Reality Deathmatch

Expectation versus Reality. That is a death match not destined for a summer blockbuster flick or prime time mini-series like Predator versus Alien or Godzilla versus Rodan.

I believe that knitters are better able than the population at large to deal with the chasm between Expectationland and Realityville.

Expectationland is a wonderful place full of puppies, sunshine, flowers, lattes and chocolate. In Expectationland, the yarn is perfect, the pattern without flaw, and execution effortless. In Expectationland all your friends ooh and ahh when you drape the lace shawl around your shoulders erasing 10 years and 20 pounds. Johnny Depp is so smitten with how you look in said shawl that he whisks you off to some Caribbean Island where you get to play pirate all day long. Expectationland is glorious.

Realityville is a whole other place. Realityville is a horrid, little stop over on the way to Completed Project Nirvana. In Realityville, center pull skeins have knots in them; a 50 gm ball with 95 yds has 12 joins; the dog eats a pair of rosewood sock needles; the swatch you knit for an Aran cardy knit out of yarn you bought in Ireland was grossly inaccurate so you run out of yarn at the shoulder of the left sleeve; hubby puts a perfectly good wool scarf in the wash and then complains as he pulls it from the dryer that it is only good for a gerbil bed; and my personal fave - the mis-twisted cable 4 repeats ago that you didn't correct because you tried to convince yourself that it wouldn't make THAT big of a difference.

If knitters were unable to handle these and other run-ins with reality, CNN would have to report on a rash of impalings that require the development of new surgical tools and techniques to remove knitting needles of various sizes and materials protruding from various orifices and body parts. If knitters were unable to handle a stop over in Realityville, yarn shops around the world would find themselves pelted with swatches on a daily basis. If knitters were driven to the brink of insanity by an overnight in Realityville, sheep would find themselves wearing mohawks.

No, knitters are a resilient lot. Many of us have come to accept these stop overs and have developed strategies to keep the stay as short as possible. My personal strategy is to realize as soon as possible when I have hit the city limits of Realityville and step on the gas to speed through. When I blow through Realityville, anything remotely resembling a mistake better hide behind locked doors. (Can anyone say - rip it back baby?) I am merciless. Not that it doesn't hurt my brain to rip out 14 rounds of a lace shawl because the yarn overs aren't lining up, but I have learned to just grit my teeth, breathe deep and do what has to be done.

Unfortunately, these skills learned for knitting life are more difficult to apply to non-knitting life. In non-knitting life the stay in Realityville tends to be protracted because your get away vehicle is in the shop for an indefinite length of time because some family drama rammed it into a tree. Non-knitting life requires more than a margarita and the stones to unknit a mohair shawl five rounds to correct one screwed up motif. The screwed up motif doesn't confront you with its needs, its hurts, its desires and how badly you screwed it up when you decided to knit and talk to your girlfriends at the same time. That pair of socks languishing on the double points due to unfortunate color pooling doesn't chastise you for leaving it in the dark under some other, more fabulous yarn. No, the socks are just grateful to get a mate and get worn. People are so much more complicated than that.

So having been waylaid for a week in the suburb of Realityville known as Family Drama Acres, it is time to pack my bags and move on. I can't fix everything. It's probably a good thing. Too many people would be running around with horses' posteriors instead of human heads.