I have a houseful of knitters staying here with me for Stitches South, including you, as I hope you have realized by now. You are in Nashville, not New York. (It’s different here: remember, nobody walks anywhere. Just lie down, mash the Uber button in your phone, and somebody will show up to scrape you into a vehicle. Nashvillians are boneless chickens, basically. We can walk 15 feet to our cars, but that’s about it.)
I hope you’re having a good time up there in the Knitting Dorm. I feel a little like a Resident Advisor, keeping an eye on the lot of you and making sure nobody sneaks in boys. Nobody’s sneaking out, because everybody is zonked from the yarn fumes out at the Opryland Hotel—and by the disorienting experience of trying to get to the parking lot when day is done. Every moment in the atrium-rich environment of the Opryland Hotel tricks you into thinking you’re outside—until you look up, see the glass ceilings, and realize, I will never be outside again. It’s like some sort of Outward Bound exercise: you have a credit card and three Larabars. You must survive three days in the Opryland Hotel with no help from Opryland staffers.
As this weekend has unfolded, I’m concluding that there should be something called The College of Knitting, and I’m pretty sure I want to start it. We’ve got the curriculum set:
8:05 Free Knit
10:30 Begin Talking about Lunch
12:30 Lunch with Knitting Simultaneously
4:30 Teatime with Knitting Simultaneously
5:00 Begin Talking About Dinner
5:10 Sherry Hour
7:30 Dinner That Somebody Else Made. With Knitting Simultaneously
9:30 After-dinner Knitting
10:30 Discussion Group: Female Topics
11:00 Final Bit of Knitting
12:00 Lights Out Unless Your Episode on Netflix Is Particularly Compelling
This curriculum obviously needs some beefing up—where’s the snack requirement, for one thing? But four years of this and I think we’d all become fairly good knitters.
Great Story Number 1: Socks Outta Alabama
I am the happy owner of two pairs of Zkano socks given to me for my birthday. One pair looks like this, and the other looks like this. They are uncommonly cheerful. I didn’t know a thing about them except that I loved them. Imagine the joy when I read this New York Times article that tells the story of Gina Locklear, the unhappy real estate agent in Fort Payne, Alabama, who decided at the age of 27 to make sustainable, awesome socks. We should all wear these socks, because they’re filled with a lot of goodwill and care and thought. Do I think that we can save the world by wearing socks made in Fort Payne, Alabama? Maybe not. But at least we can vote with our dollars.
Great Story Number 2: Spring Break Hall of Fame
In honor of everyone heading out to or returning from spring break, I share with you a family trip like no other, “Going Native.” Wigwam Village is where I want to found The College of Knitting. It’s going to be so great.