Monday
Nov302009
Bedtime story.
Monday, November 30, 2009 at 5:26AM
Once upon a time,
there was a little girl who wanted to learn to knit.
She tried learning from books.
But the directions were much too hard for the little girl. She couldn't see how to hold the needles.
She begged her mother to let her take a class for people like her, who wanted to make beautiful things out of brightly colored string.
So the little girl's mother put her on a big bus that carried her across the town to the shop where the yarn was.
The girl discovered that she wasn't particularly good at knitting.
There were holes in the sad blue dishcloth she tried to make.
Over the years, the little girl tried to knit other things, like hot pads.
But nothing turned out particularly well. "Maybe I'd be better off doing cross stitch or latch hook," the little girl thought.
And so the knitting sat, untouched, in her closet for many years.
The girl grew and grew. She never forgot about the knitting. One day, the girl received bad news.
Her grandparents had died in a terrible accident. After the sadness, after the sorting of the belongings, the now-grown girl discovered she had inherited her grandmother's knitting needles and yarn.
The magic knitting seed planted in her heart so many years before began to grow.
It grew slowly at first, while the girl struggled to make a scarf for her sister's birthday.
And then, a little faster when new nieces needed hand knit sweaters.
And faster still when the girl found a booklet, which to her seemed like the Rosetta Stone of knitting. The little booklet at the craft store didn't look like much from the outside, but inside was the key that unlocked all the mysteries of knitting.
The knitting seed was now a thriving plant that the girl lovingly watered with moves across the country. With a sweet husband. With too many cats. With babies of her own.
The girl started making baby things for her friends, who told their friends.
The knitting seed grew to be a knitting business with pattern designing and dresses and pants and piles of yarn cozying up the house.
You can't see a seed grow, no matter how long you watch it.
You can try to stand, unmoving, eyes fixed, for weeks on end, and you won't be successful.
It's not until you blink that you realize that time has passed and what was once a seed is now a tree.
The girl tried her hand at putting colors on yarn.
Some attempts were successful. Others resulted in charred bits of wool that left black flakes in her hand.
But she kept trying and learning. And meeting new friends and sending them yarn.
The girl discovered that people liked the yarn she made. The people showed her pictures of the special things they made for their own friends and family.
Things like socks, and sweaters for their own babies, and mittens to keep their hands warm.
Every day, the girl poured all her creativity into painting yarn with pretty colors.
It was a lot of work, but the girl didn't mind. She discovered that the things you work the hardest for are the things you appreciate the most.
Slowly, word spread about the pretty colors on the special yarns that girl had made from the fleece of magic sheep.
People came from all over the world to get some of the special yarn for themselves.
They came from tropical lands, where palm trees grow. They came from large islands bedecked with coral reefs.
They came from the lands of the Vikings and ship builders, and from inside stone cottages with thatched roofs.
They came from quaint Southern towns, and rural plains covered with snow and ice.
Each day, the girl marveled at the wonderful assemblage of people who came from far and wide to buy her wares.
But little did she know. Little did she know that these people were conspirators. Conspirators who wanted to give the girl a wonderful gift.
They plotted and schemed and knitted and stitched.
Slowly, something took shape. Something magical, not because it was knit from the fleece of magic sheep. Not because it was made with pretty colors. Not because it came from many faraway lands.
It was magic because it was made with love.
When the people -- now friends -- presented the girl with this special thing they had labored so long over, she was overcome. Overcome by the generosity of her friends who knew just what she needed. They knew she loved handmade things, and they knew she would love seeing the fruits of the little seed that was planted so many years before. They knew that she needed
a magic carpet. A magic carpet to wrap herself in on cold winter nights, to festoon a favorite chair in the summer. A magic carpet made, stitch by stitch, with care and kindness. And it was good.
The end.
The moral of this story is: Never underestimate the power of a tiny seed. It can blossom into a tree that grows magic carpets.
there was a little girl who wanted to learn to knit.
She tried learning from books.
But the directions were much too hard for the little girl. She couldn't see how to hold the needles.
She begged her mother to let her take a class for people like her, who wanted to make beautiful things out of brightly colored string.
So the little girl's mother put her on a big bus that carried her across the town to the shop where the yarn was.
The girl discovered that she wasn't particularly good at knitting.
There were holes in the sad blue dishcloth she tried to make.
Over the years, the little girl tried to knit other things, like hot pads.
But nothing turned out particularly well. "Maybe I'd be better off doing cross stitch or latch hook," the little girl thought.
And so the knitting sat, untouched, in her closet for many years.
The girl grew and grew. She never forgot about the knitting. One day, the girl received bad news.
Her grandparents had died in a terrible accident. After the sadness, after the sorting of the belongings, the now-grown girl discovered she had inherited her grandmother's knitting needles and yarn.
The magic knitting seed planted in her heart so many years before began to grow.
It grew slowly at first, while the girl struggled to make a scarf for her sister's birthday.
