The Tangled Arts

Two things happened this week, which made me ponder both just how lucky I was to stumble over the whole knitting thing and just how unlucky I was that no one of significance in my life taught me how to knit.

See, over the weekend, as part of my job (I am so darned fortunate to have a great job), I was able to attend the AFL Conference for Diversity and Human Rights. See, this conference is a big deal in the Labour community to which I belong through work. The conference was amazing and so eye opening. It really left me with one huge thing to ponder. What are my roots? What is my history? And, what will I pass on to my children and their children?

I realized that I wished that I knew more about my grandmother and her grandmother, and her grandmother… (well, you get the idea). And, I realized that I wished that there was someone in the family, an aunt, or some other relation that I could have learned to knit from as a child.

I had been thinking about this for two days now, when today, I went for a massage. And, at the office where I go to get the most amazing massages ever (it hurts like hell, but it’s worth every excruciating minute), the receptionist asked me who knit my socks. Well, this sparked a whole discussion about her family (who incidentally has strong Norwegian roots) and the knitting she remembers her mother doing every spare minute of the day when she was a child.

It left me feeling a sense of pride and somehow sadness when she asked me who taught me to knit and I replied, “myself”. I felt somehow happy and sad all at the same time. And, I resolved that both my children will learn to knit… even if they hate it.

I want them to be able to say that they learned from their Mother and pass it onto their children as well.

Monkey Likes Them

P.S. One sock down… one sock to go.