Another secret knitter

I'm just a secret knitter when it comes to letting people know that I know how to use the needles. This woman was a secret knitter with a more admirable cause. According to the article, she made over two thousand knitted toys during a decade of making them for sick children. She insisted that her efforts remain anonymous, although she relented shortly before her recent death.

I imagine some people find it strange to wish for such commendable work not to be recognized. I understand it, although who's to say if my thinking is at all similar to this woman's. I see such a mindset through the filter of my fraternal grandmother, who didn't ask to be put in the spotlight for the many things she did. I see it in myself in not always taking compliments well and being embarrassed by them. (Like anyone, I want them but often feel I don't deserve them.)

The satisfaction comes in doing something because it's worth doing and not for any extrinsic reward. I assume she felt it was enough to know that what she was doing for worthwhile. It's unfortunate that she didn't directly receive some of the gratitude that surely would have come her way, or so I presume. Still, I appreciate that here was someone filling a need that she perceived and not asking for anything, even the acknowledgment, in return. These days that feels like a rare thing.

Out of the past

The other day I received a message on Ravelry from an older lady wanting to know if she knew me. In one of the forums I must have mentioned where I'm originally from. (She must have been searching for that particular place because it certainly isn't mentioned anything I've posted recently.) Since my hometown is a small burg, chances are that she would be acquainted with me.

The sender's profile and the small bits of information in the message didn't give me the slightest clue if this was someone I knew, but I was certain that I would be aware of whoever this turned out to be.

I replied without including my last name, although the piece of verifying information was effectively as revealing. Why did I not provide my last name outright? I don't know. It's not like the message is searchable on the web. I suppose its absence allowed me to sustain that electronic distance between the public me and the secret knitter. I briefly explained my reason for the secrecy, primarily because I figured it seemed weird that I was beating around the bush.

Unsurprisingly, she did know my family. As a matter of fact, her family lived in the neighborhood where our first home was. (We moved within the same small town.) She promised not to mention about the knitting, although I really don't care about that. If anything, I'm probably just making questions multiply in her mind as to what my deal is.

Perhaps me writing "I really don't care about that" about her keeping the secret jumps out at you. Hey bud, look at your name, right? Let me clarify then.

At this point my interest in remaining secret pertains to my online presence and my job. I like the relative anonymity of writing about whatever under a pseudonym, although it's more about not having my name linked to this blog than what I'm saying. For regular readers and those at knit night, I don't think my identity is exactly a mystery, and I'm fine with that. The search engines and spiders don't need to know, though.

As for keeping it from my co-workers and the students, I've softened on my original hardline stance of complete silence when it comes to my knitting. That doesn't mean anything has changed. It's not something I've shared, nor do I plan to bring it up. On the other hand, it wouldn't be mentally and emotionally catastrophic if the secret were to slip. I think part of that is due to the mood of the place now, although if word did get out, I suspect it would just make me seem weirder. Then again, maybe I overestimate how offbeat I am perceived as being there.

Of course, getting that Ravelry mail from someone out of the past (and out of the blue) cuts straight to the reason for having a layer of secrecy. If I want the information divulged, it's on my terms. Please tell me that doesn't make me a control freak.

Whatever

What follows would have been considered unthinkable when I first decided to knit, but it should not be misconstrued as an indication that the mask is coming off. I'm still determined to remain the secret knitter.

At times, like this evening, there are moments when I simply don't care about staying secret. I had to stop at a local yarn shop to pick up another skein of Noro Kureyon for my scarf. In the parking lot I noticed a car with an old parking sticker from where I work. I briefly considered turning around before going in--being recognized would not be out of the question--but ultimately I just decided not to sweat it. Was I spotted? Beats me.

Despite stopping off to get some yarn, I was the first one at knit night, which is held at a restaurant. Even though I've been there and knitted plenty of times, I can feel a bit exposed sitting by myself and knitting while waiting for my food. Again, for whatever reason, I chucked any sense of insecurity about it and pulled out the needles before my order or another knitter arrived.

Is it growth? Was it fatigue from a busy couple of months at work? Who knows. Whatever.

Chance of exposure

I have a skein of yarn for which I cannot find the ballband or cannot match with the ballband. I bought it several months ago and started using it for something that never came to fruition because I was having problems with it twisting in the round.

Today I decided I would drop by the local yarn shop where I purchased it to see if I could identify what the yarn is. I pulled into the tiny parking lot behind another vehicle. As I parked I noticed that the other car had a current parking sticker from where I'm employed. It's going to sound crazy, but I seriously considered turning the car right back around and leaving.

I was not particularly close to where I work, so I was shocked at how unlikely it was to encounter this situation. I haven't been to this LYS in a long time, possibly since I bought this yarn in the winter, so go figure that on the rare occasion I'm there, this happens.

