Knit One. Purl Two.

Knitting holds a sweet nostalgia for me. Memories bubble up of my Italian grandmother teaching me on her plaid sofa as a little girl, her accent catching on words as she slowly explained "knit one, purl two" followed by "Yes. Yes. Not so tight. Good.", as I struggled with awkward finger placements.

Unfortunately, it didn't last long. After a few failed attempts I quickly turned my attention to dance and other ways of expressing myself that my mind and body could grasp more easily. But those moments, while fleeting, have stuck with me all these years. Knitting is such a practical skill that I fear will be lost if we don't harness the knowledge from our elders now, along with cooking from scratch, repairing our household items, mending our tattered clothing, and gardening. Sadly, my Grandmother is no longer with us, and in her absence I longed to learn one of her many talents so that I, too, could pass on the knowledge to my own children. It was with this in mind that I began my Pinterest hunt for cute (but more importantly, easy) knitting patterns that I could attempt.

My knitting-by-YouTube classes weren't exactly working. The disembodied screen-hands were moving too quickly for my brain and fingers to catch up. I kept having to let go to pause, attempt, let go to un-pause, and start again. It was a frustrating experience and further reminded me how saintly patient my grandmother was. I wanted to throw in the towel, again.

Serendipitously, I came across a poster at the local library about a knitting club. I took a snapshot of the info. and on the walk home convinced myself that while I was a newbie (ahem, zero understanding of the craft), this could be a good opportunity to learn from some experts and get real-live help. No more pausing and un-pausing. I called the number and was registered to start the following Monday. The woman on the phone said they meet at the back of a department store. "You'll see us" she laughed. Gulp. What had I gotten myself into.

That Monday, I arrived with my grandmother's old knitting needles, bent and worn with years of use, accompanied by a mangy ball of yarn that had been a cat toy for far too long. I found the ladies huddled in a circle of chairs behind the clothing section. The leader motioned for me to join and patted the empty chair beside her's. "Welcome!" She said enthusiastically. I smiled looking around the circle to the white-haired women who were happily knitting away while chatting. Eyes peered up at me behind bi-focals. While I no longer had my Grandmother on Earth, I instantly felt I just inherited a dozen more.

The awkwardness of being so much younger than the group quickly subsided and each week I arrived to the department store ready to learn. Very quickly I was brought to the knitting section of the store, as needles and yarn were thrown in a basket for me to purchase. "This won't do, try that. You'll need this size of needle for this pattern, these scissors are the best", and so on. As a result, my knitting bag grew to be a duffle-bag I lugged to and fro, just like that of the other ladies in the group.

The leader, Sandy, explained that it was important not to try a pattern, but just to master the hand-movements first. The result was a diagonally-shaped facecloth that all the grannies cheered for. Sandy let me know that the knitting class usually had a waitlist, so I was lucky to be there. I felt at ease with these women, listening while they talked about their donated baby hats and mitts for the homeless. They were knitting items to share with the world, and it warmed my heart to see their enthusiasm for their craft continue into their late years. I could feel my grandmother's presence during these sessions, and felt I was continuing her legacy by learning how to do what she had loved.

My friends all laughed when I told them I was part of a knitting club of seniors. If I had to cancel plans I would say "I can't, I have my knitting class," A brief silence then muffled laughter erupted on the other end of the phone. But I didn't mind, I felt at-ease with them and was learning a lot. After the eight weeks I still didn't feel comfortable enough to venture on my own, and unfortunately was unable to register for the next session due to my changing work schedule. I was deflated, but made a promise to myself to try and see where it took me.

Years later, that bag of yarn and needles, and half-knitted promises taunts me at my front door. It's a reminder to me not to give up, and I leave it in plain sight so that it never gets tucked away and forgotten. Recently, my daughter asked about the bag, and since then it's been on my mind. I remembered the reason I had begun this journey in the first place. Which was to teach my children, so the practice would live on. It felt like a little tap on the shoulder sent from Heaven to try again.