I was browsing the library shelves the other day when I came across a new book, My Grandmother's Knitting: Family Stories and Inspired Knits From Top Designers by Larissa Brown. I immediately checked it out, and began reading it. What a smart idea! Brown's book is broken into two parts: family stories and knitting patterns. Seventeen knitwear designers tell stories about a grandmother, mother, aunt, or father who inspired them to knit and be creative.

While the patterns are lovely (I've already made a pair of Helen's slippers!), it's the family stories that I treasure. Because so many women of a generation or two ago knit, it's likely that knitting also plays a part in your own family history.  Look closer at your family history. What knitters do you see? What did their loving hands make for you?

There's no question about it--the knitter in my family was my paternal grandmother. Born and raised in Beirut, Lebanon, she came to the United States in the early 1990s. She and my grandfather escaped the tumultuous civil war in Lebanon, and settled with my family in suburban Chicago. She took some clothes, her white Persian cat, and, of course, her knitting needles with her on her trans Atlantic flight. We do not have many pictures of my grandmother, but here she is:

This picture is not the best quality, but I chose it because it shows my grandmother wearing a shawl that she very likely knit for herself. As in most photos taken at that time, my grandmother has a stern expression on her face. Pictures were something you sat for, and took seriously; no silly, toothy grins for this camera. She dared the camera to make her smile. Her glasses, while not trendy to us, are reminiscent of Um Kalthoum's, who was the matronly diva of classical Arabic music.

As I recall it, my grandmother immediately took over the kitchen. She was, after all, the mother of seven children, and was used to taking care of everybody. When she wasn't cooking a meal for our family, she was knitting.  She used to sit on the floor in front of the television and knit. She'd tuck her legs underneath her body in an almost cat-like fashion. She'd watch the news, hoping for some word of the war in her country and meanwhile, her needles would be flying. Some knitters time themselves, and boast about how many stitches per minute they can knit. I'm sure my grandmother would be right up there with the best and fastest, because she was fast. She was so adept at her craft that she didn't have to even look at her stitches; she must have just intuitively felt them on her needles.

My grandmother's specialty was knitting sweaters. She knit a sweater for everybody in the family. We'd go to the craft store and pick out the color of yarn we liked, and describe to her the style we wished. She did the rest. She didn't work from some pattern in a book; she had been knitting for so long that she just knew. A V-neck sweater? No problem. A crew sweater with set-in sleeves? Absolutely. My grandmother knit for me a crew sweater with stripes in white, blue, and green. Very preppy. It was the early 90s, remember!? I was so excited, I wore it to school the day after she finished it.

I regret never asking my grandmother to teach me to knit. She came to live with our family during my early teen years, and in my adolescent view, knitting just wasn't cool. I wish that she were still alive, so that I could ask her questions about what she made, and she could teach me all of what she knew.

At my grandmother's funeral, I met a young family who had a three year-old daughter. She lived in the same apartment building as my grandmother, who babysit often for her. My grandmother loved children, and would happily dote on them, making them snacks and playing games. I noticed that this little girl was wearing a sweater, which, the father explained, was knitted by my very own grandmother. In fact, the girl had several sweaters knitted by my grandmother. I was struck by this: with seven children of her own and many more grandchildren, my grandmother certainly had enough people to knit for, but they were scattered hither and yon, from the United States to Canada, and all over the Middle East. Resourceful and busy as ever, she took care of the child before her, lovingly knitting sweaters, which were well appreciated.

Now, every time I knit, I think about my grandmother, who is decidedly "cool."

Most of the time, I plan my list of gifts to knit with great care and forethought. But a week before my brother-in-law and sister-in-law were to hop on a plane for Amman, Jordan to visit family, it dawned on me that I should knit a pair of slippers for my husband's sister, who lives there. A pair of slippers would knit up quickly and, more importantly, would be easy to stash in an already full suitcase. So, in great haste, I knit these slippers, which are designed by Wendy Bernard. The pattern can be found in Larissa Brown's new book, My Grandmother's Knitting: Family Stories and Inspired Knits from Top Designers. My husband's sister spends a lot of time on her feet, and, the last time I saw her, she complained of how sore her feet got by the end of the day. Slippers would be like a hug for her tired feet. My intentions were noble, but the airlines conspired against me.

I wasn't sure if I would finish these slippers in time, as I too had a plane to catch, for travels more domestic. But there I was, weaving in ends, and tacking my knitted flower to the slipper when I had but five minutes to leave the house and catch my own plane. It was knitting down-to-the wire, but the fun didn't stop there. My brother and sister-in-law caught their plane for Paris, and from there traveled on to the Middle East, but while they arrived, their luggage did not. In fact, the airline informed them that their luggage was lost. Not a trace. Can you imagine that? I thought about the inconvenience of having to purchase everything anew, and then two days later it dawned on me: my slippers were in that suitcase! My slippers were lost! Now I was really mad!

This knitting story has a happy ending, for the slippers, oh, er, the bag, was finally found in Charles de Gaulle airport, and reunited with their rightful owners. In the week in which the bag was lost, I imagined my slippers traveling around the world, to destinations far and wide. Maybe my slippers made it to India, Dubai, or Africa. Who knows? Wendy Bernard designed these slippers in honor of her grandmother, but they will forever be the "traveling slippers" to me.

