Life is full of transitions. It's almost astounding how, once we seem settled into something--a routine, a feeling, a trust that things will remain the same, that we can revel in a certain security that everything is going to stay just the way it is--it changes. Even if we know things are going to change, even though we can with a pretty high level of certainty make a bet that things will indeed change by a certain date, it always takes us by surprise. At least for me.
But, first, let's talk about hats. I finished Kira Dulaney's lovely Couvercle, and, as promised, here is a picture. The seed stitch was fast and fun to work in (it's been quite a while since I've done any projects in it) and the crochet was a nice variation to the other projects I have going on, as I've been working mostly in the round with lightweight cotton. It's knitted in a nice acrylic mohair blend that I found at Yuzawaya--my favorite craft supply store in Japan--last spring. The whole hat took me a record three days--what a satisfaction! To think it took me longer to get around to taking some photos and writing about it.
As for my next project, I'm venturing into the world of socks. I don't know
if it's with pride or shame that, after nine years of knitting, I've managed to steer completely clear of socks. Perhaps it has something to do with all those nasty vocabulary words: heel flap, gusset, toe. Perhaps it just has to do with the forced use of double pointed needles and yarn so light it would blow away in the wind. Who knows. But I've managed to avoid them completely. Until now. I have just embarked on my first pair of socks. After four false starts, I've managed to get to a humble beginning. Because Christmas is coming, and my family has shown a fierce loyalty to reading this fledgling blog, no credits or links will be provided in this post, but after the holidays, be sure to check back for pictures and pattern credits!
And so we get to that idea of transition. First of all, I should mention that I have been reading and following a lot of blogs, many of whose are about knitting, scrapbooking, cooking, photography, and life. Even though I never comment, even though I'm quite quiet on the message boards of Ravelry and Two Peas In A Bucket, I often feel quite a kindred connection with other knitters and scrapbookers. Knitters especially. For me, I do a lot of thinking while I'm knitting. Have a problem? Knit a hat! Have a really big problem? Knit a scarf! Have something life threatening? Knit a sweater! By the time you're finished, you'll have figured it out.So, today, as I was starting my new knitting transition, I was pondering how, on Tuesday, once again the rhythm of my life will change. It isn't anything major, really. I'm starting a series of new full-time contracts, teaching tax office English to Japanese tax officers preparing to deal with foreign, English-speaking tax payers. It's nothing new--I taught this last year. But it isn't easy, and it's certainly not fun. And it meant that I had to say goodbye to a really wonderful group of students that I've been teaching for over a year. Never a happy thing for a teacher.
However, there is the prospect of coming up with fun, creative ways to teach tax English, and meeting six new groups of students. It's intimidating. I'm not really a shy person around people I know, but standing in front of ten expectant faces at 9:00 in the morning isn't really my strong point, especially when I'm teaching something that isn't my specialty. Like filling out tax forms. I love my accountant!
Transitions, though, can be likened to knitting socks. I love working with worsted or bulky weight yarns. They're hefty. They have weight, and substance, and spunk. I'm good at it--mostly because I know what to expect, and the feeling of it in my hands has become second nature to me. Working with size two sock needles and wispy little fingering weight...er...thread feels like I'm trying to tweeze my eyebrows with a wrench. Or ride 10 km on a tricycle. It just feels strange. Like a giant sitting down to tea in an English garden with bone china teacups. I have a lot to learn. And yet, after the meager seven or eight rows I've managed so far, I have begun to feel a rhythm to it. There is, indeed, a chance that by the time I reach the heel, I may very well feel comfortable knitting the rest of it. It's possible. And then there is that inevitability that, if I knit up enough socks, next time I pick up my worsted wool and size 10 needles, they'll feel cumbersome and awkward. Maybe. Life, and transitions, are like that, aren't they. And it makes me start to wonder, whatever could be next? Fair Isle? Only after getting comfortable and being surprised all over again will I be able to answer that....
