I haven't really been knitting much since we moved into our house. Something about the combination of nesting and finishing graduate school and the insufferable heat of summertime kept me away. Heck, I don't even think I bought any yarn in twelve months. That's crazy! No yarn?!?
When Corey's dad got sick, I whipped out my yarn for some nervous knitting and made myself a really nice hat that I'm pretty proud of. Then I bought new shelving supplies and went through all my possessions to take inventory and touched my yarn stash, and, well, that just opened up my veins. I'm in. I'm back. I'm knitting until the wool gives me a finger rash again.
I have all these projects lined up on the floor in my office, waiting. I have these grand plans to crochet 8 washcloths by next Friday. Ha! I have buttons and accents sitting around to attach to completed projects.
It's almost as if I had forgotten this crazed part of my personality, the part that can talk and watch movies and generally operate as normal with a string constantly weaving through her fingers and the tiny little clicks of bamboo needles.
Some of my undergrad students told me they would love to learn to knit. I invited them to my office to learn how. I have these grand visions that we'll all sit in there and chat and knit things. It probably won't happen. Why? Because they're ten years younger than me and have cooler people to knit with. Oh, and I'm their teacher.