I recently traveled to see some family members for the Easter weekend. Like many knitters, I took a small project with me, and looked forward to working on it during my trip. (Caveat: I have small children, so time spent in the airport, on the airplane, and such, are not given the luxury of reading or knitting, but in just keeping little ones occupied.) So, on Saturday, with the children running around happily with their cousins, I took out my knitting bag, and began working away at a pair of legwarmers that my daughter has requested for her ballet class. I was able to knit while I visited with my family members, and didn't think anything about my knitting, or knitting in general.

A day later, my mother told me that my brother was rather flummoxed to see me knitting. He asked her something along the lines of: "what's with Julie and knitting?"I picked up knitting after having a baby and completing a dissertation a few years ago, and have been in love with the craft ever since. But suddenly I found myself having to give reasons for why I knit.

So here are the top 10 reasons why I knit. What are your reasons?

1. After a day spent taking care of young children, changing diapers, and fighting all of life's little battles, knitting is relaxing.
2. Not to dismiss process, but being able to produce a piece of knitted fabric is a wonderful way to create something tangible in a world where everything seems very abstract or hyper-real. My dissertation went into a desk drawer. My knitted socks are on my feet.
3.  Knitting is creative. It's a craft whose only limits are those in your imagination. I may be a "blind follower" of patterns now, but I am planning to escape those bounds of perfectionism and try something that is All Mine.
4. Knitting combines color and texture--two things that I have always loved about clothing. Although you wouldn't guess it now, I used to love putting together unique outfits that combined unusual colors and textures. Who knows--maybe knitting will help me get my mojo back?
5.  Knitting reminds me of my grandmother, who was an avid knitter. She's gone, but I can remember her every time that I knit.
6. I enjoy giving knitted gifts. Knitting takes time, and nobody seems to have any time these days. So by logic, giving a hand-made gift says to the giftee: you are special. I took a lot of time to make this, and thought of you while I made this lovely slipper!
7. Knitting connects me with a larger culture of knitters. I can "make friends" with anybody else who I see knitting by just asking about what she or he is knitting.
8. Likewise, knitting connects me with the past, while forging new meanings with the present and future. Women might have been expected to knit in centuries past, but these days, the meaning behind the craft has undoubtedly changed and, in some cases, taken on even more social or artistic significance.
8. I love to hear the stories behind knitted pieces. How was the piece made? What did you learn while you made it? Did anything unusual happen in the process of making this piece? Who is it for and why?
9. Knitting is a portable art form. You can't really take your quilt in progress to the zoo with you, now can you? Only knitters will know that you can walk and knit, read and knit, and fill in short, idle moments with a few knitted stitches.
10. Knitting is mindful. It's a form of meditation that is quiet and centers me after a hectic day.

Why do you knit?

Four years ago, my husband gave me Ann Budd's Getting Started Knitting Socks for Christmas. It's a wonderful book for somebody who wants to master the basic sock pattern on double pointed needles. Double pointeds in hand, I enthusiastically jumped in, and have knit about seven socks, based on the basic pattern. With little children around, I don't have the opportunity to knit more involved things like lace, cables, or color patterns. The "mindless" knitting of a ribbed cuff, or stockinette foot suited me just fine. Here are a few pictures of some socks that I knit for my children to wear for their first day of preschool, based on Budd's book.

This sock was knit for my son, with Red Heart aloe sock yarn.


These socks were knit for my daughter, with Paton's Kroy sock yarn.


This last sock is a sleeping sock or slipper, knit with Lion Brand Thick and Quick wool.

These are basic socks; nothing fancy here. My children were so excited for their first day of school that they happily wore the socks, along with the new outfits and shoes. But, just as the delights of school wear out, so did their willingness to wear my handknit socks. My son refuses to wear his socks, complaining that they are too bulky. My daughter wore hers a total of two times. We put firetrucks and flowers on the bottoms of the socks with puffy paint, which added a little bit of preschool appeal, but to no avail. The socks sit gathering dust.

What's a knitter to do? Children's knits are so fun to make, and so quick too. Is the joy merely for the knitter?

Barnett, Mac. Extra Yarn. Illustrated by Jon Klassen.  New York: Baltzer + Bray, 2012. Ages 4 and up.

I know, I know. This is my second review in one week about a picture book that deals with yarn and knitting. (See my previous post about Woolbur on Feb. 6, 2012). Winter time does tend to heighten my obsession with yarn, and this book is so exceptional that I could not wait to talk about it.

Annabelle lives in a "cold little town, where everywhere you looked was either the white of snow or the black of soot from chimneys." Jon Klassen's illustrations show a bleak, black-and-gray setting where not only the buildings, but also the people, the animals, and everything else lacks color. Annabelle finds a box filled with colorful yarn and knits herself a colorful sweater. With the extra yarn, she knits a sweater for her dog, but then realizes that there's still yarn to spare, so she knits a sweater for her classmate and his dog as well. Wouldn't you know it, but there's still extra yarn in that box, so she knits sweaters for every person and animal she knows, and then goes on to knit "sweaters for thing that didn't even wear sweaters," like the mailbox and her house.  Readers familiar with Klassen's I Want My Hat Back will pause here to point out that the bear and rabbit from that book make a cameo appearance here--standing next to each other, and very much alive, I might add!

