This is my pop:
Dan, in a drunken stupor, volunteered us to go and watch my cousin play soccer at stupid o’clock on Sunday morning. To be fair, I did enjoy it (Myrtleford Savoy won 2-1 – GO BASS!) but it was still damn freezing. So I pulled out my super awesome beaning and trundled off
losing about 10kg due to shivering and got into the spirit.
Pop was there as well and looking much more mature in his boring old jacket, started telling me how “awesome” my beanie is – his words for “you look like a tool, but hey, you’re Kloi, I’m kind of used to it.” Any way, he was laughing and ribbing me about my bright beanie and ended it with “I want a white one, with the plaits and the pompoms, and I’m gonna wear it to Boules!” I’m still not a 100% certain whether he was being facetious or not, but I have called his bluff. I am knitting him one!
It took me back about 15 years to when Nanny tried to teach me to knit with an old magazine that had a ram telling you what to do. I heard all about my Great-Aunty Marg (Pop’s Sister) having knitted herself a cardi at 9, and how all her kids could knit. I wish now that I had paid more attention, because up until today I couldn’t cast on and I still can’t cast off. Anyway, I rose to the challenge (go me) and got my wool and needles then plonked down in front of youtube and watched a lesson.
Before I knew it, well, ok, 1/2 an hour, I had figured out how to do it and I was casting on like a pro… if a pro has to do a stitch 8 times, anyway.
It was strange, I could almost feel Nanny guiding my sausage fingers into what I had to do and how to pick up a stitch. I was sitting there, remembering her bowl with fake and dusty fruit, and her in her arm chair with me kneeling at her feet and it was nice. I didn’t feel sad, for the first time ever (although I will admit that I do now that I am writing about it) and I just sat for a moment, remembering.
I could almost see her tortoise shell needles click-clacking at a million miles an hour while she watched Wheel-Of-Fortune, and that look she gave me with a chuckled when I said “Naaaaaaaaan! I dropped another stitch!”. I could see her finding the stitch so quickly, and fixing it, and then handing it back to me. It was like I was 9 again.
It felt so… nice.
However, I highly doubt she would approve of me knitting while drooling over my Winchester boys.