Knitting repairs

Almost immediately upon being left to knit on my own, I made a foolish mistake and needed Kristin’s help to get my first project in order again. It’s ironic that I should be in this position in this of all weeks. At work the students have to turn in their first video projects. (I’m not the instructor but assist with training outside the classroom.)

It’s a trying week because, like typical college students, they procrastinate. Ordinarily that wouldn’t be a problem. I pulled my share of late nights writing papers that could have been written well in advance but weren’t started until the pressure was on. The difference in this case is that shooting and editing video projects can’t be done from a dorm room. Additionally, there are limited resources, so it’s not as if everyone can have a camera or an editing station whenever desired. And did I mention that many of them are doing this for the first time and have practically no idea what they’re doing?

The week the first projects are due are fraught with tense, impatient students who rely on us, my co-worker especially, to help them complete their assignments. It can be exhausting, if not from dealing with frayed undergrad emotions, than by the constant student chatter and heat generated by the equipment. If I weren’t more patient, I’d probably flip out on them.

I’ve been doing this for awhile, so either I’ve forgotten or I never thought about the humility required to ask for the kind of help they need. Sure, some of the requests come out of sheer panic, but it must be humbling to ask to be walked through something step-by-step repeatedly, particularly for those students whose academic success came with relative ease.

I realized that taking up knitting has me switching places from where I usually am day to day. I’m the student trying to soak up all the information and swallowing my pride to ask for help, even when I’ve been shown what to do on more than one occasion.

I don’t recall ever giving an instructional assist out of the trunk of a car in a parking garage, though. Kristin can’t say the same. I put my scarf and needles in a backpack, placed it in the trunk, and left it there for some post-Flags of Our Fathers, quick repair work.

After the screening we went to my car, from which I extracted my first project. Kristin unstitched back through the trouble spot, and I took a couple pictures in an attempt to better understand how to undo stitches.

All looked to be well, but while standing by my open car trunk in the parking garage, the sonorous, unmistakable voice of one of our colleagues could be heard approaching. (If you’re just checking in now, I’ve chosen to keep my new hobby secret, aside from writing about it on the internet.) Kristin has been attuned to my self-consciousness about knitting, so she tried to shield the needles and yarn from view as he passed us. Whether he saw what was going on or not, it must have looked pretty comical, if not downright strange. If there are cameras mounted in the garage, the security guards must have been mightily confused too.

Knitting secret exposure potentially averted, I was ready to return to work on the scarf.

Next…lots of stitch counting and recounting.