Skip to main content

Carpel Tunnel—Tunnel Vision

I used to be a freak for knitting, but that was when my good friend and neighbor, Carolyn, owned a yarn shop in town. It was a haven—it had a little couch where my friend Joan and I would sit early on Saturday mornings before the shop opened. We would bring coffee for three, and we would all sit there among the yarn and needles and the fluffy white dog named Mr. Bennett, and we would yap and sip and giggle. Who wouldn't want to take up knitting under those conditions?

After the shop closed and Carolyn moved to Georgia, I lost my interest in the craft aside from making little baby hats for charity—they suit my short attention span, and once I have memorized the hat pattern, I don't have to think about what I'm doing beyond keeping track of which row I'm on.

Well, during our Christmas visit with my family, one of my sisters showed me a project she was about to launch into. A knitting project. A curly scarf that wraps and wraps around your neck and looks funky and whimsical. I read through the quick four-row set of instructions, figured out the unusual trick that makes the scarf curl (with the help of No. 1), and I memorized it all.

When we got home, I dug out some yarn left over from the old haven shop and got to work. I found that once I got started, I couldn't stop, and with No. 1 egging me on because she wanted the scarf, I kept going and going and going until I was nearly out of yarn. I knitted during the day, even, which is something that usually makes me feel guilty, like when you check your email during church or laugh at a funeral or look at your watch when you're having lunch with a friend. It's just not done.

I knitted and knitted until my wrists hurt, wooden needles dully clicking and yarn flying. I would take a little break to rest my sore tendons and then get back to work. I thought of a horn player I know who recently had carpel tunnel surgery and how I didn't want to go through that, but I couldn't stop myself until the scarf was finished.

I made my deadline, which was to have the project finished before No. 1 flew back to Berkeley. Here it is, stretched out on the floor of the lake house on New Year's day.

And here is No. 1, posing with her sister Eustacia, modeling the scarf.

Now, I can set my needles aside until the next obsession, the next bout with tunnel vision.

Comments

dive said…
Yay for wiggly scarves. That looks so much fun, Robyn.
And the girls look great in those fancy tiaras!
Shan said…
Wowww! Wickedly stylish and difficult looking(it all is to me actually). I like! And what a clean floor, btw. No small effort with two cats surely. ;)
Alice Adair said…
I still have my caches of yarn from the haven shop and I cannot seem to part with them.

I just have to learn that silly balance point of not strangling each stitch with pulling the needles to far or too tight.

Easier said than done. But if it is ever managed, I'll be asking for the pattern for the curly scarf -- it's adorable.
MmeBenaut said…
What a mother! To risk carpel tunnel syndrome and permanent nerve damage to produce a work of high art for a daughter. You are amazing, Robyn and the scarf is gorgeous!
BUT! I had surgery on both hands and unfortunately have some nerve damage in my right hand - can't pinch very well - so DON'T do that again. Two fully functioning hands are so important to such a productive woman as yourself.
Shazza said…
How fun! The first picture made me believe that you knitted a 20 foot scarf and could definitely see why you had carpel tunnel!

Happy New Year!

Popular posts from this blog

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...

My Sitemeter is All Bloated and Not Quite Itself

I'm tempted to let it sit on the couch with its feet curled up under a blanket, a hot cup of coffee in hand, a block of cherry almond bark Chocolove within reach, and An Affair to Remember spinning in the DVD player. I'm one of those obsessive bloggers, the kind who checks her sitemeter as often as possible throughout the day, the kind who gauges the quality of her writing by the number of readers who regularly stop by. I've become less interested in the overall number of hits and more interested in the number of repeat hits. The return visitors are the ones I long for. When my sitemeter reads forty at the end of the day, and the majority of those hits are webpals who have conversed, I'm happy. Forty may seem low to many of you, but I've only been at this since August. To me, forty is a jackpot. A few days ago, I sat down at my laptop and discovered a number somewhere in the eighties. Eighties! Yippee! Yeeha ! Hoo-rah ! I've been discovered by the webworld , o...

Happy Birthday...

to me! Update: Since you have asked, I only got one actual packaged gift, a beautiful hand-made bracelet from a friend, but both girls were home for the weekend, and we had dinner at the lake and a relaxing weekend. Thanks to all of you for your lovely wishes!