Knitters Guild thrives on sharing, challenging

Once a month, the back room at Moraga’s Terzetto Cuisine is overtaken by a group of women calling themselves the Contra Costa County Knitters Guild.

Plowing past the Sunday afternoon diners and wait staff, they arrange tables and chairs to resemble a conference room. Then they attack their craft with the seriousness of brain surgeons and the camaraderie of Marines on furlough.

Forget Grandma in the rocking chair — these women drop insider knitting terms faster than they do stitches and there’s more rebellion in the room than retirement.

On any given Sunday, there’s a college professor, a nurse educator, a financial analyst, a psychiatric social worker and, on rare occasions, a football fan.

“I don’t usually come during football season,” admits Brenda Patipa, a 22-year resident of Moraga who was raised on the Raiders. She is a designer as well as a knitter, with her classic shawl appearing in the 2011 Fall Knitter’s Magazine and other designs published in books or online.

Lena Carlson is a 46-year old student at Diablo Valley College, where she’s boning up on her computer skills to better utilize instructional videos for the artistic work she pursues.

“It’s important to meet with people doing challenging things,” she says, about joining the guild. “When you have a team of people supporting you, all you can think of is starting a new project.”

The guild — open to any Contra Costa County resident who wants to participate — was formed by Julie Stiller in the early 1990s. The original 20 members met at the Moraga Library; today, there are 43 members. Guild leader Diana Krotz is the queen of lace and a human encyclopedia of knitting information.

Krotz began knitting while she was a practicing attorney and found it was a tangible, creative pursuit that kept her mind focused.

“There isn’t a single thing about knitting that I enjoy most. At this point, it’s just a large part of who I am,” she says.

Meetings begin with an around-the-table sharing session.

“It’s an itty-bitty elephant,” announces Paulina Warren, as she whips a bread-basket-size creation out of her bag. “It’s supposed to be sock yarn, but I used chunky.”

Next, there’s an exquisite Fair Isle hat (“Patterning on the back side does not please me!” she declares) and four unicorns she has created for her granddaughter’s growing collection.

“Here, catch!” she calls, before tossing one down the line for closer inspection.

This is an aggressive show-and-tell, which has something in common with weightlifting competitions in the way each woman one-ups her neighbor.

“I knit with silver,” says Sally Belshe, who learned to knit at the age of 12 and derives a maverick’s pleasure in holding up a spool of the stuff and declaring, “This is worth $200 dollars and it’s heavy — like armor!”

The level of competition would be intimidating but for the spirited cheers and spontaneous “ooohs” that greet every display.

“I get inspired by other people’s projects,” says Doe Cayting. “I find myself trying things I would never think of doing. I’m self taught and only learned at the age of 31.”

“And you’re only 32 now, right?” comes a jibe from somewhere along the table.

Cayting, actually 59, holds up the moss green and brown shawl she has made and laughs, saying, “Yeah, I’m a fast learner.”

Pamela Carr explains that meetings often include a theme, around which members share their favorite project — or their least favorite. It’s not hard to imagine a lively discussion, especially when mention of knitting styles and patterns elicits a string of commentary.

“The idea of taking yarn in my right hand is repulsive!” says Warren.

“I only do Continental (left-handed), because it’s like crocheting,” states Belshe.

“Books only show the back of the sweater; I want to see the front!” Krotz says, ending a flurry of gripes about patterns.

The group turns to humor at every opportunity, with even serious complaints met with empathy and suggestions for solving problems. Several members mention how knitting together erases the social separations that exist in a community.

“There are no class distinctions; everybody is accepted and encouraged,” says Carr.

Krotz, who has just completed yet another blue item for her daughter, now grown and out of the house, asks for affirmation. “It’s not baby blue, so maybe I’m progressing?”

She’s set herself up for teasing, and when it arrives she gives as good as she gets. Jousting completed, the meeting ends the way it began — knitters and friends, united, even as they go their separate ways in pursuit of the next wearable work of art.