A lot of times, I’ve knit something with a very clear idea of its intentions. This is going to be my sweater, or a gift for a specific target, or an awesome original design. But then, it doesn’t fit, or the math was wrong somewhere, or it does fit but just doesn’t hang right on me, or look like I thought it would. Or it was just an experimental bit of knitting, to try a new technique or pattern.
And, though it might not be right away, something wonderful always happens. It turns out to be perfect for somebody else. I didn’t know it while I was knitting it, but I was knitting it for that somebody. Often I’ve had this oddball finished piece, and didn’t know what to do with it, and it was discovered by its fated owner-to-be.
A couple of years ago, I tried my hand at lace for the first time, and made it bigger than a normal 4”x4” swatch, because the lace repeats needed to be numerous to really see the lace pattern. It blocked out slightly bigger than a placemat. Wish I could remember where I got that pattern. It was beautiful . . . and unneeded. It had no purpose as a finished thing. So it sat on the top ledge of my roll top desk, all this time.
Our cat died last night at the age of 17. This morning, I wrapped him in the hand knit lace that was really his all along. Tracy and I buried him under the crepe myrtle in the back yard.