Art as Spirit

Everyone is knitting these days. The blogs are full of full, quirky sites about knitters. I am tempted to run to the knitting store and load up on bamboo needles and that "caterpillar" wool that has little fly-away threads and make myself a boa in luscious crimson. Sure would brighten up the monochromatic world we are trudging through this month.

In Sacred Ordinary, Fran writes about spiritual practices and mentions a zen knitting story. About ten years ago, I read the book that I believe started the return to our grandmother's craft - "The Knitting Sutra". If you go to this link, there are about ten other books listed that discuss knitting as a spiritual practice and a meditative experience, for example:Zen and the Art of Knitting by Bernadette Murphy; Knitlit:Sweater and their Stories ...and Other Stories About Knitting by Linda Roghaar. What all these books and the practice has in common is the desire to bring some hand-worthy moments of grace into our lives. What is more satisfactory than the tactile sensation of holding cool needles that warm in our hands as our fingers fly over variegated yarns in the colors of our heart? And what gives us more satisfaction in these days of work and stress than producing small, intimate items of handwork. In other words, "Hey! Look at what I made!"

I learned to knit and crochet from my grandmother and my great-aunt. My mother left me off at Great-Aunt Gussie's house a couple of times and she taught me the basics of knitting and purling. She gave me big clunky green plastic needles and some of the yarn she had stuffed all over her house. Auntie Gussie was a telephone operator - overseas mind you, and she was the queen of crafts before anyone knew what a craft was. She knitting us huge afghans, crocheted us vests, made clowns that covered doorknobs (why??), poodles that covered extra rolls of toilet paper (why again?), and my favorite, an elegant doll with voluminous skirts that sat on her daughter's bed. Gussie was also my godmother, a fact she never let me forget through phone calls, cards, and many dollar bills pressed into my hand. She was quite a character with her widow's peak, husky voice, apple-shaped body, and wide pants that she wore before any other self-respecting Italian American woman of a certain age would have dared to.

But most of all, she had the patience to teach me to knit. With my grubby, sweaty hands soiling the wool, I worked my way through potholders, tubes, scarves, and whatever else she could think of. My piece de resistance was a loud, garishly orange muffler done with the cable stitch. I can still remember the thrill of taking off the four stitches and twisting them onto another needle to make the cable. I wore that muffler all through high school. You Would never lose me in a snow storm.

Gussie and my grandmother are gone, but I still have the Variegated crocheted afghans, the boxes of booties, layers of bunting, car blankets, bassinette covers, and baby blankets. My favorite is a thick yellow sweater that Gussie knit for Jessica. The arms were twice as long as the sweater was wide, but when we went to visit her, I wrapped Jessica up in it, rolled the sleeves back to fat doughnuts, and gave her to Gussie to hold.

I don't knit anymore, and don't know if I should take it up again since I have carpal tunnel syndrome, but I know that I was instilled in my love of craft and art by these busy women who found time to work a little grace into each day of their lives.