I Am Not Obliged

Today's Post: A commentary on nothing in particular.

There is no rule that says we must love everything that comes from our knitting needles. Needles are not loins. Yarn is not fruit. 

Though we may feverishly sweat and agonize over the creation process of a knitted thing--and though it may seem impossible to accept--a handknit item (no matter how grand) is not a firstborn child.  We can painstakingly create said thing and not be obliged to love it. It feels unnatural to create something with our bare hands and not inherently love it, but it happens.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day, instead?

No.

It's a let-down. I won't lie. When all of your fiberlicious hopes and dreams have been funneled into one sweet vision of grandeur, it's a bit of a disappointment when the final object of your affection is unlovable. I always feel a bit of remorse... survivor's guilt, maybe.

"I'm sorry. It's nothing personal. You're just too small (big, round, nubby, wonky) and you'll never do. No offense but you'll never live up to my expectations."

I don't say these things aloud, but I do say them.

In my head.

I talk to my knitting, I feel sorry for it, and I apologize when I start to hear my mental drummer playing "Taps". This is why I must remind myself that my knitted thing is not one of my children, and is therefore not subject to the broad measure of unconditional love that inspires my parenting.

Let's face it. Sometimes there's nothing left to do but frog the dirty bird and start over.

I like to call it reincarnation. After all, even the most wayward and disappointing project can become a thing of beauty when given the proper upbringing. I suppose it's a bit like finding your soul mate, only you must find the perfect pairing of a thousand fibers and a thousand patterns (or more) over your lifetime. As a knitter you are the ultimate matchmaker. 

Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match!

Find me a find!

Catch me a catch!

(I do so love Fiddler on the Roof...)

Sometimes it's only after observing the offspring of such a match that we discover that it was not--as we had first hoped--a pairing of soul mates, but rather a sad case of star crossed lovers.

So we begin again. Another pairing. Another match. Another knitted thing.

These are the thoughts that cross my mind when I look down into my nearest knitting basket and notice five whole projects that are destined to be recycled...frogged...reincarnated. I am so detached by now that I just turn up my nose in apathy as I watch them march toward the gallows, because I know (deep down) that they'll get another chance.

The Bella Mittens are finished, and I almost love them. I would love them more if I'd used different yarn, but I knew what I was doing when I started them. I went forward knowing full-well that I would be a little less-than impressed when the final count was tallied, and so I only *almost* love them. I'm hoping my sister isn't quite as picky as I am.

*fingers crossed*

-Marie