It’s a touch short of 8pm on a Saturday night in Central Florida, a few days into May, summer beginning to heavily breathe her warm breath into the air. Days get longer, as life gets shorter, but the humming buzz of cicadas still go on forever….
It’s hard not to get reflective, while you knit under the humid hues of the sunset, where the droning hum of nature is not unlike a Buddhist chant. It can be seductive, pleasurable, quietly mundane. And it was there that I put down my needles to listen, but not to the prominence of nature, but to the echo of my bamboo needles as they had brushed against each other to offer the same meditative grace.
As I knit up my teddy bears, I hear the remains of other days. I never thought in a million years that my life would have led me here, to where these hands tell the story of a life, this life, this man’s life. I knit my life story every time I knit a teddy bear. And that’s why they are always named after moments, or thoughts, or occurrences that had happened in my soul. “The Teddy Bear That Saved Me,” or, “Some Bears Get Lost,” or even better, “I’ll Be Your Bear When You Need Me.” These bears are part of who I am, where I have been, and more importantly, what I have accomplished, what I have lost, and what I have learned.
Life is better suited when you knit your life story. Everything that you craft comes from a moment in personal history. Whether it’s an item you gift (“Remember that blanket I knit for my grand baby?”) or something you rightfully, and selfishly kept to yourself (“I look DAMN good in this sweater!”). All of our creations, everything we contribute with our craft is a chapter in the fabric of life we have written. Our knitting is our autobiography, carefully stitched up and ready to share with the rest of the world.
Read our knitting well. We’ve got a lot to say in it. Our hopes, our disasters. Some of the best knitting has flaws in it. Like myself, and most of the best people I know. All flaws shown for everyone to read…..
So, before I close this post, tidy it up with the best editing I can do with “The Elements of Style,” I wish to remark that it now hints at 8:30, and the sun leaves wispy, diluted trails in it’s ebb. I might have been knitting teddy bears all this time and writing about it, but as a crisp breeze brings me to my senses, I’m reminded that I have been writing with needles this whole time, knitting my life story in the margins of a teddy bear.
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