Being at home

I've been spending almost all of my time at home, for weeks now. First, there was the move that the bookstore was making, and there wasn't going to be a place for me to work until things were settled in the new space, so I brought my office home. That fit the timing for the surgery I was going to have, which meant that I'd need to be home to recuperate.

The surgery (repair to scar tissue left from previous surgeries) went well, but the work did not. I was working on our website as usual, but while I was, the bookstore was making some hard decisions. The website was eliminated, and so was my job.

Losing my job is a subject for another time. What I'm thinking about today is how much I love my home, my tiny space, my little calm place. It was remade by my sister Sarah when she came to be with me for the surgery, and on the final day, just a few hours before she had to leave, we took pictures of the amazing transformation. My mother's dresser, her little overnight case on top; my knitting spot on the couch, the new television. There's much more that you can't see in one photograph.

And there in the middle: the beautiful, beautiful quilt Sarah made for me, which she put the finishing touches on while I was sleeping.

There's no place like home, is there?

Rethinking

Sometimes a knitter has to face facts. Not every project—no matter how well-advised, well-planned, or well-executed—is meant to be. My two skeins of Solitude Wool Border Leicester were well on their way to becoming Weld, but I made so many mistakes along the way (my own fault, not the pattern's) that I quit while I was behind and cast on Dovetail instead.

I love it. It's big and warm and beautiful. It was a joy to knit, and it was just the sort of knitting I've needed. I'm happy that I changed my mind, and I'll knit Weld again, but this Dovetail was meant to be.

What do you do when your knitting is going wrong?

Start fresh

A new notebook, a trusty pen. On with the day. This one is spiral, small, simple. It can be tossed into my bag, or lie open on my desk.

It's not my journal; its purpose is utilitarian. It's where I will park my thoughts and needs and bits of knitting brainstorms, just for the time being. I'm a serious iCal user, and I love my any.DO app, too. But there's always something that needs jotting, isn't there?

Do you have a notebook?

Tiny anchors

There are rituals in knitting. At least there are rituals for me. Small ones — a bit of magic, a little thought, some small comfort. It's the same and different for all of us.

One of mine is the stitch marker. Which tiny anchor will I choose as I begin to knit? If it will serve to signal the beginning of a round, then it must be the right one, the perfect thing to catch my eye as I come to it, then slip it from left needle to right as I move around the circle. It is where I begin and end a piece of the pattern, where I stop to check the instructions or the chart. It is where I hurry to if I'm excited, or what I look longingly at if I'm slogging across hundreds of stitches.

If I need markers to help me count or space the pattern, then I have dozens to choose from. But that first one, the one for the beginning, must be chosen with care. It might have sentiment attached, or it might be practical. It might just "go" with the yarn. But I always choose it carefully, because even small rituals matter. Even tiny anchors have a place.

Do you have a favorite stitch marker, or a small knitting ritual?