Why Did I Learn to Knit?

For the new swap we are again being given questions to answer on our blogs in case we need a little incentive to write.

I don't need incentive. That's not my problem right now. My problem is opportunity. Trying to pry my husband's laptop away from him is like, well, stealing candy from a baby. Easy to do. BUT do you want to put up with the consequences?

(My husband is a pacer. He paces. Back and forth. Back and forth. I last about long enough to check my email and poke about Ravelry for a few minutes, and then I give him the laptop back.)

So anyway, today's question is "Why did I learn to knit?"

I've already covered the how of it here.

But... why?

That's a good question.

It must have been a seed planted in my brain, waiting for the right conditions to germinate. One day -- November 3, 2007 -- those conditions presented themselves in the form of baskets and baskets of $1 novelty yarn at Michaels in Buffalo, New York. (Well, it was Cheektowaga actually, but let's not quibble over details.)

Something about the colours and the textures called out to me and said, "You -- yes, you Karen -- you could knit with us."

Yeah, so I grabbed myself a whole pile of ribbon and fur and other fuzzy, bobbly, blobby stuff, along with a pair of aluminum US size 13 needles and a book on how to knit.

The rest is history.

(And so is all that novelty yarn. Because I'm a "real" knitter now. Snort.)