I guess I've always just assumed that knitting is a calm, relaxing, and easy-going hobby. I feel like the stereotypical knitter is a quiet little old lady (no offense to any knitters who believe themselves to be neither quiet, little, nor old), but I've now begun to realize that the little old lady is a lot tougher than she looks. This week I signed up for a knitting class which met for the first time last night. I didn't exactly expect it to be easy right away, but it was definitely a lot harder than it looks.
I decided to take up knitting because it seemed like a good way to pass the time in between classes or while I'm on a train/bus traveling from place to place. Plus, as my mother pointed out, if I learn how to knit then I can make her Christmas present.
So there I sat, in the basement of a sweater shop, expecting to learn a fun new hobby. Two hours later: I had a headache from concentrating so hard, my fingers were cramping, and all I had to show for it was a misshapen little 3-inch rectangle of knitted tweed wool. Despite its obvious imperfections, I'm still very proud of my sad little creation. (I will put up pictures of it once it is finished).
Other than discovering my clear lack of natural knitting ability, the class was pretty fun. I was the youngest one there and the only American but it was really interesting to listen to everyone chatting away while they worked. Unfortunately, I couldn't contribute to the conversation at all since my brain was completely occupied with wool and needles. It was also really cool to see the complex patterns everyone else was working on. Next week I think I'm going to go the the class that has more beginners in it and hopefully that will be a little easier.
For now though, my rectangle has expanded to six inches (it unfortunately hasn't gotten much more attractive). So, sorry mom, your Christmas present might not be very pretty but you asked for it!