Knitting is NOT ...

... WHO I am.

Rather, knitting is what I DO.

I knit for many reasons.  One is for therapy. However,  primarily, I knit because creativity is in my DNA.   My mother and father painted.  I can't.  I can't even do a stick figure.  So I create with needles, hooks and yarns.

Some people spend hours in their garden.  Some go fishing - and have the fish tales to prove it.  Some spend the majority of their time working.  The character Gibbs in NCIS builds boats.  Me.  I knit - or crochet.  Whichever.  To me, since they are both in the fibre arts category, they're interchangeable.  At least for the therapeutic purposes in this blog.

Although knitting is my right brain activity, my brain never seems to quit working.  Racing.  Thinking.  However, with yarn craft, there is a difference to the thoughts.  The colours, the feel of the yarn through my fingers, the piece of work coming to shape beneath my fingers stir my thinking towards ideas for the next creation.  Maybe it's the same pattern in different colours.  Maybe it's a new project altogether.


Making the green slouchy beret was like that.  I began to think of making it in different colours.  Making other hats.  Once I'd successfully closed the circle at the top of the hat, I wanted to do it again.  And again.  And again.  I felt like a mountain climber when he's faced the huge challenge of scaling the peak and stands at the top looking down.  Only for me, I was standing over my work being blocked, looking at the perfection of it.  Feeling a huge sense of pride of accomplishment.

It was at almost the same time that I discovered that a friend of mine had been diagnosed with cancer and was facing chemo therapy and radiation.  Simultaneously, I discovered that a young woman I'd last seen when she was five years ago, had also been diagnosed with the same kind of cancer and was also facing chemo therapy and radiation.

There went the brain.  Into overdrive.  Brimming over with all sorts of ideas and thoughts.  The challenges.  The almost papable scent of creating (you know, like the scent of the chase).

There were many things I couldn't do at that point in time.  I had no idea.  Severe fatigue was my common companion.  I couldn't cook.  I could barely function.

 Normally, I'm a foodie and would have been right in there with offerings of home cooked meals.  However, I didn't even have the strength or energy to cook for myself and Papa Bear, so how could I walk with my friend during her journey of cancer, chemo and radiation?

I thought long and hard of what I could - and couldn't - do.

There was one thing I could do even in my weakened state.  I could knit.

I could knit (and crochet) chemo hats - for both of these ladies.

At one point, I said to my friend how I wished I could help her out with food to which she said, "A lot of people are making food for me.  My freezer is full.  You're the only one who can make me chemo hats."

The woman from my church (mentioned at the beginning of the preceding blog) was right.

Knitting is not whom I am.

                                                      But it is what I do.

                                                      More importantly, it's how I bless  people.

A box of "Goodies"

"Knitting ...

... is not who you are," were the words from a woman, a minister, I had invited into my private place, my safe place.  The birthplace of my knit and crochet creations.  The place where I can be "me" in all my disabilities - and all my creativeness.

My wall of scarves

It had been an extremely rough half year.  My mom had died.  My relationship with my only sibling had taken a disturbing downturn.  All the PTSD and stress affects had gone off the roof.  No energy.  No motivation.  Overwhelmed by even the simplest tasks.  Unable to perform even the simplest tasks of living.

Yet, even in my grief and despair, there was still one thing I could do (besides sleep).  I could knit.

Even when the energy was very low and the cognitive skills were barely there, I could still knit.  One row forward; one row back.

Initially, after I returned from my mom's funeral, I discovered that reading patterns and following instructions was way beyond my abilities.  BUT, there was always the one row forward and the one row back.  The twirley scarves.

I always seem to have an abundance of them.  After mom died, I put that stash to good use.  Over the course of the last year when I had been able to visit my mom for a week at a time rather than a rushed weekend visit, I had gotten to know many of the assorted staff members from the aides to the nurses even to some of the administrative staff.

Mom had been a resident at the enriched seniors housing facility for seven years - and had been loved by many of the staff.  After her passing, I went back with a bagful of scarves and passed them out to those who had in some way blessed us during those seven years - especially during those last two weeks when the energizer bunny slowly ran down.

Coming home, my stash depleted, my abilities and cognitive skills down for the count, rebuilding my stash was the one activity I could do.  The one that kept me sane in an otherwise insane world.

Slowly, very slowly, my mind began to heal as the scarves flowed through my fingers.

Then I got challenged during one of my bi-weekly visits to my favorite yarn store.  I saw a hat.  A beret.  A slouchy beret.  I didn't want the one I saw on display.  I wanted to make one!  I wanted to create again.

With encouragement from my friendly mentor, I selected yarn and pattern.  Then the fun began.

