My first knitting class met yesterday afternoon. Eight women, around my age, sitting in a circle puzzling over dropped stitches and where and how to wrap yarn around a slippery needle. Actually, it was fun to start to learn a new skill. I never got beyond granny square afghans with crocheting, but I remember enjoying the process.
I was an avid fan of counted cross stitch for years, and still have boxes of floss and pattern books that I refuse to part with, even though my eyes are no longer up to the task of that particular craft.
Strangely enough, I never learned to knit. At this point, I’m not thinking much beyond making a scarf, but it’s a six week course, so who knows?
The class is part of Falmouth’s Adult Education Program and meets at a local yarn shop. When the instructor asked why we had decided to learn to knit, the general consensus was that it was winter. We laughed about it, but truthfully, I don’t think an ad for a knitting class would have caught my eye in July. Knitting at the beach or on the boat doesn’t have quite the same appeal as knitting by a fire.
We piled our efforts on the table at the end of yesterday’s class for a picture. The instructor has high hopes that the picture at the end of our six weeks together will be a far cry from our valiant first week’s attempt to master the simple “knit” stitch. We all share her hopes for us!