Over the next few months, I’m going to try to get to some of the knitting circles around Seattle. I’ve been socially restless lately and, well, how better to meet new people than over some yarn and needles?
There is a knitting circle at my place of student employment, but it started just shortly before I left, and now it’s on a day when I’m at my other job. I knit where I work now, but it’s not the same even though I have the enthusiastic approval of my boss.
So, my first visit was last week, to the knitting group held at Weaving Works. By far, it’s the most convenient place for me: the store’s in walking distance, the meeting’s on a day when I have plenty of free time, and I don’t feel obligated to invest in a cup of coffee I don’t want in order to justify my presence. There is the hazard of stray purchases (I love that store), but I managed to avoid the bargain bins, the sock yarn, only briefly finger the roving (ah, the merino top roving), and completely forget to look for possible DK weights for an argyle sweater that’s been impinging on my mind.
My love for the Weaving Works did not translate into enchantment with the group. It was, as I suspected, more of a set time for people to show up: this would have been fine had anyone actually been there. There were plenty of people in the store, mind, but only one woman actually knitting. She seemed congenial but had a good forty years on me, and the only conversation we had was when she asked to borrow my pocketknife.
After an hour and change of knitting up the stockinette on the right side of “Mariah,” my eyes roving around the sexy walls of yarn, my brain announced in a bored, brassy voice as it is wont: you know, bitch, you could be doing this in your slippers, in front of your computer, with a hot cup of rooibos and a pine nut chicken sausage grilling for dinner. They won’t let you do that in the shop, will they?
I couldn't deny that logic, so I went home and did that. There's other groups, though, and I'll impart my adventures as I have them.
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