Sticks and string

For the first time in over a year, I knit something. My mom brought some knitting with her — a scarf — but it was curling because she was using the stockinette stitch. In a moment of ruthlessness, I unraveled the scarf, rerolled the yarn, and started at it in the knit stitch. The click click of needles sliding against each other in steady rhythm was relaxing, comfortable, familiar. I don’t mind repetitive tasks; they keep part of my brain occupied, freeing up the other part to think and meditate. My hands didn’t start hurting until after a couple of inches. If I discipline myself, I might start knitting again. I just won’t be able to knit through an entire movie like I used to. I still want to learn to crochet, but I am waiting until some kind Stateside friend sends me an arthritic crochet hook…