A Knitter without Sweaters?

I bought a "learn to knit" kit in a fit of enlightenment while planning my wedding. I realized that I was in a high-stress situation when I found myself awake in the wee hours of the night, wanting to call various wedding vendors but unable to do so because they were closed. A little voice told me that this was a quiet hobby I could do when I was struck with insomnia, something that wouldn't keep my fiance awake and that involved repetition that might, just might, calm my own mind to the point where I might actually be able to sleep again, too.

My mother and grandmother had introduced me to the basics of knitting and other fiber arts as a child. At this point in my life I didn't remember much of what they'd taught me, but I figured that an instruction book would bring it back to me pretty quickly. I bought the kit and an attractive skein of yarn from the local hobby store and brought it home.

I reminded myself of the basics on a slipper project, and decided one late night that it was time to dig into my first major "adult" knitting project -- a black acrylic sweater vest.

I don't know what I was thinking. Not only are sweater vests not a good look for me or most anyone else, but black? Acrylic? Mostly, it was decision made out of necessity. No, I didn't need a black sweater vest. But I did need a larger project, and the hobby stores were closed by then. I had a few skeins of black acrylic from another never-completed craft project, and I decided to repurpose them.

The project was doomed from the start. The pattern called for "chunky" yarn, and this stuff looked pretty chunky to me. No one told me that "chunky" is a yarn thickness designation that's thicker than worsted -- the normal thickness of craft store acrylic yarn. Also, I did measure my gauge and I thought that I was knitting at the correct number of stitches per inch as described in the pattern, but apparently I wasn't.

After a few weeks, I finally had all the pieces of the sweater vest finished, and I decided to check the fit before I started sewing them together. Alas! Too small! Not a good experience for a new knitter who'd spent weeks on the project -- let alone a bride already obsessing over fitting into her wedding gown.

But an inexplicable thing happened. I was so happy during those late nights sitting up with my pointy sticks and acrylic yarn that I couldn't wait to try something else. Yes, my first real project had been a disaster, but this next one was going to be different!

Somewhere I got it into my head that my next project should be a pair of socks. I don't know why. If you're not a knitter, suffice it to say that there are a lot of tricky things about socks, coordinating four or five double-pointed needles (dpns) at one time being among them. But I was determined. I found a yarn shop and told the proprietress what I wanted to do. She found me a basic sock pattern, helped me pick out the right kind of yarn, and showed me which needles I needed. Then she taught me to knit in the round with four dpns, and sent me on my way telling me to come back at any time if I ever got stuck.

I finished those socks in short order. They were a tiny bit baggy, but they were functional and moderately attractive, and I was hooked. I bought more yarn, more sock patterns, more dpns. I finished my second pair and started a third on our honeymoon. I was in the yarn shop the weekend before my wedding to pick out yarn for that third pair, and the women in the shop thought I was nuts. "No," I said. "This is actually keeping me sane."

That was all seven years ago. Since then I've knitted tons of socks, slippers, tea cozies, purses, baby gifts, and more. Many friends and family have been recipients of hand-knitted goods, and I'm starting to get a reputation. On the one hand, some say I have too much time on my hands if I can knit stuff like this. I just point out that they all have their own time-consuming hobbies, and mine at least yields something practical in the end. On the other hand, some tell me that I'm good at this, and admire my skill. I am proud of what I manage to create, and I'm particularly picky about getting anything I give away as perfect as possible, but I still haven't knit any sweaters. And there's this little voice in my head asking myself how I can be a knitter without knitting sweaters.

I've cast on a few sweaters for myself and one for my husband, but I never get very far. I think I'm still afraid that the project will turn out to be a disaster like that black acrylic sweater vest. I know better, though. I know I've learned a lot since then, and I know I won't make the same mistakes that I made last time. I might make others, but any sweater projects now stand a much greater chance of seeing success -- if I can just bring myself to get beyond the first few inches. Successfully completing a sweater, I think, will mark the next phase of my existence as a knitter.