I'm sitting at work this afternoon with not a lot to do.  I made my way through all of my usual internet haunts and played a game of solitaire.  I made it most of the way through a Plow and Hearth catalog but my mind is wondering. 

I started thinking about knitting and wonder why I like it so much.  Certainly it is a perfectly acceptable activity, but what draws me to it?  It can be theraputic, but it can also be frustrating at times.  If it is only a passtime, why do I continue when it doesn't cooperate?  It certainly gives me a feeling of satisfaction to make something, especially if it is useful, with my own hands, but that isn't it.  It can be a boost to my ego when others admire my work, but that isn't it either.

For me, a knitted piece is like life.  The begining is attached to the end but neither is as important as all of the stiches in between.  Without the loops, knots, tear outs, do overs and perfect knits and purls, there is no finished piece.

When I give a knitted gift to a loved one, I always tell them each stitch contains an "I love you".  That's nice, but in reality everything we do, nice or not, builds or tears down our relationships with those around us.  We are born and we die, it is all of the "stitches" in the middle that give us meaning in our lives.