Shortly before Easter my good friends, Kathy and Noreen taught me to crochet. My mother tried to teach me when I was little but all I could manage was knitting. In my mind, crocheting was classy and clever and had far more appeal to me – all that winding and weaving with one little hook turning yarn into cool things before my very eyes.
And now that I’ve started it has taken on a life of its own. I have some extra time right now as I am not working on account of my busted rib (I heard the pop before the pain during an enthusiastic bear hug from my beloved son, Colin). And speaking of Colin – funny side story – he is living in Newmarket doing an internship for his heavy equipment mechanics program and to stay fit he has been running a lot. Feeling staunch and hard-core, he takes his camelback (a hydration system with a tube so you can drink while you run) with him. He is single, twenty and hetero, so upon seeing a couple of “very attractive girls”, I am sure that he stood up straighter and maybe ran a little faster. As he passed them, he overheard one of the girls say “I didn’t think you could go out in public with a catheter”. Needless to say, no more camelback, but I digress…
With no capability at the moment to push, pull, twist or lift I am free to indulge in my crocheting mania. I have made 3 baby quilts, 2 full sized afghans, and hats, mitts, slippers, and baby mukluks far into the double digits. I scour yard sales looking for wool. I am, finally, at long last, a crocheter. The novelty is still thrilling.
Rushing forth with blind ignorance I started an intricate crocheted heirloom quilt that is well beyond my abilities. I am consumed and think I may be developing a facial tick. I have wondered about the psychology (or should I say pathology) of becoming so immersive into my projects, this extremist tendency I seem to have. I caution myself to take it slow and easy this time but when I try to do that it’s like swimming against the tide – possible but hard work to get nowhere. It feels more natural to let the current take me hell-bent down the river. But I also love writing and wanted to stop and write this blog. At the very worst, it gets me off the hook…at least for a few hours.