I was packing up for our annual family camp trip and
considering some options in case of rainy days.
I had two new books I was excited to read and those were in. Other years
I had brought my guitar along with piles of sheet music that I was struggling
to learn --but it had been more than a few camps ago that I finally gave up my
quest to be even passably proficient. No
matter how cool I felt driving up there with a guitar blocking my rearview
mirror, it was not meant to be. One should never underestimate the talent found
at family camp where rookies are supported but not necessarily encouraged. In retrospect I realize now that childhood
dreams of being like Paula in the Magic Garden, circa 1970 are just not
realized in one week. But it took a
long, long time to let go of what for so long I believed was my true
calling—storytelling on a tree swing, guitar in hand. I idolized her.
The true issue that was nagging away at me was the problem
with my knitting bag. Just recently, a
couple friends came to me with their daughters who wanted to learn. This was no
problem. I loved helping people begin
new projects. But, then, as sometimes
happens, one of the moms got encouraged to try as well and she texted me the
day before camp—“would I teach her?”
“Sure,” I texted back. This meant
I should pack up some knitting supplies as well. I pushed that thought to the back of my mind
while searching for flashlights, towels, sheets and book lights. I was out of time and my knitting bag was,
literally, a tangled mess of half completed projects, and plans. In order to collect supplies, I would need to
face my demon of procrastination. I
didn’t have time to deal with it.
Departure morning came.
We loaded up the car; I wiped down the counters and rearranged the
pillows on the couch lest the house sitter get a poor impression of my home
making skills. My teenage son fumed while
I rearranged the countertop tomatoes and vacuumed up. He was ready to go, and couldn’t care less
about my interest in leaving a good impression.
I headed out to the porch to lock the doors, and say goodbye to the cat
when I looked over to the corner and spotted my knitting stuff, all while
knowing there were more projects in the cabinet. Bummed that I remembered, and could not now
turn away, I pushed myself over to the doors and took out the abandoned pieces.
I threw them into the bag without looking and into the car’s trunk. Coming face to face with neglected projects
is a hard thing to do. It reminded me of
the pen pal I abandoned in sixth grade only to link up with her many years
later in Europe on a backpacking trip.
Back then I breathed out a little apology to her about being busy with
life (seventh grade was intense) and now, 20 years later, I apologized silently
to my yarn.
The Rainy Day came, and I was ready. The chill in the cabin
did not dissuade me—I just I crawled back under the covers, even though it still morning. And as warmth gathered into my
space, I settled in. I could hear the
sounds of camp carrying on—we were positioned across from the rec hall where a
sequence of activities followed one after another. First came aerobics for the
adults, then an indoor soccer game for the kids. I read Unbroken, completely taken in
by Hillenbrand’s account of Louis Zamperini’s life as an Olympic runner and
WWII prisoner.
The rain continued on into the afternoon. My eyes grew tired and I found myself skipping
over passages that I wanted to read and absorb.
I set the book down on the bed and closed them. The sounds of the camp continued and I
started to feel restless and isolated under the sheets, now, not even able to read. What was I doing in bed? Looking around the mess of the cabin that
only 8 boys can create, my little corner with the knitting bag was no
better. I decided to take a shower and
head up to the main lodge, where there would be the Euchre tournament and board
games, neither of which interested me. I
grabbed my knitting bag reluctantly, as a last resort.
Up at the house, I sat down on the couch with my bag next to another camper—as
luck would have it, one of the most incredible knitters I know. (Remember, never underestimate the talents of
family camp.) Her projects were works of
complicated art—knitted pieces that I never even came close to trying or
imagining. When her sister breezed
through the rain with a beautiful scalloped shawl, I didn’t even have to ask,
though I did. And I am quite sure that
she did not need to rearrange the pillows on the sofa before she left for camp,
because things in her life were just not astray. So there I found myself, in a
new quandary; how was I to get my knitting out of my bag without her seeing the
untidy state of affairs, without her seeing my shame?
I did not succeed. I had
no sooner reached into my bag when I noticed her raise up her eyebrows and
glance over. I dreaded the next
question. “What are you making,” she asked. “Oh, just finishing up a scarf for a friend,
my yarn is a little tangled,” my voice drifted off. She just couldn’t resist, it was not in her
being. Within seconds, she had my bag exposed, completely. I was naked.
My excuses got lost in translation. She asked if I minded if she just
untangled the knots. I didn’t even try
to resist.
And then, a curious thing happened. As I sat there watching her cleaning up my
bag, and getting things organized, I got those shivers down my spine like when
I used to play “x marks the spot” with my childhood friends. It was that good sensation of letting someone
you trust cross that boundary and make letters on your back. I never knew it could happen with a knitting
bag; with the admittance of vulnerability in adulthood, with taking the risk of
being honest about how I let things become a mess; with letting someone else
untangle the knots. She freed me up that
afternoon on the couch. My knitting bag
has accepted my apology.
Such a pleasing essay. But why does the author who keeps an immaculate home and an untidy knitting bag presume that the incredible knitter who untangles knots lives a life in which nothing is astray?
ReplyDeletehmmm. point well taken about assumptions. The author, however, does not keep an immaculate home, hence the need to straighten up for the sitter:)
DeletePositive site, where did u come up with the information on this posting? I'm pleased I discovered it though, ill be checking back soon to find out what additional posts you include.
ReplyDeleteLamps