Dreaming

Recently I had a dream in which I flew under my own steam. Running, spreading my arms wide and arching my back launched me into the air to soar around the treetops. This dream was so vivid and real that upon waking, it felt true. That performing these simple motions would actually allow flight. A few seconds into waking, with Tikka's nose nudging my hand, reality overwhelmed this fantasy with a hard crash back to earth. This is a recurring dream, one that’s been around since childhood. It does not occur very often anymore, but I love when it does.

While he was visiting last month, my father reminded me of how much more intrepid I was when I was younger. Transportation was a motorcycle, which came out as soon as the roads were clear and was put away when it became dangerous to ride in the late fall. I’d go just about anywhere on a whim (preferably by myself), and I was more than happy to design a sweater on the fly. Dad never saw me use a pattern, and was surprised to see me use one for his gloves. A stitch dictionary was my closest friend. What happened to those days and that old confidence? I’d forgotten about that.

In the late 80’s I stopped knitting. At that time, Houston was home and there was only 1 yarn shop close to the Galleria. It was hugely expensive, with a selection of cottony yarns that were unappealing at the time. Some custom work was done for a friend met through a newspaper ad. She was looking for someone to knit summery tops for matching skirts. Together we came up with some frothy fantasies. 1-of-a-kind, puff-sleeved delights in lovely yarns made to measure for her clients. After she closed her shop, well, that stopped. It’s been a long, long time since. Almost 20 years.

During that time, a sweater was made for Marci, adorned with antique glass buttons from my friend’s shop. I remember measuring her, swatching and choosing a fabulous yarn for that cardi – a wool and silk singles in a tweedy lilac/blue combo. She found it the other day, and it almost fits. It’s probably my oldest surviving knit. In stockinette with a thin, crocheted button band, set in sleeves and the lot.

These days it never occurs to me to go without a pattern. Perhaps it’s time to be more free-spirited about the knitting.