crochet with some nice cool cotton.  A market bag, maybe?   But, no, not even that could entice me.  Apparently, my love affair with all things yarn was over.  Was it turning 50 that did it?  Menopause?  Do crafters have midlife crises that cause them to dump their needlework and take up bungee jumping instead?  All I knew was that I just couldn't fake it - I didn't want to knit.

So I ignored my yarn.  I know!  It's a weird way to live.  I read all my birthday books (6 in one week).  I felt strangely content with my new post-knitting life.  Maybe that whole knitting thing had just been a phase, a fluke, I thought.  It's sort of a relief, actually.  No more cruising yarn shops; no more wasting hours of my life on Ravelry, looking for the perfect market bag pattern...

But, Reader, I'm happy to report that, on that train ride to my Dad's, the magic returned.  I knitted contentedly all the way there.  I knitted while I was trying to cope with the voodoo priestess.  I knitted on the way back, glad I had something to do other than watch soaps on an IPad, as my seatmate was doing.  The handwork was comforting, like a homecoming.  And, truth to tell, I was relieved to find myself back in the knitting saddle, as it were -- because I really didn't want to try that bungee jumping.

[Yarn image: Living Large With Less]
[Bungee image: Spirit of the Himalayas]