this is a piece i wrote about my favorite yarn store: City Knitting. the piece appeared in SEE Magazine, which i think is an internal magazine at Herman Miller (yes, the furniture people).
City Knitting, 423 Norwood SE, Grand Rapids, MI 49506
616 454-9276
http://www.city-knitting.com/
I'll admit it. I walked into my LYS (Local Yarn Store) a few days ago with my new mittens in hopes of someone noticing them; I flopped them onto the counter while I paid for more yarn, and Lorilee snatched them up before she took my money.
"Marilyn," she called out to someone knitting on the couch, "Come over here and look at these mittens." She tried them on without asking, which pleased me a great deal. It meant she was focusing on the mittens and not on me, a fine compliment from one knitter to another. "I've never thought to use a double rib," she said, turning her hands to see my mittens from both sides. "What a good idea."
There's a tacit understanding about things one makes with string. The rules are changed, like when the world has permission to reach out and touch a pregnant woman's belly. In a yarn shop like this, if you're wearing something you've knitted, expect to be noticed, praised, and maybe pawed a bit. Some of us go to the yarn shop for precisely that.
Lorilee, I'm surprised to discover, is the owner of City Knitting. I'd have thought this a part time job for her, something a good friend asked her to do because she's knitted for years, might appreciate a discount on yarn, and is outgoing and friendly. Since I work retail in a book store, I recognize that Lorilee and I are the same breed. Our passion lies in what we sell; otherwise, we wouldn't be there at all. Her love for yarn lends her an enthusiasm that makes her good at her job. I appreciate this. She asks if she can take a picture of me and my mittens for the "Wall of Fame." I hate having my picture taken, but my mittens don't. They win.
Yarn is all about imagining the things it can be. Hanging on hooks are scarfs, sweaters, ponchos in orange, blue and green. Little square samples hang on hooks to give the imagination a nudge. The place smells faintly of dye, a metallic and earthy smell.
The main room is not overwhelmed with yarn; rather, yarn surrounds it in black wooden cubbies that reach just over my head. In the center are two sofas facing each other with two more chairs on each end, the "living room" of the knitting store. Tonight, two women are sitting there, their faces blank with concentration.
I feel perfectly at home here--a working mother among other working mothers overbusy in the first decade of a new century. We share a passion for a domestic art previously associated with our grandmothers. It might be a secret women have always known and we're just rediscovering it: knitting is about combining quiet time with productivity. Magic!
Of course, it's more than that. There's a genuine love of yarn and knitting in a place like this. This is what draws me here even though I could get the same yarn a bit cheaper on Ebay. I couldn't get a strong sense of place and community anywhere else. In a culture where on-line community is often the only sort of community most people experience, the LYS is a refreshing embrace of good old fashioned sharing of something many people love.
Night falls early in Michigan December. The streetlights flash on. My family will be expecting me home and wondering what's for dinner, though I wish I could stay here a little longer. A folk mitten class is about to start, and the women arrive alone or in pairs. Not one of them is hard or cold or distant. This class is like a retreat for them, and each woman knows she's among her kind. They smile.
City Knitting, 423 Norwood SE, Grand Rapids, MI 49506
616 454-9276
http://www.city-knitting.com/
I'll admit it. I walked into my LYS (Local Yarn Store) a few days ago with my new mittens in hopes of someone noticing them; I flopped them onto the counter while I paid for more yarn, and Lorilee snatched them up before she took my money.
"Marilyn," she called out to someone knitting on the couch, "Come over here and look at these mittens." She tried them on without asking, which pleased me a great deal. It meant she was focusing on the mittens and not on me, a fine compliment from one knitter to another. "I've never thought to use a double rib," she said, turning her hands to see my mittens from both sides. "What a good idea."
There's a tacit understanding about things one makes with string. The rules are changed, like when the world has permission to reach out and touch a pregnant woman's belly. In a yarn shop like this, if you're wearing something you've knitted, expect to be noticed, praised, and maybe pawed a bit. Some of us go to the yarn shop for precisely that.
Lorilee, I'm surprised to discover, is the owner of City Knitting. I'd have thought this a part time job for her, something a good friend asked her to do because she's knitted for years, might appreciate a discount on yarn, and is outgoing and friendly. Since I work retail in a book store, I recognize that Lorilee and I are the same breed. Our passion lies in what we sell; otherwise, we wouldn't be there at all. Her love for yarn lends her an enthusiasm that makes her good at her job. I appreciate this. She asks if she can take a picture of me and my mittens for the "Wall of Fame." I hate having my picture taken, but my mittens don't. They win.
Yarn is all about imagining the things it can be. Hanging on hooks are scarfs, sweaters, ponchos in orange, blue and green. Little square samples hang on hooks to give the imagination a nudge. The place smells faintly of dye, a metallic and earthy smell.
The main room is not overwhelmed with yarn; rather, yarn surrounds it in black wooden cubbies that reach just over my head. In the center are two sofas facing each other with two more chairs on each end, the "living room" of the knitting store. Tonight, two women are sitting there, their faces blank with concentration.
I feel perfectly at home here--a working mother among other working mothers overbusy in the first decade of a new century. We share a passion for a domestic art previously associated with our grandmothers. It might be a secret women have always known and we're just rediscovering it: knitting is about combining quiet time with productivity. Magic!
Of course, it's more than that. There's a genuine love of yarn and knitting in a place like this. This is what draws me here even though I could get the same yarn a bit cheaper on Ebay. I couldn't get a strong sense of place and community anywhere else. In a culture where on-line community is often the only sort of community most people experience, the LYS is a refreshing embrace of good old fashioned sharing of something many people love.
Night falls early in Michigan December. The streetlights flash on. My family will be expecting me home and wondering what's for dinner, though I wish I could stay here a little longer. A folk mitten class is about to start, and the women arrive alone or in pairs. Not one of them is hard or cold or distant. This class is like a retreat for them, and each woman knows she's among her kind. They smile.
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Amelie Soundtrack
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