Brenda Dayne’s Cast On is my favorite of all knitting podcasts. I listened to her latest edition (Episode 31) yesterday while unpacking dishes in my grandmother’s new kitchen. (G-ma sold her San Diego home four months ago and moved north, 10 minutes away from me.) I was a little disappointed not to hear a “Today’s Sweater” and so I started thinking about how many sweaters I have actually completed. Which then led to the first sweater I did complete.
I married a man, now known as “Jackass,” in 2003. Brand new to the knitting world, I had heard of the Boyfriend Curse and even researched it to confirm that it really did exist. I figured The Curse didn’t apply to me anymore since I had a ring on my finger and a wedding certificate. I haughtily thumbed my nose at The Curse and picked out a sweater pattern for my husband. After weeks of hunting on Ebay, watching and waiting, I collected the requisite twenty-three balls of charcoal gray Debbie Bliss wool.
Knitting him a sweater beyond my current skills was a loving gesture on my part. That’s how I show my love for people. I may not gush with platitudes, hearts and flowers but I’ll make you bread from scratch – knit you socks – or write you snail mail on a notecard I created. Making things with my own hands is something I believe to be one of my better (quieter) attributes. Gifting people with something I make is how I say I love you.
So knitting my first cable turtleneck sweater for my newly betrothed was quite ambitious in terms of loving gestures. I did a swatch (I think) and cast on. And I knit and knit and knit for days on end. And I enjoyed every minute of it. Even the miles of stockinette. Each stitch was so sweetly formed. I nailed the cables after a few attempts, attached the sleeves, picked up stitches for the turtleneck and commenced blocking. I thought it was perfect.
Until he tried it on. And the dark gray knitted sweater came to his knees. I laughed and decided I would take it apart and redo it (redo the months of knitting – painful? Yes). Since warm weather was upon us when I finished it, I stuffed the sweater into a bag and told myself I would frog it later.
Winter came, then went and spring was almost here when I finally discovered devastating written proof of his infidelity. Faster than you can say “Moving van”, I was packed up and out of the house. My needles and yarn were the first things in the truck. Including the gray behemoth.
Now in my quiet house, the warm summer months arrived in my new grief. As if a zombie took over my body, I dug out the canvas bag that contained the one project I had completed for someone else. Carefully, I undid my seams, wrapped the kinky yarn around the back of kitchen chair and tied the hanks off. In my guest bathroom, I soaked the hanks individually in water, stretched gently to unhinge the kinks and laid each one on old towels to dry. Twenty-three balls of pricey yarn became no name merino and my soul felt less heavy.
The warmth of the season helped speed the drying of the wool. I wound each hank with my swift and ball winder ( a letsgetyourmindoffthings gift from my mother, also a knitter) and tucked each cake of wool into plastic bags with a proper label on the outside of each bag. The plastic bags currently sit on the closet shelf of my guest bedroom, staring at me, invisibly tagged “Jackass Yarn.” Even though undoing the sweater helped me take one more step forward and frogging a sweater appears to be less painful than frogging a marriage, it’s really not. I’ll never forget what that yarn was purchased for.
And about The Curse? It’s only true if you believe it.
