Givers and Givees

In a previous lifetime, I baked bread for my family. Four loaves a week, every week. (We also heated with wood and raised chickens and grew all our vegetables, too. Right out of Mother Earth News.) I didn't think too much about it; baking bread was just something I did.

A friend of mine decided she was going to bake some bread, too. She made one loaf and served it with dinner. The next day, her husband used a couple of slices for a sandwich, which just incensed her. That loaf of bread was something special and it shouldn't be used for something as plebeian as sandwiches.

I know knitters like that, who consider each handmade object a work of art, something to be stored in a drawer and taken out to be admired or worn only for special occasions. I doubt they would ever knit socks.

But I also know knittees like that, who are so impressed with the handmade thingy with which you have gifted them that they store it away for safekeeping. Example: I crocheted a baby afghan for some friends. They loved it and used it to bring the baby home from the hospital, where upon said baby pooped and puked on said afghan. It (the afghan) was cleaned and folded and put away as a keepsake. A keepsake made of cheap acrylic, stitched up in my spare time. Some giftees are reluctant to use even cotton dishcloths.

Few things make me happier than to know my knitting is being used for its intended purpose. I hear from my SO how his daughters found their cotton dishcloths to be particularly useful for particularly difficult cleaning jobs. Almost every time I see my daughter, she is wearing a pair of handknit socks. My stepmother wears her swallowtail shawl when she is out and about with her friends, and passes their compliments on to me (and I think the primary purpose of a swallowtail shawl is to elicit compliments).

And, to take gifting one step further, I try to detach myself from where an object may ultimately wind up. A scarf may get lost, but hopefully will still be used by someone somewhere. A pair of socks may be passed around until they find the right feet. An afghan may become Fido's favorite bed.

Whatever.

It's just knitting.

(BTW, this post is number 200!)