How do you get the sharp things out?

I'm babysitting young R tonight so R&P can go to a midnight movie. R&P are pretty nearly knitting phobic, so I think I'm one of the few human beings young R ever sees knitting. And she's utterly fascinated by it. A few times, I've given her a small ball of cotton yarn to play with. She tangles up toys and what-have-you in it and then makes her dad untangle them. So R may have some grounds for his dislike of knitting after all... He loved the lego ball winder (here and here) though, so there's hope for him.

Anyhow, as young R was trying all of her strategies to get me to let her stay up late, I picked up my knitting. I figured, it calms me down so the calm is bound to rub off on her too. It worked pretty well - she went from 100% of her energy devoted to chatting to me to about 50% chatting and 50% staring intently at my hands as I knit. Then after we read a few books, laid down on the couch, then put her in bed, I sat by her bed and knit for a bit more. She was still trying to chat, but making less and less sense as her need for sleep won out. What struck me were her knitting questions:

What are you doing? (Making a hat.)
Why? (Because it's fun. I like to and it makes me feel calm.)
Is it done yet? (Not yet.)
When will it be done? (Not for a long time. Days and days.)
Why? (It takes a while.) (Not really an answer, I know. But I got away with it.)
Then after a pause: How do you get the sharp things out?

I love this question, on more than one level. First, how neat it is to see her able to ask the question even though she didn't know the word for needles. She's 4 years old now, and she's getting all human and stuff. Neat. It took me a few seconds to realize that she was asking about the circular needles I'm using to make the hat.

Second, there's the question itself. It's a great question, worthy of a great answer, but she was supposed to be sleeping, so I couldn't delve into the intricacies of binding off. And since she's 4 years old, with a limited vocabulary and attention span, how would I even answer if it was the right time? I settled for, 'These are called needles. Hmmmm. Well now. It is quite a trick.' She didn't appear entirely satisfied with this, and rightly so, but she was too sleepy to pursue it.

If she was older, I think answering, "It's nothing compared to how you get the sharp things in in the first place," would have been a great answer. Well, a witty answer. But maybe one that would discourage further questions. Alas.

But I've never had an older person ask me that, or at least not in that way. Adults usually ask, 'What do you do at the end?' It's not a bad way to ask, but I think young R's way is more interesting. 'What do you do at the end,' is a question you can ask blindly. That is, you can get your answer, and just follow the steps laid out in a process you don't fully understand, and you'll end up with a hat. Fine. Hats are good.

But the way young R asked it isn't just about the end process. It's about understanding the way the needles relate to the hat-ness. It took me decades to move away from just blindly following the process of knitting that I had been taught, and to move toward really paying attention to knitting, and starting to think for myself about what my hands, the yarn, and the needles were really doing.

And that's everything, right there - the moving from being a passive participant in one's own life toward being active, present. And when this happens, everything that previously appeared to be dull, drab, and meaningless reveals itself to be. . . shiny. And bright.