I taught myself how to crochet just over a month ago. When things in my life weren't exactly perfect, it was nice to have something nearly mindless to work on. Yet, I could then say that I completed something at the end of the day, even if it were just a rosette.
Because I'm me, I couldn't start with basics -- granny squares or a scarf -- I had to start with flowers. I taught myself stitch by stitch as I needed them; I mastered the triple crochet and the half double crochet before I even knew how to do a single crochet stitch. My first few flowers turned out much less than perfect, but gradually I'm getting better and I love this new hobby. It's helping get a grasp on life.
Lately I've been working on a headband for my baby niece and I'm working on mug cozy one of thirty for a staff party in January. I have quite the project ahead of me. I feel like my priorities are shifting. I love to crochet because I can work on it while I'm listening to a book on tape, or watching a movie with my residents, or chatting with friends-- it isn't something that requires my full attention.
Sometimes I feel like my life is like the ball of yarn I'm working with. And that I have to carefully weave the ends together to create something beautiful out of it. Lately, I feel like I've been trying so hard to make something perfect and aligned, yet most of the time I can pull on the end, and it will all fall apart. So, I start again (chaining 1 or 3 more than I need) and hope that this time I can finish, weave in the ends, sever the yarn, and start a new project.
Funny how crafts can say just as much about life as literature.
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