Someone I was talking to sparked the memory of a would-be recipient of my knitting, a good while ago.
This was not long after I’d started spinning my own yarn but well before I figured out how to knit lace. I splurged on a closeout and spun up some angora, little bunny fibers flying all around me as the wheel turned. Achoo! (A side note: I was curious, having been taught that adding twist to create yarn means adding friction to the fiber to hold it together–and the answer is yes, you can spin enough twist into angora to make it feel as harsh as burlap. Don’t.)
Other than the burlap bit, I spun it into a fine two-ply, enough to fill an Ashford bobbin to the max; then I knit it into a simple triangle shawl. Or rather, more a large scarf, done thus: cast on three, knit (or purl, as the case may be) into the front and back of the last stitch of each row till the thing is the size you want. Use small yarn and big needles for a faux-lace look. Tadaah. Take a small hair elastic, crochet tightly all around it in the same yarn to completely cover the elastic, and run it up the long ends of the triangle to hold the thing on and in place in the front.
So. I was wearing it while we were out and about. Fluffy, soft, simple, not fancy; I was quite proud of it.
And an old woman I barely knew saw it. She announced I was going to make her one too. She was going to pay me. Twenty-five dollars. That was a lot of money, you know! When could I have it done by?
I managed to recover from my astonishment without bursting out laughing. *I* knew it was handspun and the time involved, and knowing that pure angora at retail cost a dollar per GRAM in store-bought yarn…
She was adamant and would not be dissuaded. I offered to teach her how to knit. She already knew how; didn’t want to. Twenty-five dollars. That was a lot of money, you know. When could I have it done by?
Waiiiit, waiiiiiiiiit, whoa…
We managed to progress to her offering me the (I could just picture old scratchy acrylic from the 60’s) aged gold yarn in her closet to knit it with. I reiterated my offer to help her knit it herself.
She did finally give up after she made it clear that I was impoverishing myself and really missing out. Twenty-five dollars. That was a lot of money, you know!
Part of me kind of wished–still wishes–that I had it in me to be generous enough to surprise her with her own scarf, and in angora, too; that was one person who I knew would like the thing if I did. If only. If only she’d shown the least humility. But she just didn’t have it in her.
And neither did I.