This is a jersey I knit, in moss stitch. I knit a lot, it’s among my many anachronistic skills. I’d make a good peasant farmwife, or at least I would have before the arthritis hit.
I enjoy knitting – I can do it while doing other things, like watching TV, and it produces a feeling of accomplishment. The problem is that I’m seldom as enthusiastic about the end product as I am about the process. Knitting produces a kind of cook’s syndrome in me: by the time it’s done I’m sick of it and never want to see it again. Last year, however, I knit three baby blankets, and they were all loads of fun to do, and wonderful, because I don’t have to see them again.