I decided to take my time getting out of my car and crane my neck to see if I recognized the person who drove the other vehicle. She looked vaguely familiar but was not someone I could place with a name or a department. I have no idea how recognizable I am. (The whole TV thing means I run into people I've never met but who know me from the show.) I chose to risk identification and slunk in.

Fortunately she was not browsing but instead picking up an order at the cash register. This allowed me to slip by and try to become invisible, or as invisible as a guy in a yarn shop can get. I kept my back to the front of the store as much as possible. She soon left and I relaxed a bit.

I know this scenario and my behavior sounds ridiculous, but for those who are unaware, I have made a point of keeping my knitting secret at work. It's probably only a matter of time that I'm found out.

I kept waiting for someone to come by at the knit night I attended on Tuesday and spot me. The location is close enough to campus that it's not out of the realm of possibility that a student or college employee might be there as a patron or worker. A few weeks ago at the knit night I regularly go to on Thursdays I saw an old professor of mine who is retired. I don't know if he saw me, although in that case I wasn't so concerned.

So yeah, I'm probably due to be seen knitting in public or shopping at a yarn store eventually. It doesn't mean I'll be pleased.

As for the yarn mystery, I wrote down the names and numerical colorways of two yarns with similar colors. (It would have made so much more sense to take the yarn with me.) I'll dig through the ballbands I have and see if I come across any with a matching colorway. If not, I can always attempt the burn test since one is an acrylic/wool blend and the other is 100% wool. Or I could bypass playing with fire and take the yarn into the store.

Secret knitting

I'm catching up on the first season of Pushing Daisies, which has, of all things, a male character who knits in secret (or at least as far as I've seen in two episodes). It is somewhat disorienting to see this dramatized. After all, I don't expect that men who secretly knit are common.

Playing the crafty private investigator Emerson Cod is Chi McBride. Again, not exactly the type you'd anticipate seeing wielding the needles on TV. There he is, though, being introduced as someone who knits to reduce stress and is not fond of knitting in public. To be sure, these character details are few, and I don't have reservations about knitting in public in most cases. Still, I was a little taken aback at seeing this part of me reflected on the screen.

I secretly knitted in my office a couple times last week, so it is something I've been thinking about again. I remain of a mind that it's best not to reveal my knitting secret at work--just be careful sending patterns to the department's office printer--and certainly won't be slapping my name on this blog anytime soon. I know it probably seems silly at this point, but it feels like the appropriate thing to do.

Perhaps the writer who decided to give McBride's character this quirk chose it because knitting can appear twee and retro, qualities Pushing Daisies has in spades. Maybe making it secret can be explained away because it fits in with the show's larger themes of interpersonal connection and longing. Whatever the reasons, the depiction hit home. Hopefully, though, I won't be needing needles on me to extricate myself from a body bag.

Secrets and stitches

This Saturday brings about one of my least favorite days of the year: the work day of three high school graduations. This is a day tailored for knitting as I will likely have little to do but minor troubleshooting and major trying not to be bored right out of my skull. At the mention of this looming day of misery, a friend asked if I might break the secrecy that is my knitting stock in trade.

My first impulse was to say no, absolutely not. I know how chatty and gossipy the students can become, and I know that me knitting in the middle of a crowd of a few thousand would ignite the grapevine. Thanks but no thanks. I don't feel like subjecting myself to the scrutiny and whatever other blowback there might be.

I've thought about this off and on since. In moments of weakness I have considered shedding this secrecy in the workplace and among students and co-workers, but then I snap to my senses and remind myself that such ideas are lunacy.

But why? A list, which I state at the outset may have the sheen of rationality but is likely irrational:

1. I fear what others will say and how it will make me look.

Yeah, yeah, who cares what other people think? That's true to some extent, but it's also so very untrue. Working with a small group of college students (and among a small campus population), word gets around pretty quickly. I do think that if this were a bigger place or I were smaller profile in my corner that I'd be less resistant to revealing the knitting secret. So in that sense it's not about people knowing but about specific people knowing and having to interact with them and whatever assumptions that an unconventional hobby for my gender leads them to make.

Actually, I think that's the issue in a nutshell. I would continue to blog anonymously even if it is unlikely that students would come across this place. So it isn't a list of things but one (or two) similar things.

I suppose I've always been a relatively private person, which fuels the secrecy surrounding something I expect could or would make me an object of ridicule. In one instance a few years ago at work I was burned pretty significantly regarding perception and the associated whisperings that I became all the more protective because of it. That complicates the matter quite a bit.

Saturday I don't plan to knit amid my students and a co-worker--never mind all the graduates and their families--and I doubt anyone could convince me to do otherwise. I'm not looking for persuasion, but I am curious to hear what you think about this.

