Two years ago, I ceased to be an employee. At first, I wouldn’t use the ‘R’ word. Retired, it just wasn’t me. I was going to get out there, do something new, do many new things. Be something new. First thing on the list, a long solitary walk. Walking beside the sea; crossing the pilgrim’s way to Lindisfarne, barefoot on the muddy sand.
On my travels, I received a gift of three ply wool, homespun by the giver. ‘Perfect for a pair of socks’, he said. The three ply wool neatly twisted to remind me that I am mind, body and spirit. All three to be kept healthy and in balance.
I bought some less special wool with which to practice. I would learn to knit a pair of socks. A friend gave me lessons and lent me the necessary four needles. I managed one and a half socks before I was distracted by a different project. Pauline, from my writing group, has retrieved a half knitted Arran jumper this week and is, she says, cursing her way to the end of a task started many years ago. Maybe she’ll inspire me to pick up where I left off.
Today my mind’s been twisted, tied in knots, struggling to reconcile conflicting views thrust upon it from all sides. The demands of others pulling me in all directions. I couldn’t straighten things out. I certainly wasn’t ready to do battle with my knitting.
I did what I do when I’m struggling, I went out for a run, enjoyed the clean fresh air and let the knots unravel.