K2, P2, SSK, PSSO, K to last 2, K2Tog

During WWII, it wasn't uncommon to see ordinary women pulled aside and questioned thoroughly by the secret police who had glimpsed something akin to my title, sitting on these ladies' laps while they were out and about in town. K2, P2, SSK, PSSO, K to last 2, K2Tog??? Surely it's a code written out by some genius, holding in it's puzzle the answer to total global denomination, and these women have to get those directions to the enemy who is paying a fortune for it.

Turns out it wasn't quite what those police officers had first thought. After much enlightenment, the women were allowed to go free, and keep their coded papers. For you see, what they had was not a mind boggling jigsaw puzzle. No, it was only their knitting directions.

 I had always said I would never knit. My earliest memories accompanied by that mere word were flashbacks to scratchy hats made with burnt orange Acrylic yarn, or worse, something made with the rainbow dyed acrylic that always seems to be on sale in JoAnne's Fabrics. You know, the skeins that look like someone put a poisonous snake into a blender and then copied the resulting colorway? Yep, that one.

But that wasn't the only reason I firmly said I would never stoop to that old craft. Open up any knitting book and prepare to be overwhelmed by pages upon pages that all say unintelligible sentences.K2, P2, SSK, PSSO, K to last 2, K2Tog? What on earth does that mean!?!? Not to mention you have to use those pointy sticks, er, needles that look like something from a toy knight's medieval jousting match... And you have to use TWO of those pointy needles! Sure, I may have two hands, but I only have ONE brain! Let's not forget all the mathematical knots you have to make with those tot-sized lances, either. Good heavens, you start taking pride in the fact that you finally learned the knit stitch, when you realize in dismay that now you have the learn how to do the purl stitch! Maybe people take up knitting as a way to act as a martyr... Hmm.

I did try knitting once, when I was about fourteen. And quickly threw the needles down in despair. My brain wasn't up to par when it came to battling the inanimate objects of wood and string. Nope, not I.

I continued on in my teen years, carefully avoiding all things related to knitting.

But then I learned to spin my own yarn...

And I wanted to make a baby hat...

And not only does making a baby hat involve picking up knitting needles, it involves using five needles at one time. To this day, I am still shocked that I did not faint during that adventure.

Somehow, some way, through much help of experience knitters, and pure stubbornness on my part, I found a hat starting to come off of my needles. And then I realized something as time went on: This knitting stuff was actually kind of fun! I swallowed some crow, and bought some better needles. I was done for. I'm just as bad as any knitter in these parts. Oohing and Aahing over yarns and square knitting needles. We jockey each other to feel the new cashmere yarn that has just come to the store in town, and we collectively sigh over the fingering weight baby alpaca. I rather like this textile world. Nowadays, making socks isn't beyond me, and someday I'm going to finish a whole shawl... I've got a couple in the makings but they can't seem to get past lift-off.

 K2, P2, SSK, PSSO, K to last 2, K2Tog? Bring it on. I know your game now, Ms. Knitting Code, and I accept your challenge. Let me grab my rapier of a knitting needle and we'll have a showdown...