Mystery Knit at Me & Ewe, July 2015
A few months ago, Betsy suggested we check out an Intro to Knitting class at a new yarn and fabric boutique store that had just opened, Me & Ewe. I figured, hey, this is a down year for me, and I have some spare time, so why not? So we went, and we learned to knit, and I discovered that I did not harbor a secret natural talent for knitting. I was pretty bad, really.
I practiced some, but not much, because I couldn't quite figure out where knitting fit into my spare time. Most of my spare cycles were already occupied by exercising, reading, learning Swedish or playing video games with my favorite husband. But I practiced when I could, and tried to make the big quilt-size squares that we were trying to make. And failing. And starting over again. And failing. And starting over again. And failing. My big problem was that I didn't know how to fix it when I made a mistake, and I made a lot of mistakes. So instead of picking up a dropped stitch or unknitting half a row to fix a problem, since I didn't know that it was even possible to do these things, or how to do it if it was, I'd just start the whole thing over. Completely.
Finally on our road trip to Illinios, I decided if I was going to continue this knitting thing, and not throw all of my knitting gear out the window and give up completely, I needed to start smaller. Finish something. Anything. Build some confidence. So instead of making a 40x40 quilt-size square, I attempted a 20x20 coaster-sized square.
And it turned out that 20x20 was small enough that I didn't make any (horrible) mistakes (that I couldn't live with), and I made a coaster. Success!
Riding high on that success, Betsy and I went to a drop-in knitting session at Me & Ewe. As Betsy showed off her multiple quilt-sized squares that she'd done perfectly (for the most part), I proudly brought out my tiny knitted coaster and paraded it about the room. Carol, our teacher, who knew how much I struggled, praised me mightily. I glowed.
And then they mentioned that this particular night was the first night of a Mystery Knit session. Betsy and I had no idea what that was. But evidently we had to decide whether we wanted to participate or not. It seemed to involve probably making something more complicated than a coaster, but we had no idea what (hence the mystery), and odds were super high that it was beyond my abilities.
But what is life without a challenge, right? So we decided to join.
In a Mystery Knit, you get a pattern for part of a Thing, but you get it in parts; each week you only get enough to get you to the next week's hint. All names and any hints of what it might be are removed. You just do what the pattern says that week, and theoretically eventually you end up with a finished piece of something.
I had really only ever knitted (and purled a tiny, tiny amount), and suddenly I'm increasing and decreasing and SSKing and KFBing and YOing and using markers (had to borrow one from another lady in the class, because I certainly didn't own any) and all these other things which were in no way required for making a coaster-sized square.
And strangely enough, I was doing okay! I managed to finish my homework for the first week, and we came back the second week to find we had to add another color. Things were getting ever more complicated.
And yes, a few times I may have gone over to Betsy's house because I had messed up and couldn't figure out how to fix it. And maybe once I went to Me & Ewe and begged Carol to help me undo a mistake I'd made so I could continue. And sure I brought my knitting with me once when I went swimming with Kristi, so she could help me fix another mistake.
But as time went on, I actually got a little bit more self sufficient. I didn't stop making a ton of mistakes, but I started figuring out how to fix them myself. Or how to get them to the point where they were still there, but I could continue on despite them.
And most importantly, I stopped panicking when I made a mistake. And if I couldn't fix it, I got better at just letting there be a flaw or a hole or too many or too few stitches.
By the end, I'd find my stitch count was off, so obviously I'd added or dropped a stitch, but instead of frenziedly trying to figure out what went wrong, I'd just toss in a random decrease on one side to bring my stitch count down where it should be. Uh, perhaps that's a sign I let things go a little TOO much. I don't think that's really an ideal strategy. But I was proud of myself! I got better at Not Giving A Shit. Which it turns out I really need, when it comes to things that require some level of Perfection.
And on the next to last night, we discovered we were making a cowl! I.. have never worn a cowl in my life, and I live in Texas, and odds are low I'll ever wear a cowl!
But I made this amazing rug-like hunk of clothing, and I couldn't be more proud. It is riddled with flaws, and it's beautiful.
And hey, there are usually at least two days each Texas winter where I wear a hat+scarf, so maybe I can just wear a cowl instead.
