knitting knitting knitting

My yarn room has been filled for days with women carrying a stick or two and some string in balls. They use these things to tie knots over and over until they have a big sheet of knots. I think they should call it knotting not knitting. Some of them use a wood hook and work on one knot at a time instead of a row of them.

The only thing I've seen before like it is the grandaddy longlegs in the electric room. But his web is made in a pattern and he doesn't pull it out over and over like these ladies seem to like to do. Well, no, they don't seem to like it. But they do pull out stitches a lot. They talk about following a pattern, but it doesn't really sound like it. Well, you tell me, what does it sound like they're doing in there? "Pee two, Kay one, Pee two tog, yo!"

Secretly, I love the constantly changing groups of colors. It's like I get my walls repainted regularly without all the wet stickiness involved. When the balls of yarns fall behind and rest against my wall, it is an amazing sensation. The eyelash yarn tickles, the wool is hot, and the silk feels like Jack's fur feels on my floors. The mohair makes my paint crawl, the bamboo feels related to me, and the angora feels like the soft part of peoples' arms when they lean against my door jamb.

The ladies have put an antique table in the yarn room, with old creaky chairs and new thick cushions. They sit there for hours and laugh and pull on strings. They eat their lunches in there, they talk about their lives and how much they enjoy the yarn. They also cuss and mutter and pull out the work. I've started to see the knitting patterns now, though. Here's the knitting pattern: an extra long bout of talking and laughing is directly followed by curses and pulling.