I went to see the Yarn Harlot talk tonight up in Spring, TX. As per previous experiences, she was very funny and totally worth the 150 mile roundtrip to see her. (I may have been a wee bit saddened that we didn’t get the Harlot into a Baptist church again, but I digress…)

She talked about non-knitterly reactions to knitting at one point. Something was said about how it’s always being touted as “Not your Grandmother’s knitting” and she said something to the effect that in fact, it was, it always has been and always will be and that’s not a bad thing.

I agree with Stephanie.

Growing up, my father always laughed about handknit sweaters with necks more appropriate to grace the elegantly long neck of a giraffe. Or sleeves that were more in turn with either knuckles dragging the ground or considerably too short. In short, I never once heard of a sweater that she knit that covered the body of one of her loved ones in a nicely fitting manner. Something was always flawed. I was the first grandchild on that side of the family. When I was twelve, I asked to be taught how to knit. So, as is done in Texas when a child requests a knitting lesson, we went to Wal-mart, bought a pair of brightly colored needles, a booklet and some (looking back, pretty nasty) pastel yellow acrylic yarn. “The better to see your stitches,” I was told. Part of my inital problems concerned my being left handed and her being right handed. I learned everything pretty bass-ackwards. I knit a little off and on for years after that, but not with any seriousness and sure never finished anything. I was never taught to cast off. When I was 19, and needed something to do one day, I picked up a pair of needles again and was off! I relearned everything and my fingers have not stopped since.

Five years ago, I lost my Grandmother to lung cancer. I’d be lying if I said I’d ever gotten over it. Honestly, I don’t want to. By the time I got to go to the house, and pick something of hers to treasure, well, everyone else in the family had it pretty well picked over. But I found a lace shawl of hers in the top of her closet. A lace shawl that three years later, I would drive back to get in the face of a category 5 hurricane barreling towards my island. (It was Rita, she fizzled. Thank goodness.) I don’t know that she knit it. No one knows. I kind of doubt that she did, but I like the mystery of not knowing.

Then, a year ago and two days ago, I lost my Grandfather. The last time I went to the house that I knew better than the ones I’d grown up in, I stood in front of his closet touching various pieces of clothing when I spied something on the floor. So I picked it up preparing to hang it back on a hanger. I picked up a dirty forest green woolen cardigan and since something told me that I didn’t want this to get sent to the Salvation Army, I took it home with me. I washed it and then a second time. I washed it again and again and it was still dirty. I ended up washing it 7 times. (Heck, a year later and I still haven’t finished washing all of the dirt out, but a girl needs a break from soaking wool.) Curious, I asked my father about the sweaters that my Grandmother knit and did she make one for Grandpa. And he described down to the horn buttons the sweater that I was washing. It is a perfect cardigan. And it was well worn and very well loved.

So really, I don’t believe for a minute that “it’s not your Grandmother’s knitting anymore”. I love my Grandmother. I love that I was able to have her teach me to knit. Heck, that I was intelligent enough to ask her to teach me. I love that every stitch I make is from my Grandmother. Like a million tiny reminders that she loved me. (See, and now I’m crying. It’s way too late at night to write shit like this.) I’ve been really lucky and no one has ever told me that line of absolute idiocy. I’m really glad too, because if knitting were to ever become, not your Grandmother’s anymore, then stop the presses, I won’t want anything to do with that. It is absolutely your Grandmother’s. And will be for as long as there are Grandmothers in this world teaching their grandchildren to knit. And I’m really really proud of that.