The moments are rare indeed when Mr K shows any depth of compassionate understanding in regards to my knitting obsessed life. One of these rare moments happened earlier this week.
I was back in the little used bedroom sitting on the floor weaving my blocking wires along the edges of my second swirl jacket. It was evening and I had been in that room for a while. Mr K walked by on his way to another room and paused briefly to say, "Having a blocking party, eh?"
No. It does not actually mean he gets it. There have been very many times when I have been told that I could probably find time to get this or that done if I would just spend less time knitting. But it does mean that he knows what blocking is and he recognized that this was a pretty big blocking job. And that is something, isn't it?
I am reminded of a story that I read of a woman who was a knitter and (I do not remember why) had to call for an ambulance to take her from her home to the hospital. As she was being wheeled out the door, her husband, who was to follow the ambulance, asked her what he should bring. When she said, "My knitting bag." He asked, "Which one?" His question thrilled that knitter. She felt that he "got it" in a small way. Like he had been paying some attention to it, after all. And that is something, isn't it?
I was back in the little used bedroom sitting on the floor weaving my blocking wires along the edges of my second swirl jacket. It was evening and I had been in that room for a while. Mr K walked by on his way to another room and paused briefly to say, "Having a blocking party, eh?"
No. It does not actually mean he gets it. There have been very many times when I have been told that I could probably find time to get this or that done if I would just spend less time knitting. But it does mean that he knows what blocking is and he recognized that this was a pretty big blocking job. And that is something, isn't it?
I am reminded of a story that I read of a woman who was a knitter and (I do not remember why) had to call for an ambulance to take her from her home to the hospital. As she was being wheeled out the door, her husband, who was to follow the ambulance, asked her what he should bring. When she said, "My knitting bag." He asked, "Which one?" His question thrilled that knitter. She felt that he "got it" in a small way. Like he had been paying some attention to it, after all. And that is something, isn't it?