In this particular case, I don't know the details. I just know there is a dear friend who is not doing well, a middle-aged man whose treatments make him feel cold all the time. The idea of knitting for him must have been an easy and natural one; the transfer of affection onto the needles is apparent with each row worked.
Our weekly class had begun on September 18th, learning how to make cabled afghans. Four weeks later, measuring almost 6 feet in length, the gift was finished, sewn together, wrapped and ready to deliver. There were no photos taken of its presentation, everyone thinking it was too private a moment to record anywhere other than spiritually. I was not there, but I don't think it would have been easy to tell who felt better that day - the recipient or the creator.
"Thank you." said the latter, to me. "If you hadn't offered this class, I would never have been able to make this gift. To be able to make something that will keep him warm while he endures the poisons being shot into his body - it makes me feel like I have really done something. It's not like going out and buying something for someone. I can't describe it, but it's almost like I was trying to knit love and relief into that blanket."
Around the knitters’ class table the conversation usually winds back to who's making what for whom. A new baby. A favorite teacher. A grandchild. A nurse who helped out during a rough patch. An ill friend. A raffle item for an auction. A wedding gift. The new knitters always look down incredulously at their first finished object and say, "I made that!" They give their gifts to their intended recipients and proudly convey the reaction…”You made this for me?!” And soon they are starting their next project.
Two sticks and some string. A way to say what is sometimes better said without words.
This is why I knit. And this is why I teach.