Hell hath no fury like a tactile deprived woman revitalized! (Thanks to William Congreve, not Shakespeare, for the original sentiment.) I have been knitting like mad. If I hadn't slipped and fallen on the ice outside of the building where I participate in physical therapy on Monday, I would also be spinning like crazy and weaving with abandon (it's hard to navigate the stairs to the basement where the fiber stash and loom are housed) as well.
I've been knitting in the car, while DH drives, I knit during the 10 minutes that my knee is being iced at physical therapy, while I'm flexing my knee in the continuous passive motion machine, while watching dvd's, and I dream of knitting in my sleep! It's like being re-united with a long lost love.
I'd forgotten the delightful sensation of cashmere, silk, or merino yarn gliding through my fingers, drinking in the various hues, tints, and shades - some bright and thrilling, others subdued and soothing, the excitement of planning a project, stroking and caressing the yarn in my stash, fantasizing about the drape, fit, and silhouette of the finished garment, delighting as the heft and weight of the piece grows, nestled in my lap.
I pray I never have to be robbed of the joy I gain from my fiber pursuits again. But just in case I'm knitting every available moment today.
D.D.
No comments:
Post a Comment