I started knitting in a misguided attempt to save money. My first son was a baby at the time, wearing cloth diapers, and there were all these beautiful hand knit soakers (wool diaper cover pants) you could buy but they were pretty expensive for something that would probably get pee, or worse, on them. Yarn, though, and needles? Not so expensive. Until you start knitting different things and you need different needles and books with patterns and more yarn, of course.
I didn't branch out until I started going to the Stitch n Bitch that used to meet in Campbell. I don't know if it still does, actually, it might. I went there to knit on my baby pants and I saw all the beautiful things the other knitters were making, like socks and gloves and even sweaters and I was hooked even further. Somewhere between that point and now I have gotten to the point where I feel like I need knitting and I need knitters. The knitters who have ended up as my circle of friends are smart, funny, snarky and wonderful. When bad things happen to people in our group, we band together for them. When good things happen to them, we celebrate with them. Through it all, we knit. We knit baby blankets for each other and chemo caps and go to birthday celebrations and send sympathy cards. And we knit.
One of my knitting friends who has, unfortunately, moved far away, is having something big and challenging happen in her life this week. I actually went onto Southwest's website to see if I could get there to be with her, to sit by her side, and knit. I couldn't, it's the week before Thanksgiving and the flights are too much. Instead, I'm sitting at home thinking of her and knitting. Selfishly, what I'm knitting is for myself but I think that's okay. I'm thinking of her and I think she knows it.