And then, a little faster when new nieces needed hand knit sweaters.
And faster still when the girl found a booklet, which to her seemed like the Rosetta Stone of knitting. The little booklet at the craft store didn't look like much from the outside, but inside was the key that unlocked all the mysteries of knitting.
The knitting seed was now a thriving plant that the girl lovingly watered with moves across the country. With a sweet husband. With too many cats. With babies of her own.
The girl started making baby things for her friends, who told their friends.
The knitting seed grew to be a knitting business with pattern designing and dresses and pants and piles of yarn cozying up the house.
You can't see a seed grow, no matter how long you watch it.
You can try to stand, unmoving, eyes fixed, for weeks on end, and you won't be successful.
It's not until you blink that you realize that time has passed and what was once a seed is now a tree.
The girl tried her hand at putting colors on yarn.
Some attempts were successful. Others resulted in charred bits of wool that left black flakes in her hand.
But she kept trying and learning. And meeting new friends and sending them yarn.
The girl discovered that people liked the yarn she made. The people showed her pictures of the special things they made for their own friends and family.
Things like socks, and sweaters for their own babies, and mittens to keep their hands warm.
Every day, the girl poured all her creativity into painting yarn with pretty colors.
It was a lot of work, but the girl didn't mind. She discovered that the things you work the hardest for are the things you appreciate the most.
Slowly, word spread about the pretty colors on the special yarns that girl had made from the fleece of magic sheep.
People came from all over the world to get some of the special yarn for themselves.
They came from tropical lands, where palm trees grow. They came from large islands bedecked with coral reefs.
They came from the lands of the Vikings and ship builders, and from inside stone cottages with thatched roofs.
They came from quaint Southern towns, and rural plains covered with snow and ice.
Each day, the girl marveled at the wonderful assemblage of people who came from far and wide to buy her wares.
But little did she know. Little did she know that these people were conspirators. Conspirators who wanted to give the girl a wonderful gift.
They plotted and schemed and knitted and stitched.
Slowly, something took shape. Something magical, not because it was knit from the fleece of magic sheep. Not because it was made with pretty colors. Not because it came from many faraway lands.
It was magic because it was made with love.
When the people -- now friends -- presented the girl with this special thing they had labored so long over, she was overcome. Overcome by the generosity of her friends who knew just what she needed. They knew she loved handmade things, and they knew she would love seeing the fruits of the little seed that was planted so many years before. They knew that she needed
a magic carpet. A magic carpet to wrap herself in on cold winter nights, to festoon a favorite chair in the summer. A magic carpet made, stitch by stitch, with care and kindness. And it was good.
The end.
The moral of this story is: Never underestimate the power of a tiny seed. It can blossom into a tree that grows magic carpets.
Reader Comments (19)
I'm speechless. You are so blessed. I wish I could give each one who took part a hug for blessing you in such a memorable way. Years from now you will be able to tell your grandchildren about this magic carpet, and they will be transported as you tell them the story. What a gift!
This had me crying into my tea this morning. What a beautiful story, and what beautiful gifts - both yours of your love for knitting and yarn to others, and theirs to you.
I am crying too. It seems that this exactly what we were trying to tell you. This is a beautiful post, thank you.
Me three, with the crying. This is such a sweet story, and I am so glad to know you and to have been a part of the blankie. ::hugs::
I love this story. The secret blanket is beautiful.
What a beautiful way to show the blanket and express your joy. Hope you enjoy many days wrapped in the love and warmth.
Awwww, aren't you sweet! I have tears in my eyes too. It was a great joy and pleasure to be part of this magical project. May it warm your heart for many, many years.
Your blanket is lovely! :)
That is a fantastic story and a beautiful blanket. That is a powerful knitting seed :)
The blanket is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
So glad you liked the blanket of love. I had fun playing with colors, and even more fun pulling out some early colorways and using them by their selves and with new colors. Brought back good memories.
I thought I remembered that you had once said you wanted to make a log cabin blanket. Enjoy your magic carpet. May it take you to many memories of all the lovely colors and fibers you've brought into our lives.
I'm crying too! What a wonderful post - you have a gift for photography as well as writing. Like Trisha said, you got the true message of the magic blanket. You create and send out joy and love, and yarn is just the vehicle. It was a pleasure returning it. May it bring you many years of warmth and joy!
You deserve this and so much more.
Sharon,
Once again, Trisha beat me to it with the perfect words. :)
These photos are amazing! And the story is just perfect.
abigail
What a gorgeous blanket. And a even more beautiful story. :-)
So utterly beautiful! I loved the tale as well, made my eyes misty just a bit!
And Trisha always finds the right words to say...
We all love you, Sharon, what can we say? Yarnista's Mama, you must be proud to have her as a daughter, and I can't imagine what a great mom you must be, to have a daughter like her :)
It was such an honor to be a part of this. Many blessings, in every stitch!
This post is beyond awesome. I am always wondering what to do and what not to do so I will follow some of these tips.