I had used circular needles but only for flat pieces.  Now I was using them in a ... well ... a circle which was a challenge in and off itself.  Following the design was the hardest part of the challenge - which I accepted.  I knitted.  I ripped.  I started again.  I tinked (knit backwards which means "unknit" in layman's terms).  I used markers and row counters.  And I persevered.  Until it came time to close the circle - since I've never seen a hat with an open top.  To decrease stitches.  Here is where a new learning experience came in.  Learning to knit with double ended crowbars.  Oops!  I mean needles.  But they sure felt like crowbars to me.  They felt twelve feet long and at least a foot wide!  (see photos on left for real dimensions).

And here is where I leave the post for today.  With healing slowly beginning accompanied by the rhythmic click of the needles.

Knitting is not whom I am.

It's what I do.

It's how I heal.

More next time.

One Stitch at a Time

This week's projects on the go - one crochet; three knit

This entire adventure called knitting began with an impulsive walk into a yarn store one day and then progressed into learning how to knit.  Basic knitting.  Eight stitches one way; eight stitches back.  Over and over again watching the scarf yarn twirl itself below my needles.  Watching the yarn twirl itself around and around, watching the colours flow and the scarf take shape were fascinating to me.  I couldn't get enough of it.

I call them "twirley scarves" for that reason.  Simple knitting.  That's all it took to make these gorgeous "twirley" scarves.  That's all it took - besides the yarn.  And, oh!, it turned out that there were all kinds of scarf yarns in all price ranges.  And the colours!  From solid pinks and blues to varigated yarns in wild colours.  I had to try them all out.  And while I didn't get to try them all out as new ones are coming on the market all the time, I made a good stab at it.  In just a few months, I had more than enough for Christmas presents for all the ladies on my list plus a yarn stash for me projects.

But what about the men?  None of the men on my list would dare wear a "twirley" scarf.   Nope.  They would definitely want something more masculine.  At that point, more masculine wasn't going to happen.  They got chocolate for Christmas that yarn.  One size fits all.

Then there's the added dilemma that my mind always seems to be working - in one way or another.  At least with knitting, it's working on what the next project might look like rather than on what happened in the past.   I was continually looking at people's heads, necks, hands, whatever to see what they wore - and if it was handmade.  Always insecure, I felt like I could never go any further than where I was - and that challenged me.  I wanted to be able to knit more than just the scarves.  I wanted to knit.  Really knit.  I wanted to knit he-man type things for those men in my life.

So, I found a mentor in the yarn shop in Stratford.  After my bi-weekly counselling sessions, I would drop by and get help. My friendly mentor helped me select my projects.  Sold me yarn and patterns.  Encouraged me.  Praised my efforts.  Corrected my mistakes.  Gave me helpful hints.

From her, I learned a new word and a new "technique":  tinking.  The word "tink" is simply knit backwards and that's exactly what tinking is:  knitting backwards - or rather unknitting.  Works a lot better than ripping out because with knitting using two needles, if you rip your work out, you have to somehow get it - all of it - back on the needles.  I found that needles can be very uncooperative.  With tinking, you keep all your stitches on the needles and simply knit - or rather unknit - backwards.   Simple.  Well, kind of.  Especially after you've done it a couple of hundred times.

My first few attempts at going deeper into knitting rather then simply knitting back and forth created more angst than they relieved.  The exact opposite of the purpose of using knitting for right brain activity.  My mentor acquainted me with such  handy-dandy accessories as  counters and stitch markers - and how to use them most effectively in addition to the previously mentioned tinking, thereby showing me ways to forge ahead and relieve the stress.

She mentored me through my first projects of a cabled cowl.  Soon followed by a cable scarf.

Followed by a herringbone scarf.

I learned something new with each new project; each new skill.  My confidence increased.

I learned that when learning a new stitch to buy a less expensive yarn to work on the first piece, thereby causing less damage to the fabric of the yarn by repeated ripping out and starting all over again.

I also learned to practice the stitch on dishcloths and dish towels thus learning a new skill while at the same time making something practical to give away and bless someone with at a later time.  As a result, I have a basketful of knit "blessings", i.e. dishcloths, to give away.

As I write these words, my mind automatically goes to the colours, the patterns, the possible next project.  My accumulated stash of yarn and patterns.

What will I attempt next?

Only the mind knows.

And it's not telling ....

Knitting as Right Brain Activity

Someone had fun - and let their right brain go crazy - with this lamp post in Conway, South Carolina

 For those of us dealing with trauma and PTSD, one of the best ways to cope - and eventually - heal is through right-brain activity.

Our left brains - the logical part of us; the part that keeps trying to make sense of things that don't make sense - goes into overdrive.  Continually active.  Nagging at us.  Keeping us awake at night.  Tormenting us.

The right brain is the opposite.  The creative part of us.  The part we need to allow to take over in times of stress and trauma to soothe us and allow emotional healing to take place.

