Crazy for Ewe

I recently listened to a podcast in which Trish Malcolm interviewed Cecelia Campochiaro, author of Sequence Knitting. Trish Malcolm often begins her interviews by asking her guest how they got into knitting. Campochiaro said that it was not her mother, but the mother of a friend who taught her to knit. Apparently Campochiaro's mother had been forced to major in home economics in college and bore deep resentment against domestic arts. 

I can totally see that. Even activities we genuinely enjoy lose all their charm

My son, Colton, likes a girl at school. He'd like to ask her out for coffee or something but he is terrified.

"This is so hard," he moans.

"What's so hard?" I wonder, "Pick up the phone and call, I mean text and see if she'd like to get coffee." These are simple words, simple concepts.

Silence.

"Did you text her?"

"No."Gt

"Are you going to?"

"Maybe. I dunno. Probably not"

"Why not?"

"What if she says no?"

Aaah, the crux of the matter.  It's not hard to ask, but the fear of failure is something else entirely‑especially when you're 17.

Not that it gets any easier at 27, or 57.  I guess by the time we're 97 we would be over it, but who knows.  

Lovely Ann stopped in today with Losing Lover on her needles. This is a beautiful cozy sweater in Trust from Wooladdicts. It's a gorgeous fuzzy chunky boucle that is perfectly named‑‑you just have to trust that your stitches are there because you sure as heck can't see them! Ann just wanted a double check on her length measurement and next step. While we measured, she confided that she would have been much further along but had ripped her sweater back twice because of a mistake. But she was particularly proud to have been able to not only rip it back, more

We had a lovely customer at the table who needed a new circular needle. Ginni asked her whether she wanted Addi's, ChiaGoo Red Lace, or Lykke's.  She said, "I don't know, which one is the cheapest?" As it happens, they're all within a few dollars of each other, and I was sad that her decision was going to come down to price.  I said, "You know, each needle is slightly different, and you ought to decide based on the yarn, the project, and your personal preference. Why don't you try them all and see which works best for you?" So she did.  I don't remember what she chose, but I was happy that she had made a conscious choice rather than opting for what might have been a sub-optimal selection based entirely on price.

The whole interaction reminded me of a beautiful scene from the novel A Gentleman in Moscow, in which The Count overhears a young man at the next more

Saturday in the shop, Melissa and I were looking at an ad from Eileen Fisher.

Melissa said, "I love this ad‑ three women, all different ages, all different sizes, and all different colors, wearing basically the same sweater. It makes me sad when I hear women look at a pattern and say 'I could never wear that.'"

"Maybe they mean it's just not their personal style," I offered.

"That's different, " she said. "That's 'I would never wear that' not 'I could never wear that.'"

I agreed. "I think when someone says, 'I could never wear that,' there is this unspoken following clause of 'and look like that in it,' which is not the point."

"Right," she said, "because  you're not supposed to look like someone else in your clothes. It's not a costume. You're supposed to look like you in your clothes."

The beauty of knitting is that you make your garment to fit you, the way you like it.

When Elizabeth, my oldest, was born, I remember my father saying that unless she grew up to be a major celebrity, she would never again command the constant attention and adoration she had right now. It is true. We doted on her; watched her every move, and applauded her every accomplishment. It's really no wonder first children and only children turn out the way they do.

As Elizabeth grew, and her siblings came along, life returned to a new normal, and that rockstar attention waned. But even older children crave