Melissa Lion
Don’t tell anyone, but on Wednesday afternoons, you’ll find me driving up Broadway in Santa Monica, pulse racing, hands sweating, cell phone off and the vague excuses and destinations I’ve told people about my whereabouts playing in my head. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I look at my 14-month-old son in the backseat and shake my head. Mommy’s got all the signs of addiction. We pull up to my favorite haunt (Wildfiber on 14th and Broadway), step inside and belly up to the counter.
“Has the shipment of Socks that Rock come in yet,” I whisper while bouncing my son; I hope she thinks to keep him entertained, but really it’s because I don’t know what else to do with the nervous excitement I feel.
She shakes her head no. Sighing, we wander over to the rest of the wool and begin the hour-long process to choose my two hanks of yarn. I allow myself one visit a week. And two balls of sock yarn per visit. I’ve been doing this for three months; three socks have been knit from all this yarn. It takes half a ball to make a sock.
To be honest, knitting is time-consuming, frustrating, extraordinarily expensive and yet there’s nothing I’d rather do than sit quietly with my pointy sticks, and my wool and knit. I’m not alone. Knitting is experiencing yet another revival and this time this ancient craft (fragments of knitted fabric have been found and dated to 1000 A.D.) is linked to the most up-to-the-minute technology. Type in “knitting” at google.com and there will be no less than 25 million results. Knitting blogs abound and are complete with daily photos, blog buttons, site meters and web rings. On these blogs, knit-alongs (where a group gathers together on a joint blog and all knit the same project, posting tips and pictures of progress), sock swaps, yarn swaps and secret pal exchanges can be found. Last year, I participated in a sock exchange with more than 500 knitters casting on and knitting socks for fellow knitters all over the world. And perhaps that’s why we all sit for hours at a time knitting a single sock (the yarn for which will cost a minimum of $10)-the sense of community.
Knitting transitioned from a means of livelihood to a hobby after the industrial revolution. According to Nancy Bush’s “Knitting Vintage Socks,” in the mid-1800s upper-class ladies would knit pretty little notions like pincushions and purses. Prior to manufactured clothing being available to the masses, many British country people were knitting for their wages. Bush writes that in 1799, “in one single parish, 10,000 people were employed knitting stockings.” Perhaps it’s a romantic idea, but in both cases, I picture women sitting together, sharing their thoughts as their needles click and wool glides through their fingers.
Today, the communal nature of knitting that begins on the Internet results in knitters gathered in person in “Stitch n’ Bitch” groups in cafes, people’s homes and in bars. Debbie Stoller’s fabulous knitting book, “Stitch n’ Bitch,” encourages knitters to “take back the knit” by knitting in public and helping others learn.
Since moving to Malibu, I’ve taken two of my friends to buy yarn and encouraged (some might say bullied) them to dust off those needles they used so long ago when Mom taught them and cast on. We held our very own Malibu Stitch n’ Bitch meeting. We talked about men and books, and chocolate. There might have been some mention of taking over the world. But we were together, our needles working the yarn and slowly a sock for me and two scarves for my friends began to take shape. It was soothing and joyful, and with so much technology surrounding us, it felt lovely to sit and talk face-to-face, and create something slowly, with love, like so many generations of people before us.
Melissa Lion teaches knitting to groups and individuals and can be reached at melissalion@hotmail.com for information on starting a Malibu Stitch n’ Bitch group.