Last night was my second mad skillz knitting class... I proudly showed off what I had worked on throughout the week:
|I'm in the process of getting a cat so I can blame this mess on it.|
I have no explanation. Except that I pulled when I shouldn't have and didn't stop when I should have.
After much laughter at my expense (there was no laughing with me) two women decided I needed help. And lots of it.
After 45 minutes.... yes, forty-five minutes... the two amazing souls --- yes, TWO WOMEN worked on this mess for FORTY-FIVE MINUTES --- presented me with this:
|It's the Holy Grail of Yarn Balls, y'all!|
It was like suddenly I was a professional and could conquer all things knitting related! But not really because somehow over the course of time I've acquired fifteen extra stitches that weren't there in the first row. But that's why I'm telling everyone I'm making a sharf (Jenny's term for half scarf- half shawl).
I had assumed the class would be a coffee clutch of 83-year old women who sat knitting tacky colored afghans but our class is filled with people all over the place. A couple younger kids, a high school student and her mother, a bunch of women around my age, and two men. One obviously gay and the other obviously mentally unstable. His name is Ed and he's a freaking genius lacking all acceptable social skills. The man is a living, breathing Wikipedia and never stops talking. I learned about ancient Egyptians and mathematical optimization, as well as 18th century darning techniques and the fact that his blood pressure medicine nearly killed him. (Oh, and he's had six surgeries on his hand. Not all at once; over the course of his lifetime.)
Ed was creating something magical and awesome and told us all about this super expensive yarn with flecks of real gold in it that he purchased in some exotic locale. His project was flawless. He is obviously not a first year student.
He then looked over at me and my knitting disaster and asked what I was working on. I looked up at him and as serious as ever announced, "Oh, I'm making a sharf... for my sister."
"A sharf?" You could see him shuffling through the card catalog in his brain.
"Yeah, after I make my sister's I've got about three friends who want one, too. I am gonna be busy making sharfs!" (Or would it be sharves?)
Anyway, Ed one-upped me by announcing he had a baby blanket to work on next that would be made from the rare hair fibers of the Vicuña (which live in the upper altitudes of the Andes Mountains and can only be sheered once every three years).
But I won the battle of the wits because when I left everyone wished me luck on my sharf and you could tell Ed still had no idea what the hell a sharf was, nor was he going to lower his standards and ask what one was. That right there tells you my fellow knitters are awesome. And also that Ed can be somewhat annoying.