Wednesday, July 21, 2010


I really don’t mind so much that people call me "grandma" because I love to knit. I get that people associate knitting with older women.  But, oh, how I wish that they could meet some of the knitters that I’ve had the pleasure of “throwing” with.  It's very difficult to squeeze all of us into the "grandma box".

I’ve seen the "granny", pious knitter who knits prayer shawls.  Infusing each stitch with powerful prayers of healing for the sick.

I’ve also seen skanky knitters. Who, with one yard of yarn, were able to create what they call a “garment”. (“Tank top” my arse. I can see your boobs. )

I’ve knit with goth knitters who refuse to believe that yarn comes in colors other than black. (Yeah. Screw mainstream society.)

I’ve seen gay knitters, lesbian knitters, straight male knitters (Yes, they do exist.), lesbian goth knitters, straight male knitters who think they might be lesbian goths, and gay knitters who knit prayer shawls.

I’ve met knitters who party like the world’s going to end. Those who I’d be afraid to party with. Because, sure, the party would START in North Carolina…But partying with them would have me waking up the next day in Mexico, lying butt naked on a filthy bed in a seedy hotel, next to three empty bottles of tequilla-without the worms (Because SOMEONE would have somehow convinced me to eat them)...with a fresh tattoo of a fire-spitting cobra covering my ENTIRE back…and SOMEHOW knowing how to say “Hey big Daddy, you want some of this?” in Español…with no recollection of HOW I got there, or where and WHY I learned that phrase.

That's all I have to say about that.