Today as Lego and I walked the short distance between my house and the Lunenburg Academy, I met a man visiting from Ireland. Determined to learn a bit about life in Lunenburg, he proceeded to ask me as many questions as can fit into a couple of town blocks. Happy to oblige him, I did my best to answer. Most of the questions were pretty standard, but then he surprised me.
“When you moved to Lunenburg” he asked, ” What stood out as being different than anywhere else you had ever lived?”
My mouth seemed to know the answer before my brain could do any sort of editing. “Slow,” I blurted.
“Everything is slower here. It takes a little bit of getting used to, but once you do, you can’t go back.”
In this little exchange it dawned on me that I have been pursuing ‘slow” my whole life. I have always been drawn to tedium. I even once painted a bathroom with a child’s paint brush. I walk slowly. I eat slowly. I think slowly. But now that I have discovered knitting I have truly arrived at the centre of the slow universe. Knitting redefines slow. In fact, it stands outside of time in a different dimension. Knitting is timeless.
I am finding that as soon as I pick up the knitting needles, I am calm. I get lulled into the rhythm of the stitches and before I know it the day is done. What should feel like a daunting project, instead feels like floating in the middle of a lake. One stitch a time (for weeks on end) and I am rewarded with a sweater or a shawl or whatever has been keeping me company on the needles.
I have been asked a few times if I will be selling knit wear to go with my hats. I can understand this question, particularly since I don’t talk about anything else, but for now the answer has to be, no. How does one charge for timeless? Does $1000 seem a bit much for a pair of socks? Because that would be the real cost of this pair.
I simply cannot measure my stitches in dollars. They can only be measured in love.