For people who are financially okay and are relatively content I believe the great pleasure comes from folding the washing, washing the plates, unwinding the wool…

Michelle Obama was talking about knitting. She was poetic about the click of the needles as she created a blanket, scarves, halter tops, plus two hats for her husband and mittens for Malia.

I heard years ago, someone who’d been to a seminar about transcendental experiences, where there was a funny little lady in the front row, nodding at them. The presenter asked: “It looks like you’re really understanding?”

The little lady said: “Oh, yes. I knit.”

Why do knitters have the happiest lives?

It’s the repetition, the ordinariness, the solitariness that produces an inner stillness.

If we’re not knitting, then how do we find this stillness?

How do you find the ecstatic joy in the ordinary?