What kind of knitter are you?

What kind of knitter are you?

You’re 6 rows on from the row where you did a series of 2/2 right cross cable twists, and you notice that you forgot to twist one of those cables down there.

Do you:

A: Think that no one will notice and carry on merrily knitting, telling yourself homilies about Persian rug weavers and their obligation to deliberately work an imperfection into their carpets, and anyway isn’t the point of hand-knitting that it looks bit hand made?.

B: Begin feeling hopeless and exasperated about the whole project, no longer sure if you really want to make it right now, and decide to put it away for a while, in case time can miraculously make a difference to sorting it out?

C: Decide that the missing twist spoils the look of the whole sweater, and so take a deep breath, pull your needle out of the 125 stitches and rip back 2 hours of knitting to the row before the twists, pick up the stitches and re-knit the row with the twists, being careful to complete them all, and get on with knitting your way back up the rows you undid?

D: See the mistake as a pot-holing challenge, equip yourself with a safety pin, a cable needle, a head torch and  knit your way to the stitch above the offending missing twist, and ladder the next 4 stitches down 6 rows to undertake the 2 hour surgery which will put the missing twist back into the knitting, and ladder back up again?

Our starting disaster here, could just have easily been a muddled row of stranded colour-work, a mis-sequenced rib or some wrongly leaning decreases in a lace pattern: the way you respond will be to do with a mixture of your knitting confidence and skills, your love (or not) for the project you’re making (possibly also for the person you’re making it for), the hurry (or not) that you’re in to finish, but most of all to do with who you are – something as deep seated as your knitting tension – that lives in the hard wiring of your own character – something which, in my experience, is quite difficult to change.

It’s my privilege as a pedlar of the wool you knit with and as a knitting teacher, to accompany many of you on the rows of your sweaters, sliding down snakes and sometimes quite literally, working your way back up the ladders, till you get them finished. I see a piece of you getting worked into your sweaters, as you make your cautious or bold or carefree or perfectionist, but always characterful way forwards (and sometimes backwards) along the rows. I hope you see it too – because it makes what you do, magnificent!

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