Knit, Purl. Knit, Purl. Knit, Purl. Screw-Up Royally, Start All Over Again. Knit, Purl. Knit, Purl. Screw-Up Worse. Curse the Day Yarn Was Invented.

Oh, hello there. I almost didn't see you, as I was so engrossed just now in reliving my fun-yet-stressful Saturday-morning beginning-knitter experience at Sweater Babe studio in ye olde Hollywoode Hills. Yessirree, approximately three years after the knitting craze took off here in Southern California among the young, hip, and handy, I've finally bought myself a ticket and climbed aboard.

So, on Saturday morning, after an interesting and unusual night spent dog- and house-sitting for JP over on Braddock Drive, I hurried over to adorably pregnant E's house to pick her up and snake our way through the canyon to Sweater Babe studio. I should add here that I was in such a hurry and so busy with doggie duties that I neglected to 1) drink any water before leaving for the knitting class, 2) eat any breakfast before leaving for the knitting class, or 3) ingest any caffeine before leaving for the knitting class. The latter is cause for alarm, I can assure you. Mornings aren't my thing, particularly mornings during which I'm awoken at 6 to pour "lamb flavored" dogfood pellets into the bowl of a frenzied, barking canine and refresh a guinea pig's bowl of lettuce. (Not only was I dog- and house-sitting, I was rodent-sitting as well. Shudder.) Catering to demanding animals at 6 a.m. on a Saturday should only be attempted after downing a strong cup of coffee, I've since learned. Same goes for attempting to fashion a small, pink blob of knitted yarn from a couple of unwieldy wooden sticks four hours later: In both cases, caffeine is strongly recommended.

Alas, I entered Sweater Babe's Architectural Digest-worthy home studio that morning dehydrated, unfed, and with nary a molecule of caffeine in my system. Not good; not good at all. However, the Sweater Babe herself had kindly set out a platter with a few small pastries on it, and a couple bowls of pretzels, so I was able to at least eat enough to pump some sugar into my bloodstream. She set out water, too, thank goodness. No coffee, though. Sigh. So please understand that I undertook this new endeavor with a dull brain and lethargic mental reflexes; I like to think that's part of the reason why I was the worst student in the class.

Sweater Babe was a very patient teacher. She never once seemed even slightly exasperated by anyone's cries of "Help!" or "I don't get it!" I appreciated this, since most of the cries of confusion were mine. She had a cool way of demonstrating for us, too. We eight students were seated in a U-shape on various sofas and armchairs, and Sweater Babe sat in the center, her back toward us, arms raised and knitting needles held high in the air. The idea was that everyone could get a good view this way; and, generally speaking, we did. We just weren't able to get an up-close and personal view of the individual stitches this way, which is why it was great that Sweater Babe always followed-up her demos by walking around to each student individually to show her again, one on one.

We started by "casting on," a process that begins with the knitter making a slipknot with the yarn. The slipknot caused me problems until Sweater Babe saw that I was wrapping my yarn around my hand in the wrong direction (back to front instead of front to back. Oops). After sliding the slipknot loop onto the knitting needle, we then cast on nine more loops through a needle-hand-yarn maneuver that reminded me of braiding hair. It looks complicated as you're doing it, but it feels strangely intuitive, so it becomes routine and fairly easy pretty quickly. So far, so good.

After we casted on, Sweater Babe introduced us to the knit stitch, the primary stitch of knitting. One can do nothing but the knit stitch and wind up with a very respectable-looking scarf. (I think straight knit-stitching is referred to as the Garter stitch, but I'll need to refer to my helpful Sweater Babe handout to be sure.) Anyway, I was OK with the through-the-loop and the wrap-around, but when it came time to pull the right-hand needle out through the newly formed loop, all hell broke loose. It was damn near impossible for me to determine which "loop" was the new one, and how to pull the right-hand needle through it. Sweater Babe helped me, though, by repositioning my needles in my hands and showing me what to do in slow-motion. She also gave me some helpful tips about keeping the needles upright and maintaining "yarn tension." At this same time, I was quickly learning that both E and I are "tight knitters;" that is, we feel compelled to tighten every stitch as we make it, which is a really bad idea and makes it very difficult to stab a needle through the stitch later. I wondered if my tendency to want to tighten the stitches beyond all reason was in any way related to my compulsion to brush my teeth much too vigorously (I've snapped two toothbrushes in half) and double-knot all shoelaces and drawstrings. Anyway, knitting more loosely is something I need to continually work on.

Once I got the general hang of performing the knit stitch, everyone else had graduated to the purl stitch. Purling is funny: on one hand, it's super mind-melting because it's the exact opposite of the knit stitch; on the other hand, it's intuitive because it's performed on the reverse side of the fabric (when you're switching stitches at each row, as you would for a sweater). So it feels correct to be doing the knit stitch in reverse. I find I have to concentrate especially hard when I'm purling; but otherwise, it's OK.

Changing colors was fun. We learned the easiest way possible to switch yarns: tie a strand of the new to the strand of the old, and resume your knitting, being careful to use the new yarn strand. My knitted fuschia blob (i.e., "swatch") ended up featuring a natty pale-pink stripe in its center, which I liked.

After purling and changing yarns, everybody else moved on to "ribbing," which involves switching from purling to knitting on the same row (to add stretch to the fabric---good for sleeves and waistbands). I, however, needed much more practice doing the basic stitches, so I missed the whole thing. After teaching us (well, everyone else) ribbing, Sweater Babe gave us a quick tutorial on "decreasing" (fairly simple) and "increasing" (an impossible nightmare). Finally, with literally two minutes left on the clock, Sweater Babe taught us "binding off," which, oddly enough, I picked up right away. Again, it just feels right, even if you don't understand how it works.

I left class with a nice little self-contained fuschia rectangle, complete with a thick, pale pink horizontal stripe. I've been marveling at how it looks just like a small piece of sweater---part of a rollneck I might buy at J. Crew, for instance. It's been pleasantly surprising to learn that my hands are capable of turning yarn into fabric and to wonder about the possibilities as my knitting improves. I've set a goal to knit two scarves by Christmas: one for my mom, and one for my mother-in-law. Here's hoping I succeed!