There are days where you won’t feel like picking up your knitting needles. The yarn will simply cease to tempt you with its bright colors. It won’t matter if the variegation is delightful in the simple randomness of its colors. You won’t care if it is soft or how many stitches you manage to finish in a day.
So, being a completely normal and well-adjusted human in a fast paced instant-gratification world, you do the only thing that seems reasonable at the time. Stop.
You go around doing your normal day-to-day activities. Eat; sleep; shower; maybe take the time to nap on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Discover that the world keeps turning even without the click of your constantly moving fingers. It isn’t like the days of old where we are forced to spin our own wool, weave our own cloth, and fashion it into clothing to protect us against the forces of nature. No. We do this for our own pleasure, so it really doesn’t matter if we are sitting on piles of unused yarn. It won’t spoil. There will be plenty of time to get to it.
Then something happens. It will be a small, gradual change. A change so insignificant that you barely even notice it is happening.
You start thinking.
You start remembering.
Soft squishy yarn running between your fingers, getting tangled up between your needle tips, but being slowly and thoughtfully organized into a series of loops. Excitement and anticipation of getting close to the heel of a sock and performing a quick series of short rows that magically make a fabric bend at a ninety-degree angle. The soft click-click of needles echoing in the early morning hours sitting with a warm cup of tea before anybody else gets up.
Then come the itchy fingers as you wander around the room, eyes darting around in every direction-where did you put that bag again? Maybe it wandered up to the living room, but you could have sworn you left it by your bed. It was far too big for the cat to have carried it off and you know for a fact that your fiance wouldn’t dare touch any of your yarn stuff without telling you-even if he had a sudden desire to clean. But your friend was over-nah, she couldn’t have-wouldn’t have…
Then you spot it, sitting by your bedside table and you scoop it up; gently like a mother would pick up a toddler. You quietly find your favorite chair and sit down to knit. Why would you ever put it down to begin with?