My final beanie attempt. I'm sure SuperGrans will be able to find a kid to wear it rather than this jar. Photo / Judith Lacy
OPINION
The candy-floss-coloured wool was mocking me.
“You can’t do it! What a mess you have made! Stop now!”
The darker pink strips made it look like a boiled sweet.
I was boiling with frustration so I grabbed a towel and threw it over said wool and yet another failed attempt at making a kids’ beanie.
It all started when I bumped into SuperGrans Manawatū manager Joanne Baird at the Palmerston North Repair Cafe.
She had an invite and a challenge. The invite was accepted and a story was written. The challenge was to knit a beanie.
I used to love knitting but when I developed occupational overuse syndrome in my late 20s, it become too much for my forearms.
I had a brief foray to knit a teddy bear when I was between jobs 11 years ago, but otherwise my needles have been silent. So silent, I can’t find them.
But, I reasoned I could give a beanie a go. It is hardly a man’s jersey.
Let the battle begin. Bouncy needles, splitty wool, knotted wool, dropping stitches, unintentionally adding stitches, not being able to fix my mistakes, unravelling - both mind and beanie.
The ability to read a pattern and the mechanics of knitting came back to me but I had forgotten how much counting is involved in knitting.
I discovered I couldn’t watch TV and knit as the cerebral matter couldn’t compute everything plus I needed my reading glasses to see the stitches. My TV glasses sat unloved.
For attempt number one, I either invented a new stitch or did moss stitch, the opposite of the rib the pattern called for. I also took the pattern too literally, disposing of commonsense, and ended up with a rat’s tail instead of gradually decreasing for the top of the head.
I undid that one. Attempt number two had fewer mistakes so I took that one into SuperGrans for them to get it off the needles and sew it up.
Joanne told me it is beanie number 61. She praised my great tension.
Tension was in the air when I arrived with attempt number three. It was in a brown paper bag and I wanted to leave it unseen. I’d run out of wool after it got in a knot and I added new wool in the middle of the row.
The beanie unravelled as did my confidence. When I couldn’t get it back on the needles the aforementioned towel was thrown.
I had purchased some different wool. “I’m flying, I haven’t made any mistakes,” I optimistically told Joanne.
I even said “touch wood” and touched a desk.
Would/wood you believe? I made a mistake in the final row and once again deceived myself by thinking I could unravel a row or two and get the stitches back on the needles.
I wasn’t so much unravelling as getting shorn.
For my final attempt, I managed to cast on four fewer stitches than the pattern said. I have no idea how I did this. Otherwise, things went okay until that dreaded last row of knit two together and repeat. Too intense.
I dropped a stitch. This time I pulled it back as best as I could and was determined to finish no matter what. My friend did the sewing up. Apparently, you are meant to use mattress or whip stitch, the names of which give me whiplash. A sewer I am not.
My forearms held up pretty well though my right index finger occasionally complained.
I’m pleased Joanne encouraged me to have a go as when I was sailing along it was therapeutic. It is rhythmic, purposeful and unlike baking you can see your work unfold in your hands.
Plus that wool on your lap is great for these cold, gloomy days.
Judith’s Jottings is back from its sabbatical and will now run fortnightly.
Police said those involved were known to each other.