As long as Annabelle shares what she knits, her box of yarn is never exhausted. But when a greedy archduke comes and tries to buy the yarn from Annabelle, she won't sell, not for any price, so he has it stolen from her. The box is, not surprisingly, empty when the archduke opens it. It will bring no color to this greedy duke's colorless existence. The box is magic, though, for it finds its way back to Annabelle in what might be the most beautiful part of this book. On a page with no text, readers see a beautiful picture of Annabelle retrieving her box from a black and colorless sea. On the shore, readers can see a town made beautiful from Annabelle's knitted "sweaters" for houses, churches, people, and animals. The contrast here is amazing.

I have to admit: my five year-old son is always a little bit scared when, each time we read it, we get to the part where the archduke curses Annabelle: "Little girl, I curse you with my family's curse! You will never be happy again!" For a sensitive preschooler, this comes across a bit heavy handed. But (and here, it is the book that emphasizes this "But" by placing it on a page all by itself as the box floats towards its ever-generous knitter), Annabelle proves that curse wrong, because "it turned out she was." As proof, she sits up in a knitted tree, which provides shelter to many animals, all of which are wearing her colorful designs. This book is gorgeous to look at, and imparts a beautiful message about being yourself, and sharing your gifts with others. Whether it is knitting, singing, or creating unique things out of LEGOs, children will understand that the beauty they share with others is what makes their worlds bright and full of color.

Older, elementary aged children might also enjoy learning about "yarn bombing" or other ways that artists have made trees, light posts, and other inanimate things the subject of their fiber arts.
Check out the crocheted tree coverings at the Morton Arboretum in Downer's Grove, IL by artist Carol Hummel.

My knitting has come to reflect, not surprisingly, a bit of my personality. For the past three years I've knit nothing other than socks. I've used the same pattern, over and over again, to knit socks of various sizes. (Pictures of many of these socks will be posted soon--promise!) Once I mastered the basic sock pattern, I felt comfort in its repetition. Plus, with small kids around, the mindless knitting of a sock in stockinette was easy and portable. There is that. But the sock, I now acknowledg, reflects my fear of the unknown. When faced with a new activity, I don't jump in feet first and say, "what the heck!" I worry it out on the sidelines, agonizing about what could happen, if things don't go well. But once I do try something new, I usually enjoy it.

I realized that my knitting was stuck in the same kind of rut. Socks are wonderful gifts, don't get me wrong, but I soon realized that I needed to try something new. But I was afraid to try something new, lest I should fail. I liked that I could knit socks, and wanted to try fair isle color work, but I was unsure of myself. What if it turned out badly? Oh, you non-knitters may laugh, and say "it's just knitting," but it's true. The fear of failure holds us back more than you know, even if it is just sticks and string.

I recently purchased Elizabeth Zimmermann's Knitting Workshop, and it has been just the thing to push me to try something new. Before doing this, I had knit only English style, throwing the yarn with my right hand. A few weeks ago, I made myself learn continental, or German style, in which you  hold the yarn in your left hand. With both techniques under my belt, I could not try fair isle knitting, in which you hold one color in each hand, alternating them swiftly as you work your way around on circular needles.

I followed Zimmermann's instructions for a basic hat, with a few simple fair isle patterns. I added the color change in the ribbing. So what that the hat can only fit a newborn? I've tried something new, and I'm so satisfied with the results, that I feel up to more fair isle!

Does this sound familiar? Have you been stuck in a rut with your knitting? Tell me about it--I'd love to hear your stories, and what got you "unstuck" to knit on with confidence!

In a fast-paced world where you can buy a machine knit sweater for next to nothing, why, oh why, do we knit?

My name is Julie and I've been knitting for four years now. I picked up the sticks when my son was about a year old, and haven't put them down since. (I'm a self-confessed sock addict, and have been knitting socks and slippers for about three years straight.) I love how knitting is relaxing. I love how it creates something tangible in a world where everything seems so abstract and virtual. Knitting connects me with the past, be it my grandmother, who was an avid knitter, or to a larger cultural heritage, which includes both Palestinian and Lebanese embroidery work (on one family's side), and a more Anglo, fair isle style (on the other, Western side).

For two years now, I've been happily blogging about children's books at www.instantlyinterruptible.com, where I review children's books. As time passed, I wanted to write about my knitting more and more, and posted errant entries about things I'd knitted. And yet I wanted to do more. I wanted to talk about what knitting means to knitters, beyond the manufacture of a garment or gift. What was the process of knitting like? What was the story of that project? What is its significance to you or to the recipient?

Like most things in my life, this blog is a "work in progress."  Sometimes I'll post pictures of things that I knit. Others, I'll tell you about a wonderful knitting book. Don't be surprised if you see talk about children's books too--insofar as they relate to knitting. But beyond all else, look for a deeper investigation into what knitting means.

I hope you join me!