Tamara has graced us with another fabulous post about her learning to knit days. If you can believe it she's already on the path to the local yarn shop. Are you new to Tamara's story? Click for part 1 and part 2.
Today I planned on going yarn shopping. I knew of one little independent yarn shop in town. I’ve always driven by it wishing I had a reason to go in there. I’ve been a closet yarn fondler for many decades. There is also another little booth in a co-op shop that has yarn, and a locally owned five and dime store that has everything. I plan on browsing and fondling all morning.
I found a pattern in my Stitch and Bitch book for a baby blanket. Conveniently I have this new grandson, Jett. I know, Jett is an unusual name, but their second choice was Stoney, so I’m happy with Jett. Jett is my son’s third boy. His first is named Corbin, his second is named Tripp. I told him that if he named this new one Stoney I would just start calling Corbin Bud to go with the theme. What is really funny is neither my son or my daughter in law are potheads (him not anymore anyway, I don’t think she ever was). But they are both deeply into Texas Country music.
So, I am on a mission to find 8 skeins of something that will work. I browse the chapter about yarn and different types, but with this brain of mine lately I’m not retaining much. I put the book in my knit bag so I can refer to it at the store. After finding the perfect yarn, I plan on going to the coffee shop, getting some cold blended something and cast on 128 stitches for this blanket. Then take it from there.
Off I go! I’m so excited to finally get to go into this little yarn place like I belong! I pull up in the parking lot and there is a big CLOSED sign on the door. Dang. Ok, perhaps Mondays are just their day off. I’ll try this one again tomorrow.
Plan B. Off to the co-op. There are piles and piles of yarn. I fondle with great joy and abandon. When I start looking at the labels nothing is similar to what I need in weight or feet. I’m not sure how to translate or what is important so I go looking for help. There is one crabby old man working the register and he just looks at me and says I HATE ALL THAT YARN, I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT IT. Ok, when would someone be here that does? Tomorrow, and hopefully she is going to stop carrying it soon. You people just squeeze it and knock it down, I’m sick of picking it up. I actually feel honored to be part of “you people.”
Ok, I’ll just refer to my book which is right...crap...I left my bag at home. Double dang crap. Plan C. Off to Dooley’s, the five and dime. Which unfortunately only has acrylic yarns in colors from the 60’s. Crap and double darn. I’m going to start cussing for real soon.
Plan D. Walmart. I’d much rather shop at some local store, but I really want to get started on this blanket. Maybe one of the ladies at Walmart can help me with translating all those numbers. Walmart is chock full of acrylic and one little section of a cotton blend. None of the Walmart ladies knows anything about anything. While I’m standing there looking sad another customer walks up and offers her assistance. I tell her what I need. She points at the acrylics and says you don’t want to use any of this crap. And since this is a summer baby I think this cotton stuff here would be fine for a baby blanket. I go into Austin for my yarn. There’s a place on South Congress that has everything. Its all I can do to keep from throwing my arms around this nice helpful woman. I purchase my cotton yarn, and one of those nifty needle sets that are attached to each other with thick fishing wire and head home.
Once I’m settled in the recliner with my cold beverage at my side I begin casting on those 128 stitches. I’m beginning to understand why Stitch and Bitch recommends that you hold off on using this type yarn until you have a few sessions under your belt. This stuff keeps splitting. Random threads refuse to go on the needle and there’s just no stretch at all. Plus with this pattern you have to knit with two pieces of yarn held together. Between the yarn splitting, or the needle only picking up one strand and then the stupid fishing line swinging up and hitting me in the face, then curling around my needle, or around my hand, I think that evil woman at Walmart just doesn’t want me to ever go to her secret yarn source and get stuff she might want. But by this time I AM GOING TO KNIT THIS BABY BLANKET IF IT KILLS ME.
It takes me a good six hours to get this far:
This blanket might be ready by the time Jett’s grandson graduates from college.
Will Tamara ever finish this blanket? How long until she decides that she needs to open a fiber art shop of her own? Much sooner than you think... stay tuned!
Are you enjoying Tamara Kay's story? Does it remind you of when you first started to knit? Let me know in the comments.