Also it turns out that dog-models really hate cowls.
This was the best picture I could get of Enzo wearing the cowl, but I got about 20 of this quality picture!
I practiced some, but not much, because I couldn't quite figure out where knitting fit into my spare time. Most of my spare cycles were already occupied by exercising, reading, learning Swedish or playing video games with my favorite husband. But I practiced when I could, and tried to make the big quilt-size squares that we were trying to make. And failing. And starting over again. And failing. And starting over again. And failing. My big problem was that I didn't know how to fix it when I made a mistake, and I made a lot of mistakes. So instead of picking up a dropped stitch or unknitting half a row to fix a problem, since I didn't know that it was even possible to do these things, or how to do it if it was, I'd just start the whole thing over. Completely.
Finally on our road trip to Illinios, I decided if I was going to continue this knitting thing, and not throw all of my knitting gear out the window and give up completely, I needed to start smaller. Finish something. Anything. Build some confidence. So instead of making a 40x40 quilt-size square, I attempted a 20x20 coaster-sized square.
And it turned out that 20x20 was small enough that I didn't make any (horrible) mistakes (that I couldn't live with), and I made a coaster. Success!
Riding high on that success, Betsy and I went to a drop-in knitting session at Me & Ewe. As Betsy showed off her multiple quilt-sized squares that she'd done perfectly (for the most part), I proudly brought out my tiny knitted coaster and paraded it about the room. Carol, our teacher, who knew how much I struggled, praised me mightily. I glowed.
And then they mentioned that this particular night was the first night of a Mystery Knit session. Betsy and I had no idea what that was. But evidently we had to decide whether we wanted to participate or not. It seemed to involve probably making something more complicated than a coaster, but we had no idea what (hence the mystery), and odds were super high that it was beyond my abilities.
But what is life without a challenge, right? So we decided to join.
In a Mystery Knit, you get a pattern for part of a Thing, but you get it in parts; each week you only get enough to get you to the next week's hint. All names and any hints of what it might be are removed. You just do what the pattern says that week, and theoretically eventually you end up with a finished piece of something.
I had really only ever knitted (and purled a tiny, tiny amount), and suddenly I'm increasing and decreasing and SSKing and KFBing and YOing and using markers (had to borrow one from another lady in the class, because I certainly didn't own any) and all these other things which were in no way required for making a coaster-sized square.
And strangely enough, I was doing okay! I managed to finish my homework for the first week, and we came back the second week to find we had to add another color. Things were getting ever more complicated.
And yes, a few times I may have gone over to Betsy's house because I had messed up and couldn't figure out how to fix it. And maybe once I went to Me & Ewe and begged Carol to help me undo a mistake I'd made so I could continue. And sure I brought my knitting with me once when I went swimming with Kristi, so she could help me fix another mistake.
But as time went on, I actually got a little bit more self sufficient. I didn't stop making a ton of mistakes, but I started figuring out how to fix them myself. Or how to get them to the point where they were still there, but I could continue on despite them.
And most importantly, I stopped panicking when I made a mistake. And if I couldn't fix it, I got better at just letting there be a flaw or a hole or too many or too few stitches.
By the end, I'd find my stitch count was off, so obviously I'd added or dropped a stitch, but instead of frenziedly trying to figure out what went wrong, I'd just toss in a random decrease on one side to bring my stitch count down where it should be. Uh, perhaps that's a sign I let things go a little TOO much. I don't think that's really an ideal strategy. But I was proud of myself! I got better at Not Giving A Shit. Which it turns out I really need, when it comes to things that require some level of Perfection.
And on the next to last night, we discovered we were making a cowl! I.. have never worn a cowl in my life, and I live in Texas, and odds are low I'll ever wear a cowl!
But I made this amazing rug-like hunk of clothing, and I couldn't be more proud. It is riddled with flaws, and it's beautiful.
And hey, there are usually at least two days each Texas winter where I wear a hat+scarf, so maybe I can just wear a cowl instead.
Also it turns out that dog-models really hate cowls.
This was the best picture I could get of Enzo wearing the cowl, but I got about 20 of this quality picture!