I Am So Popular: This Week I Piss Off the Crocheters

Ask anyone who knows me to describe me in five words or less. I promise you knitter will be on the list, probably near the top. Even John Aielli, whenever he is promoting one or another of my schemes on KUT, always works in some commentary on my yarn addiction.

The very first time I picked up the needles was back in the late fall of 1986. I’d just suffered (the perfect word for it) a miscarriage and had locked myself in my room, determined never to leave it again. One of my sisters taught me knitting then to distract me from my misery, and I worked on a scarf that was actually a tangible metaphor for my emotions: it was tight, knotted, full of errors, and no fun to work on. I put the needles down.

Then one day in 2000, I found a big skein of purple acrylic yarn, a pair of aluminum needles, and a how-to-knit pamphlet on my front porch, left I think, by a knitting friend who’d heard me voice an interest in learning again. I stared at these things for months finally motivated to re-teach myself as I determined that, after fifteen years of smoking with more dedication than the Marlboro Man, I needed to quit. Knitting would get me there.

And you know what? It actually did—well, for six years anyway. I began knitting The Big Purple Thing in the fall of 2000 and kept at it until I was hooked. A couple of months later, I put down the ciggies and focused solely on TBPT. People asked what I was knitting. I said, “A cigarette.”

I finished it—sort of a cross between a shawl and a scarf—in January 2001, right before I went to see Dolly Parton tape an ACL show. I remember this because I was so utterly moved by Miss Parton, and I also knew it was her birthday, that I wanted to figure out how to corner her and give her TBPT. Because, you know, Dolly Parton really needed an acrylic scarf. Fortunately, her bodyguards were impenetrable and so I was stuck with my creation, which I swear is still somewhere around the house.

I avoided good yarn and the purl stitch for a long time. I am, very much, an addict, and have a touch of OCD to boot. So I understood that if I learned anything besides the basic knit stitch, I would become consumed with learning patterns. And that if I started buying expensive wool, I would forego paying the rent.

But then one day, I did it. I walked into what quickly became my own personal crack house: Hill Country Weavers on South Congress. Know this about me: I was a drunk for twenty years before I quit. And I’ve been a nail biter for over forty. I also have some weird food issues. But of all my habits past and present, knitting is the one that sustains me, the one that, above all others, attempting to give up would surely cause the death of me. I knit at weddings. And funerals. In business meetings and coffee shops. I knit in bed and at the dinner table. I knit in the dark in movie theaters.

Knitting literature is my pornography. In particular, this British company, Rowan, puts out two magazines annually. When a Rowan magazine arrives in my p.o. box, I extract it carefully, rest it on my passenger seat like it is a hand blown glass figurine of the Baby Jesus, and drive it home ever so carefully. I cradle it as I carry it inside the house and take it to my bedroom where it will wait for me until the safe cover of darkness falls upon my house. Then I will peel back my quilt and my fuzzy blanket and my 100% cotton top sheet and I will crawl into bed and plump up the pillows and, with my freshly washed hands, I will turn through the pages and be sure to wipe away the drool before it hits the pages and sullies them.

When I reach the end of the magazine, I will get up, change my underwear, return to the bed, and repeat my actions. I can do this with the same magazine for weeks on end.

Sometimes, I will try to tick off all the things I’ve made since I met Warren, this being my woolly version of the Timeline of Love. I can’t say for certain all that is on this list, since I very often give away what I make. But I think inventory includes this: aforementioned whimsical cock sock, two cashmere sweaters, a couple of pairs of very expensive socks, too many hats to remember, a meditation shawl made of recycled silk from Tibet, a dog sweater, two pairs of hand warmers, a scarf, and two pairs of handcuffs. Currently I’m working on a bag, and a stash blanket, and very soon, because I like to have several projects going at once, I’ll get started on a baby sweater and a baby blanket. (No, I am not pregnant.) Also, Warren has asked me to make him a hat that resembles a rotisserie chicken, which I think I can do.

Recently, I strayed from my regular crack house and wandered over to Gauge, a new knit shop at 5406 Parkcrest Drive, which is up behind Chez Zee, off of 45th and MoPac. Gauge is co-owned by Allison Williams and my old friend Karli Capps, who used to be one of my dealers down at HCW. Gauge is this very cute place, modern and pared down, with an uber cozy group knitting room in the back where they offer free learn to knit classes on Saturdays and also by appointment.

The occasion of my visit was to find out a bit more about their planned event for World Wide Knit in Public Day, which is this coming Saturday, June 14th. Just as mashers like to display their junk to the world, and breastfeeding mamas will not (and should not) keep those milky boobs tucked in at ballgames, we knitters like to show off our stuff, too. A group of Gauge knitters is going to gather at 11 a.m. at the south entrance of the Capitol and knit up a storm. You’ll recognize them not just by their knitting, but by their bright pink shirts.

I love that Austin is such a knitting town. We even get to claim Vickie Howell, host of the TV show Knitty Gritty, queen of her own line of yarn, and author most recently of Knit Aid, a book for which she’s having a reading on Saturday (of course) at BookPeople. (She’ll also be at the big Knit In at the capitol.)

My own knitting has taken me a number of places. I used to teach knitting for meditation at Lake Austin Spa. I did another knitting stint at Red Mountain Spa in Utah. And it’s looking like I might get to do a one week knitting and yoga retreat in the fall for Rowan Magazine. If that gig materializes, it will entail missing Warren’s birthday, a sacrifice he’s willing to make, knowing how blissed out I’ll be upon my return, and that most likely I’ll step off the plane clutching a freshly finished chicken hat.

If anyone wants to learn how to knit, shoot me an email at spike@spikeg.com. If there’s enough interest, I’ll teach a free class or two at Hill Country Weaver’s new KnitBuzz Café and at Gauge.

Spike Gillespie is the most popular knitter in her own mind. She blogs regularly for LaunchPad Coworking and at www.spikeg.com. She is also head mistress for the Dick Monologues and tickets for the July 2nd show are just about sold out, so if you want one, you better email her today at spike@spikeg.com.