If I had my druthers between being a Traveler and being a non-Traveler, I’d choose traveler.
I like going places, even if I have been there before but especially if I’m going someplace new. I don’t always get to travel. It’s a pricey affair these days and time is scarce.
I spent quite a bit of time in airports and on planes this past week, and I managed to finish up these simple stockinette socks. No pattern. I just cast on a went for it. (I don’t know if it’s possible to get those Crazy Zauberballs to match, but I wasn’t going to waste my time trying.)
At some point as I knit away on one of my flights, it struck me how far I’d come with my plane knitting since its first occurrence. I remember it well. It was January 1998. My friend’s mom had just retaught me the basics of knitting, long since forgotten since my grandma’s first lessons years earlier during childhood. I was in college and about to embark on a long flight from Oregon to New York City, followed by a second long flight to Oaxaca, Mexico for a language course.
I was crisscrossing North America with my cheap yarn.
I stayed up most of the night before that first flight, in front of my childhood fireplace, fiddling with the stitches. Casting on. Knitting a few rows. Scrapping the whole thing in frustration. Starting over.
Again and again I did this. I just couldn’t put it down.
(This was so long ago that I hadn’t yet discovered problems like this could easily be resolved with a good glass of wine.)
Somehow on my first flight, I recall putting aside my mistake-ridden knitting long enough to grab a bit of sleep before again picking up my yarn (surely acrylic? I don’t even recall the color…brown, I think) for another long stint of frustrated, ugly stitching in a haze of exhaustion and sleeplessness.
And that’s how I got to Oaxaca. One imperfect stitch after another.
That was nearly 20 years ago, and I still love to knit on planes. I glance at all the other passengers, watching movies and playing games on their devices*. They’re just killing time, and I guess I am too. Although I am spending my time more pleasantly immersed in a hobby of mine, making something. Or at least that’s what I like to think. I want to whisper to my plane-mates: learn to knit…you’d be happier for it! I feel kind of bad they’re missing out.
It was later on that same trip to Oaxaca that I REALLY was taught knitting again by my Oaxacan buddy. She taught me in Spanish, and for years afterward I thought of knitting in punto or derecho before again learning the art in English. It was just the first of my many knitting adventures in Mexico.
These socks have already brightened my greying days. I love their colors. I only wish I somehow could have crossed paths with the Yarn Harlot, who I later realized was in the San Francisco airport the same day I was. Granted, I was dashing through between flights in an overly dramatic Hold My Flight! fashion with mere moments to spare. But you never know. I would have asked her to sign my sock.
Some flights are worth missing.
*I need not remind you there was no such thing as a device in 1998. You either brought a paper back or the early version of a laptop, or you were mindnumbingly bored out of your mind.
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