There are many activities which are considered right brain activity:  knitting (and the other creative arts) being one of them; reading; photography.  Anything that does not involve logical thinking or problem solving.  Knitting (and the related art of crocheting) are what I've chosen as my pre-eminent right brain activities:  those which help keep me sane in an insane world.

Before I learned to knit, I crocheted.  Now I do both.  It's not uncommon for me to have two, three or even four projects on the go at any given time.  Right now, I have two pairs of fingerless gloves on the needles and a baby afghan on a hook so I can mix it up a bit.  If I get bored with one for a period of time, then I can switch to one of the others.  Or even start up a new one.

It's a knitting thing, I believe.  Real knitters move from one project to another and back again.  Real knitters sit back and go with the flow.

I discovered the difference between the left brain and the right during the aforementioned severely stressful situation when my therapist suggested I read the book Invisible Heroes:  Survivors of Trauma and How They Heal by Belleruth Naparstek.  I was expecting stories about trauma victims and their survival stories.  Instead, the book was about this psychotherpapist's work with trauma victims and what she learned through her experience including how she changed her therapeutic model and techniques based on her work and research.

She discovered the use of right brain activity, specifically affirmations and guided meditation, to be especially helpful in the healing/recovery process.  She gives examples of both.

For me, right brain activity is not just confined to affirmations and guided meditation - or I would be doing those activities pretty well 7/24 some days.  For me, it's the art of creation.  Seeing the work in progress.  Watching something beautiful come from a mere string of yarn.  Covering myself with the completed afghan.  Wrapping the warm, comforting shawl around my shoulders like giving myself a soft hug.  Feeliing the different fibres of yarn beneath my fingers.  Hearing the soft click clack of the needles rubbing against each other.

Definitely a sensory experience.  Then add music to the mix. Soft music.  Celtic music.  Classical.  Praise.  Whatever.  Add to that, a safe you consider to be your safe place.  If you don't have one, create one.  Fill it with your favorite right-brain things.  Mine is filled with yarn, patterns, DVD's, CD's, my computer.  A heater to keep me warm.  A fan to keep me cool.  A phone.  My rocker.  Books.  Various completed projects.

Everything I need when my emotions are in a jangle.  When the thoughts assail and torment me.

Everything I need to regain equilibrium and peace.

My second favorite lamppost - a crocheted chain wrapped around the post adorned with crocheted flowers.

The Life and Times of a Yarn Junkie

MamaBear with Sashay scarf - I love the bright colours

One model for four projects:  a
LionBrand Homespun shawl; a
studioloo (handspun) scarf on head);
two "twirly"scarves and one
fingerless glove

 From Red Heart Sashay to Frillseeker Light.  From hand spun Studioloo to hand dyed Handmaiden Sea Silk.  From Lion Brand Homespun to Marble Chunky.  I haven't met a yarn I didn't like. There are so many of them.  Of all types and persuasions.  Cottons. Acrylic.  Wools of all kinds - Alpaca, Merino, etc.  Silk.  Various scarf yarns. The colours:  soft colours; jewel-tone colours, bright colours; dark colours, variegated yarns, hand-dyed yarns.  A yarn for any season.  Any reason.  Ahhhh, the ecstasy of it all.  Sometimes I wonder if I've died and gone to yarn heaven.
So many yarns.  So little time to knit.

Or maybe I should give up sleeping....  Hmmm.  Now that's a thought.  Maybe not a good one, though.

My creative place - with finished and
unfinished projects

Two projects on finished Lighthouse
filet crochet afghan

To think, I used to believe that all yarns were carried by places like Michaels.  JoAnn's.  Mary Maxims.  Herrschners.  Lens Mills.

I had no clue as to the wide world of yarns awaiting me, beckoning me into their warm, soft embrace.

My pride and joy -
Handmaiden Sea Silk shawl -
slightly imperfect:  just like me

I had needlessly limited myself.  To think that one little store in a little town in Ontario was the key to broadening my horizons yarn-wise.  To point me in the direction of becoming a "yarn junkie".  Addicted to the feel and colours of other yarns, more expensive yarns.  Yarns made out of wool, silk, merino.  Yarns that feel like butter moving through the needles.  The touch alone calms the nerves and speeds in recovery.

Modelling my first ever hat.  I am
so proud of it.
Cowl made from Studioloo

Ahhh, pure blissful, decadent delight.

I had no idea that day that I first wandered into the yarn shop in Stratford that it would be a life-changing event.  Even when I left with my first pair of knitting needles and a couple of balls of Katia Triana scarf yarn, I had no idea what was to follow.

Chemo Hat for friend - crochet

I continued going back to the yarn store every time I had a counselling appointment in Stratford.  I like to think of it as the combination of two different kinds of therapy:  yarn and talk.  Both valuable.  The talk helps me sort of my issues; the yarn - ahhhh, the yarn.  What can I say except that the colours delight me, make me smile?  So does the owner with her kind words and helpful comments.

