Not terribly long ago, I was bored. Needed something new to do. So, for reasons I cannot explain, even to myself, I taught myself to crochet. From a book. No shit.
As blue-hair as that sounds (and it does – I’m not fooling myself with this), crochet is not a bad hobby. I can train my hands to do it without my brain. I can have conversations, watch movies, listen to music – whatever I can do seated I can do while holding some yarn and a crochet needle and making something cute that no one really appreciates but me. One Christmas when cash was tight, everyone got scarves. They still talk about them. Goomball gift, of course, but at least people remember them, as opposed to the endless baskets of whatever they got from other friends. And many people still wear them. It’s nice.
The first blanket I made was for Little Brother, the year he got married. It looked pretty good, though I didn’t buy enough yarn at first and ended up with a slight color change along about 2/3 of the way. I think I’m the only one who noticed. (Let me keep my illusions, family, in case you’re reading along…). It took for-fricking-ever. I had no idea of the time commitment it took to create something like that. Serious time. And then Little Brother moved to L.A., so has no more need of a blanket. I’m sure it’s in a box somewhere. But no matter – he liked it, his wife liked it, I’m sure his pooches liked it. It’ll resurface one day.
The second blanket I made was a disaster. It was a gift for my father and step-mother. They still trot it out when I come over. That’s love for you, folks.
The third blanket I made was for my Grandfather. I think that one was good. So good, in fact, I almost didn’t give it to him. Soft and silky, and lovely russet western colors. I’m going to have to do another one like that.
Then I made one for us. I did without a pattern, as I thought I had this blanket thing down by this time (foolish me). I had some kick yarn and thought I could pull it off. I didn’t gauge right, and ended up with a lovely blanket that is about ten or eleven feet long, but only four feet wide. Hubby calls it “Paul Bunyan’s ascot”, and loves the thing. It’s a lap blanket for the whole family at once. It’s pretty when you fold it – no one can tell the measurements are screwy.
I have made scarves and hats and baby blankets and sundry stuff, but the big throw blankets are where the rubber meets the road, you know?
I have since made another. This time, I think I did pretty good. I’m keeping it for myself (but not if the boys have anything to say about it – they carry it around like a wooby).
Here it is:
This is the best thing I’ve ever made with my own hands (not counting children, of course, and I had help with that).
Now I just have to work up the courage to make something for my Mom. She has really good taste, you feel me?