We all have one. Us knitters. A space we call our own. A place where we can make the world go away, silence the chattering in our brain, hide in plain sight.
My den has too many doors. French doors from the foyer lead to sliders to the backyard, a side door to the basement and a corner door to the laundry room. So we purchased a monstrous L-shaped sofa to keep me safe.
I am weird about where I sit in every situation. When we go out to a restaurant my friends and family walk a few paces behind me so I can choose my seat before they sit down. If they sit first, they know the odds are good that I will ask to switch places with them. I should rephrase. I don’t actually ask, I just fidget until they ask me if I need to sit where they are seated. Reading this I realize how annoying this is and am ashamed. This only happens after I first make the hostess change her mind about where she is going to seat us. Sometimes more than once. I scope out every room like a mafia Don. Never by a window. Never with my back into the room or to the door. Never a center table where I float vunerably in an aisle. I always prefer a booth.
In my own little corner of my sofa, I am surrounded by more sofa, and a brick wall that sports my yarn drawers. The only door behind me leads to the laundry room. Since I do the laundry, the only ones to enter and exit this room are furry ones that jump the low-lying screen after laying a stinky in their box. Perhaps a slight disadvantage to this seat.
It is here in my own little chair, where I create.