What motivated me to learn to knit? Did someone promote the idea to me, or was there some other attraction to the idea of knitting that ultimately created my desire to sign up for a knitting class?

I don't remember anyone promoting to me the idea of learning to knit.

I do have memories of influential women in my life knitting. My mother died of cancer when I was eleven years old. I remember sitting at her feet as a child and holding a skein of yarn between my hands while she rolled the yarn into a ball.

My older sister was a very talented knitter. She knitted me a brown, crew neck cardigan sweater with Swedish metal buttons. It was my favorite sweater to wear for many years.

I was dating a woman in my early twenties that owned a knitting machine, and she made several very intricately designed sweaters for me. One was a gray knit short-sleeved shirt, which was very similar in style to a three-button golf shirt.

I was also exposed to a great deal of knitted and woven wool clothing for functional reasons. My father was an avid outdoor sportsman, and much of our outdoor experiences were in the winter months. I learned at an early age that wool was a material that provided warmth … and my warm wool woven underwear became a necessary source of comfort during our many enjoyable days and nights in the Wild and Wooly West.

Wearing wool sweaters seemed natural to me. Most of the popular styles at El Cerrito High School in the 1960's were crew neck and V-neck pullovers, or the V-neck cardigans that the popular golfing stars like Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicolas wore.

In the late 60's, I found myself living on a U.S. Naval base in Tokyo Bay. I was a Radioman while on duty, but an outdoor explorer when not. It snowed in the winter, and was hot in the summer. I needed some protection from the cold, and I finally located a brown knitted wool two-piece suit of long underwear in a small knit shop in Yokohama. By the time I left Japan two years later, that wonderful pair of wool underwear was almost completely worn out, but for some reason, I packed them in my sea bag for the journey home. I have never found a replacement that was knitted, and have had to settle for woven styles.

In the seventies, I took up skin diving on the north coast of California. During abalone season (April through November) I camped at Salt Point State park as often as possible. It is mostly cold, windy, foggy, and rainy on the north coast, and once again, I had a necessary need for warmth and comfort in my clothing. Looking at photos from that period, it seems my favorite styles of wool sweater were a heavy Ecuadorian hooded pullover and a thick Swedish turtleneck pullover … both of which had very nice knit designs in tan and brown colors.

As I got older in the following decades, the strenuous outdoors activities gradually diminished, and I settled into married life, which included a home, wife, son, rabbit, cat, and two dogs. The home, wife, son, and animals separated from me with the divorce in 2002.

During that period I had also utilized my Sacramento State business degree, and went to work in accounting with a grammar school friend. Twenty-seven years later, we still share an office together in El Cerrito.

So my question is … "Do you see anything in the above personal history that would indicate a growing desire to learn to knit?" Certainly I can point to that favorite Japanese suit of knitted wool underwear that kept me warm and toasty for so many years. I tried several times to find an exact replacement pair, but was unsuccessful. I'm sure the thought entered my mind, as it still does, that if I learned to knit, I could create a replacement. One could also look back at my enjoyment of wearing sweaters … and come to the conclusion that creating my own might be a powerful incentive to learn to knit.

I can't say in all honesty that those reasons were sufficient to thrust me into the world of knitting. I have another explanation … the desire for peace and serenity. The following experiences are how the two were combined in my mind.

Years ago I joined a spiritual group. We met and shared together about our lives in a loving way, and in a safe environment. Some of the women frequently brought their knitting with them. I watched as they removed their knitting from their bags and began knitting. I was curious how knitting affected their thoughts during the meeting. I wondered if their knitting activity controlled their attention and thoughts to a point that distracted them from what was being said. I watched them as others shared. I could see them smile, or nod their heads, or stop knitting momentarily to connect their eyes with the speaker. When it was time for them to share, they simply placed their knitting project on their lap, and shared from their heart. It became plain to me that their knitting projects did not interfere with their concentration on what was being said in the meetings.

On the contrary, what I could detect was a positive effect of their knitting in the meeting … an "addition to" the spiritual experience of the meeting for them. I was intrigued and curious … and envious. They had what I was looking for … I was seeking additional peace and serenity … additional acceptance and gratitude … additional connection to my spirituality.

I continued to watch the group of knitters. They seemed even more connected together through their mutual activity. I finally gathered up the courage to discuss with them about why they chose to knit during the spiritual gathering, and they easily explained how the repetitive motions of knitting helped them to relax and focus their thinking on the meeting.

So, it wasn't any great commercial or personal promotion that finally sold me on the idea of learning to knit, it was a simple attraction to one of the desired benefits of knitting … the hope that it might be another tool I might use to calm my mind, and focus my thinking.

I haven't been disappointed.