Up until about two months ago, I took all of my knitting pictures with my parents' digital camera. I'd drive the half-hour to their house, have dinner, play some board games, then grab the camera and my knitting and hustle out to the front yard while the light was still good.
Toward the end of the school year, I asked them if I could bring it to work with me to get some pictures of the munchkins. (Of course they said yes; they're foolishly generous like that.) One of my munchkins (we'll call him Godzilla) is fascinated by cameras, and he's not a bad photographer either. He wanted a turn, so I (very irresponsibly for a preschool teacher, I'm sure) gave him one.
All went well for about twenty minutes. Darling pictures were taken, viewed, exclaimed over. Then the inevitable--Godzilla, who is, through no fault of his own, only two--dropped the camera. On cement.
That was pretty much it for that.
A few weeks later, fleeing the wrath of my parents, I moved to Iowa. (Ostensibly I moved to be near my fiancé, but we know better. Shhh.)
I got a job at a daycare. It sucked. I quit the job at the daycare.
Suddenly I had a lot of time to pursue knitting, and nobody but my poor fiancé to show it off to.
The darling bought me a camera. (Well, technically he bought us a camera. He spent the first day playing with all the different settings and wore out the batteries. I didn't get a chance to use it until the next day.)
When we were looking at cameras, I said my only requirement was a good macro setting so I could take knitting pictures. The camera-store guy, to his credit, did not even blink, and even asked whether this was a business venture.
"Yes," I said. Why not? When's a better time, really? I'm out of work but not out of money, I have loads of ideas, and am very nearly (now that I've a camera--whee!) finished with a pattern that a handful of people have been waiting on. It could happen.
My first project once the precious was safely home was to knit it a bag. I tried taking a picture of the camera inside the bag,
then settled for a picture of the outside.
It's got a drawstring closure which I made using this bad boy,
a recent inheritance from my long-deceased great-grandmother.
(Great-Grandma, who lived to be a hundred and two, passed away more than ten years ago. At the time, when we cleaned out her room, I got the button box. I still have the button box. Buttons are love. But I wasn't a knitter then and so her knitting and crocheting supplies stayed with my grandma until recently.)
I'd always known in the back of my mind that Great-Grandma was a knitter. I recall a pair of maroon bedroom slippers with pom-poms that I wore until they wore out when I was a kid. But I hadn't realized how hardcore she must have been. In the box from Grandma there were teensy DPNs, straight needles in every size, circulars that go on for miles (she must have made afghans--whatever became of them?) and a truly awesome selection of crochet hooks--
--that teeny one there? That's a size 14. That is teeny. She must have made lace. Why didn't I know this? But I think my favorite is the one I used to make the drawstring. By the looks of it, it's made of bone. I love the feel of it in my fingers. I love the slick way the loops slide over the hook.
I think I'm going to have to learn to crochet.
TWiP: Fewer Words
1 day ago