The other day I was in my knit shop , Yarntopia, (yes, it's mine, that's how I am about knit shops) and I bought a book called Last Minute Knitted Gifts, and as I did, something happened to me. I can't quite describe it, but I guess one way to cut into the feeling is to say this: I fell in love. The book has gorgeous photographs and beautiful patterns for projects I would actually want to make. So there's that. But there's also the whole idea of me as someone who makes gorgeous, last minute knitted gifts for the people in my life. I love that, even though I'm not really that. It's kind of how I felt when I got The River Cottage Family Cookbook -- like right here, in my hands, is this world I want to not just cook in, but BE in. Just like that, Last Minute Knitted Gifts presents a world I want to find myself in, and, happily, I don't have to gut a fish to do it.
I wonder, though, if my reaction is partly abuot the thrill of finishing afgans I made for my kids, and almost finishing the famous bear, but also if it's part of a turning to home that happens when the world feels precarious. Knitting isn't a frugalista hobby -- yarn costs -- but it is very home art-y and it give me at least that great sense of making something in a prefab world. It's like why I bake cookies. (And bake and bake) I just get that mmm-mmm good feeling. And see, I'm so inistently earnest about it. I must be in love, I can't even make a joke. Times are too rough, and there's too much knitting to do. Way too much.