After my first couple of scarves, I started scouring the area of more scarf yarns.  I found both yarn stores in my hometown of Kitchener.   At that point in time, only one carried the scarf yarns.  Different from the ones carried in Stratford.  Then I found more scarf yarns in Lens Mills.  The hunt was on.  The quest had begin.  The thirst for yarn that could not be assuaged with only one type.

Thus began the beginning of the making of a yarn junkie.  A saga that continues on to this day.

See you next week.  Until then ... happy knitting - or whatever you do to stay sane.

A scarf for almost any occasion

CloseKnit in Stratford, Ontario ...

... is where my odyssey with knitting began.

The yarn shop in Stratford, ON that started it all.  The owners readily admit that they're guilty in their role in corrupting this poor little hooker - oops! I mean bear.  Unashamedly so.  In fact, they're proud of the needler aka knitter they're in the process of creating.

In my journey of recovery from complex PTSD, trauma, workplace bullying, etc., I've been blessed with a wonderful support in the form of a counsellor who has provided a safe place for me to examine and work through my issues.  But I had to be committed.  You see, this woman's office was originally in a small town, Milverton, Ontario, about 45 km from my home. (Described with accompanying pictures is an early blog post on my other spot).  I committed myself to driving there every other week in all kinds of weather and road conditions on country roads.  Roads shared by my nemesis - trucks.  Big trucks.  Little trucks.  Feed/grain trucks.  For a person who was afraid of driving, this was quite a commitment.

About the time, my odyssey with recovery from trauma/PTSD/workplace abuse was taking another twist in the road, my counsellor took a good hard look at where her ministry was heading and decided to move - to another small town, Stratford, Ontario - the home of the Shakespeare Festival.  The commute this time was still 45 kilometres (approximately) just in a different direction.  A change of scenery for my bi-weekly drive.

During my first trip to Stratford for "regular" therapy, I decided to get there early and just walk around the town a bit.  In addition to being known for the Shakespeare Festival, it is a lot of the little touristy shops that make going there so much fun - and expensive.

During my perambulation, I discovered a nice shoe store, several gifts shops AND a small yarn store.  Me, being me, I wandered in for a look-see (after all hookers use yarn too).  I wandered out with several skeins of scarf yarn, knitting needles and basic instructions on how to put two and two together - er - rather needles and yarn together to make a scarf or two.

This where the corruption began.  With the frilly scarf yarns.

I became intoxicated with these yarns and began to look for more - and more - and more.   I was becoming a "yarn junkie".

The First Knit Christmas

 Two weeks into this blog, and I've already missed my (admittdly self-imposed) deadline of one blog per week.

At least, I'm not getting paid to write.  At least at this time, although that is my dream.

I'm also not getting paid to knit - or crochet.  Although that is my passion.  My right-brain activity of choice.  The activity that has played the biggest part in helping this fractured brain heal.  Yes, I read books.  I watch DVD's, but my favorite activity since life got me down for the count has been to (at first) crochet and (now) knit and crochet.

Even before I had the first stress breakdown when the severely stressful situation was escalating, I would indulge in my favorite activity.  Crocheting.  As I revealed in my last blog posting, I was a crocheter with a secret.  I wanted to knit.  I revelled in the feeling of the yarn flowing through my fingers.  Watching the article take shape and form below my fingers.  I chose to make baby afghans during that time.  Round ones.  Square ones.  Yellow, white, pink, whatever.  Even though I didn't know anyone who was expecting.  I figured that I'd find homes for them - eventually.  Finding homes wasn't the purpose.  I needed the right brain activity  to survive.  To be able to stay sane and keep going back into the stressful situation day after day.

And then the unthinkable happened.  I was forced out of the stressful situation partially by health but chiefly with "help" from those on the other side in the situation.

So what did I do?  More crocheting.  Until that fateful day when I walked into a small yarn shop in a small town and was encouraged by the owner, that I too could knit.

 Knitting I have found is totally different from crocheting - especially as I began with the scarves.  I loved the colours.  I loved the feeling of the scarf yarn going through my fingers.  I loved the way it twirled around by itself.  It was fun.  Crocheting is fun but this was a different kind of fun.  A different motion.

I loved also the rhythm of the needles.  Totally different from crocheting.  Right brain.  But a different right brain.  More soothing.  More rhythmic.  The one thing during that period of time that could bring a soft smile to my lips.

As a bonus, I was making my Christmas presents (at least for the females on my life - I wasn't brave enough to attempt to present one of these scarves to my husband, son-in-love or brother-in-law).  I was having fun, enjoying myself AND doing something worthwhile at the same time.

It doesn't get much better than that.