Keep it like a secret

It figures that I've dailyblogged for months, but now that I've taken the NaBloPoMo pledge, I'm struggling for topics. Since a lot has changed since I began this endeavor last October, it makes sense to reexamine a central issue on this blog: knitting in secret.

Suffice it to say that my reason for blogging pseudo-anonymously is no longer valid, or at least not in the form in which it was originally intended. Obviously my family and some friends know that I knit. I couldn't give them the Christmas gifts I made without revealing my new hobby. (Well, I suppose I could have, but what fun would that have been?) In rereading my first post I was stunned to find that protecting the holiday surprise was the only reason I gave for shielding my identity on this blog.

Granted, the me of a year ago didn't know how this blog would evolve. I'm pretty sure I've covered the secret blogging aspect at some point or another. So, rather than rehash all that, it's simple enough to say that I don't envision my name appearing on this blog anytime soon.

But why is the knitting still secret? For instance, no one at work knows, whether it's co-workers or students. In fact, I reckon that most, if not all, of the people I'm in face-to-face contact with on a regular basis have no idea that I knit. Honestly, I'd be mortified if they knew, although I'd be more aghast if they found this blog. It probably doesn't make any sense, especially because I have no qualms about knitting in public.

The biggest part of it is about keeping a boundary between my work life and personal life. Experience and observation tells me that some separation must exist between them. It's because knitting matters to me that I'd rather those people not know. While I expect that my colleagues are better equipped to accept that I knit--or, more likely, not care--I'm familiar enough with students to know that some would never let me hear the end of it. I get my chops busted enough as is. I don't need to hand them the club and unlimited free swings.

It is undeniable that being a guy has everything to do with it. Generally speaking, I feel a little rebellious knitting in public because it challenges (in my mind) the preconception of what is socially acceptable for me to do. I don't anticipate my students, those late teenage/early adult males in particular, getting it, though. They're still carving out identities. In all fairness, before taking up knitting I'm not sure what I would thought from the outside looking in.

Is this any clearer?

Do not disturb--knitting in progress

As promised, I took my knitting with me today. Since I had a press screening this morning I got to the office later than usual. So, no lunch hour to knit during, but I planned to stick around later to wait out the traffic en route to another screening tonight. Oh how I needed it. Another pound my head against the wall day...

Shortly before 5 p.m. I closed the door to my office and removed the scarf from its hiding spot in my backpack. My new office is suited for knitting in secret. It's mine and mine alone. Unless the department secretary was given a key, I think I'm the only one in the building who can enter it. There are no windows, just four walls painted in Standard Institutional Color, but the lighting is a lot better than it was in my dimly lit old office.

So I tried to knit away the stress of a most unsatisfactory day. Fourteen rows didn't make up for all the annoyances, but if the onset of sleepiness meant anything, perhaps it smoothed over the rougher edges. It's been a weird week. I've been busier, which has been good, but the days have felt extremely long. It's Thursday? Really?

Graduation blues

Today is Worldwide Knit in Public Day. How I would have loved to have knitted in public--I haven't in some time--but I had less enjoyable things to do.

This is Graduation Weekend, a time I dread more than most days out of the year. I had a fourteen and a half hour work day because we are required to tape three local high school graduations. Commencement is boring enough when you know a graduate or two. Imagine not knowing anyone receiving a diploma yet having to spend more than half of a beautiful Saturday devoted to the slow march of high school grads.

For a fleeting moment I considered bringing my knitting. I had enough student employees, so I just needed to serve as supervisor. With all those empty hours needing to be filled at the amphitheater, knitting would be just the thing to pass the time; however, no one at work has the slightest inkling that I knit. Unveiling my secret in front of this particular bunch didn't seem like the wisest idea either. That point was driven home when I overheard two of our male student workers talking about having gone to JoAnn's for some reason and stressing how they really shouldn't have been in the place.

So, sadly there was no knitting in public--or knitting at all--for me. (I've been too tired to do anything since I got home.) Instead I finished reading Thunderstruck, Erik Larson's non-fiction account of Marconi's development of wireless telegraphy interwoven with The North London Cellar Murder in Edwardian London. It's not the knockout that Larson's last book, The Devil in the White City, was, but it's an interesting story with a breathless chase of murder suspects across the Atlantic Ocean. The period's science vs. commerce debate and tension in technology's cross-platform use is just as relevant today. (I kept thinking of Apple and Microsoft.)

Sunday brings another graduation to be recorded. *groan* I'm through the worst of it, and I will know some of the college students getting their degrees. Still, putting in more than sixty percent of a work week in two weekend days doing one of the most snooze-inducing things imaginable is, umm, not fun. I'll need to knit tomorrow night to shake off the after effects of the mind-numbing repetition that defines these ceremonies.