Today I had an appointment with my friend Toni. Toni is an older woman I know who is also a regular at our bar. She comes in after work for a light bite to eat, orders a single cocktail, and pulls out her knitting.
She is SERIOUS about knitting.
So serious, in fact, that she is part of a group that knits sweaters for merchant seamen and sailors---unshrinkable wools, of course.
I don’t know how to knit. I can crochet a bit, and actually reached the point where I could crochet little doilies out of thin cotton string. Yet another useless skill I could add to my resume.
Doily-maker.
Today, Toni was going to give me my first knitting lesson. I had some knitting needles (sent to me by my aunt who had picked them up at a garage sale) and I brought them in with a ball of yarn.
We sat there at the bar as Toni showed me how to get started with the first stitch. It looked so simple. So easy. Her fingers ran deftly through the yarn without hesitation or error.
I, however, did not fare as well.
“I will be starting with a scarf,” I declared.
Toni laughed. Everyone has to start with a scarf. Lots and lots of scarves.
Everyone at work got a little chuckle out of my latest new hobby. Envisioning Toni and I propped up at the bar with our knitting and daiquiris like a couple of crazy Madame DuFarges knitting away as we watched the heads roll.
“How many things do you need to know?” a friend of mine said jokingly. I think she's getting a little burned because I'm picking up her Jamaican patois.
Later that night, I learned at least six new Bengali words from the busboys. I just can’t stop it. It’s how I pass the time.
As I sat practicing my knitting on the train home, I realized that I learn new things everyday. Always have. I read. I ask questions. I look things up on the Internet. I take classes. I go out and explore. I watch documentaries. But I love, more than anything, learning directly from other people.
People are my biggest influence. And inspiration. Sure, nature is great. But a flower can’t teach you how to play the dulcimer.
Today, I pay tribute to some of my teachers and the things they taught.
My Mom. Who taught me to speak. To use the potty. And how to throw knives in the backyard.
My Aunt Joyce. Who taught me how to sing harmony. To cross a street. How to bake cookies. And how to form my first chords on a guitar.
My Grandma. Who taught me how to clean a crystal chandelier. And how to tell if a puppy was a boy or a girl.
My Uncle Virgil. Who taught me how to edit and splice Super 8 film. And how to eat ice cream without getting a headache.
My grade school friend, Kathy. Who taught me how to do my nails.
Sr. Felicetta and Sr. Alice. Who taught me how to play the piano.
Kevin. Who taught me how to play cribbage.
Dave. Who gave me my one and only driving lesson. I still don’t know how to drive. But, that afternoon, I got really good at pulling over and letting people pass.
The bus boys. Who happily walk around on a daily basis repeating Bengali words and phrases over and over to me as if I were a trained monkey.
Craig and a bunch of his stupid friends. Who taught me in college how to shotgun a beer in the backseat of a car. Could have done without that one, I guess.
Jim. Who taught me how to edit myself---I try, Jim. I swear. Really, I try.
Julie. Who taught me Meisner. And showed me that I really could act.
Suzi. Who taught me Quickbooks and how to REALLY walk in high heels.
Sr. Jude. Who tried to teach me Chemistry. Tried and tried and tried. And then finally uttered, with sadness in her voice, “You’re just so…artistic.” Eventually, she sort of helped me cheat to pass the final exam. But you didn’t hear that from me.
My cat. Who taught me how to take care of her. Really, it’s all about her.
Kathy. Who taught me how to smoke cigarettes and not get caught.
Jenn. Who taught me how to catch a bat without harming it.
And my Great-Aunt Bea. Who taught me that leaning stuff is what makes you feel alive.
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