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A few days ago, I was putting away my balls of wool (something I like to do with each change of season, do not ask me why ^ ^). Suddenly, I come across a tiny piece of red firecracker wool. Any quirky, full of holes … I see it from afar and I immediately remember what it is: my very first knitting.

Of course, it reminded me of my first knitting lesson. I still remember it.

I was very small, certainly still in primary school. It was winter during the school holidays. My grandmother and her sister (whom I have always called “Auntie”) were knitting in the light of the small kitchen window of my grandparents’ house. On their knees were a multitude of balls of color and knitted squares. These were intended to be assembled to become blankets.

My grandfather was sitting by the light green formica table. He pulled the threads of sweaters that were too old or too worn to be worn. When he had finished his task, he took care of putting the threads in the balls and passed on his new balls to my grandmother and sister.

I saw them doing many times and, inevitably, I wanted to help and test myself too.

Full of hope and envy, I ask my grandmother to teach me.

She gives me a pair of tiny iron needles and a small ball of red firecracker wool. Very gently, she offers me to knit a scarf for my doll.

She begins to climb the first stitches and after showing me the first movements, she leaves me with the needles.

I remember feeling very clumsy. She was going so fast and I was knitting so slowly … The thread seemed tiny and I had the impression that there was a multitude of stitches on my needle. I had the impression not to see the end.

After a while, I lift my eyes a little from the stitches of my needle and I see clearly that there is a problem: the knit has grown, it has holes and the number of stitches is no longer at all the same. I’m disappointed, but I still tend my book to my grandmother to ask what happened.

It really saddened me to see that I had not succeeded (yes I was already a perfectionist at the time) and I thought that I could never do what my grandmother did and that fascinated me so much.

However, years later, when I had just left my hometown to go to Toulouse for my higher education, I returned for the first time in a woolen shop when I had no memory of this first lesson and that I had never (really) knitted in my life.

But that’s another story that I’ll tell you next time if you’re interested 😉

And you, how was you first knitting lesson ? 

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