Hailey started knitting a few weeks ago and she told me that she wanted to teach me how because it helps with anxiety and also because I keep telling her the cats need knitted hats. Turns out she’s really good at it but I sort of suck, partly because I drop a lot of stitches but also because I get into the rhythm of it and don’t want to stop and that’s how I ended up with a scarf that is almost as long as me in spite of the fact that it’s Texas and no one here ever needs scarfs.
Hailey kept trying to help me, nicely pointing out that I’d missed a lot of stitches, that I left big holes in it and that giant knots and loose threads were hanging out of it all over. “It’s really nice,” she said. “But…it got weird.”
Victor walked by. “Wow. That scarf looks like it’s seen things.”
Hailey tried to tie up yarn that had come unraveled at the ends. “It’s come undone.”
And they weren’t wrong.
But somehow it fit me. Raggedy and weird and strange. It’s come undone but honestly, who hasn’t?
But it’s soft. It’s warm. It’s comforting and nice even when it’s falling apart. “This scarf is perfectly me,” I explained.
And they both looked at it with new eyes.
“It’s…artistic,” Hailey said.
“It’s certainly…unique,” Victor said.
And it is.
Also, I totally made hats for the cats and it was awesome but then I texted the pictures to myself so that I could put them on my blog and I got one of the numbers wrong so I ended up texting a stranger pictures of me and my cats in clothes I knitted and I don’t know if I should apologize or if I have a new best friend.
