I snapped this photo on our walk yesterday. We went to to one of our favorite walkways by the ocean for some skateboarding, watching the train, and generally frolicking about. I happened to look down at this scene - with eyes other than my own for a moment - and saw how funny it was that the yarn came with us. I mean, it always comes with us. For seven years - since I started knitting - I've always carried a knitting project with me. I bring them in the car, and they move about from bag to bag (gathering crumbs of food along the way). Just waiting. Waiting for that five minutes that I'm sitting in the car with sleeping children. Or for that reaaally long train in front of us. Or for the (oh, so) few moments that all three babes are happily engaged without me at the beach, playground, woods or wherever we are. And those moments where knitting actually happens are heavenly. Worth the wait. But I started to think about the number of those moments where I actually do knit, and how relatively small that is compared to the number of hours that the yarn travels with us. It's pretty small. Really small. If I had to put a number on it, I'd say about 2%. That's a lot of travelling for that yarn, and not so much action. Which at first I thought might be a bit ridiculous, but the more I thought about it (it was a long walk), the more I liked the idea. That there's always a presence of something being made, of a creation in progress, of the work of handmade. I've got to believe that it's instilling some sort of value in all of that, and that ultimately (bear with me here), the 'energy' of the kids sock (or whatever it may be) is all the more 'full' for having 'lived' with us for so long. And the beautiful thing about that yarn is, it's so patient. The very nature of knitting isn't one of rushing, or quick results. And so, it's presence serves as a reminder of that for me. It says: The yarn will be there. The project can wait. Take a deep breath. Play with your kids.
These were the thoughts in my head on our walk yesterday as I walked around with my little ones, and gazed at that ball of yarn and needles just sitting there. Waiting patiently to be knit.