Rrripping

I am not afraid of ripping out my sweaters, in fact, I actually kind of like it. This is a shocking statement to many, I know, But with each stitch pulled out comes the possibility of something better; something more closely matching the vision in my head; something more perfect.

I rip frequently, and I am not proud of this fact but I feel that it is much like editing a written work or revising ideas for a project. You start with an idea; you toss it around a little in your head; you try it out; you realize you've done something utterly horrible; you rip it out and try again. I have various reasons for ripping: sometimes I am too arrogant and make the cardinal mistake of lazy knitters everywhere and don't make a gauge swatch, or sometimes I realize I will never wear something I made earlier with its sub-standard construction, and sometimes I just realize I don't like whatever it is and it needs to be something else.

I think ripping comes naturally to me. My first experience with knitting was actually ripping. When I was a small child, perhaps 3 years old, my mother was knitting a beautiful Aran afghan (I don't remember what follows very clearly but this is my best guess). She left this handsome work in progress sitting on the couch in our living room where it should be safe. I must have toddled up to the blanket while she was in another room, seen it there so soft and inviting with a lovely string hanging off. The string must have been too much for me because I pulled it, and I pulled and I pulled. To my mother's horror I ripped the whole blanket out. She must have come into the room and seen the huge pile of squiggly yarn that was recently her nearly complete afghan and asked me what happened. In my infinite childhood wisdom I told her the dog did it. She believed me until she realized that the yarn was whole, with no torn pieces or rips, and free of doggy slobber. She knew that only tiny little fingers could have done the damage. She eventually remade the afghan, and I think she forgave me although she likes to tell the story when I am within earshot. Maybe it was that initial experience that helped to form my current love of yarn and knitting, I think I'll tell her that next time she tries to make me feel guilty about it.