Another day, another zero amount of crocheting. Looming potentially lucrative deadlines plus a cavalcade of creative ideas plus catching up on coursework will do that to you. To me.
It’s all about the fragile balance, isn’t it, of our various vocations and relationships, and the increasing and waning senses of urgency for each from moment to moment. Right now, making a dent in (some might say “beginning”) our marketing plan is consuming me. To that same extent, finishing The Hat was consuming me last week.
Fickle. That’s my problem; it’s always been my problem. I’m fickle.
Speaking of fickle…by now, we all know that House Majority Leader Eric Cantor lost his primary race against Tea Party-backed Dave Brat.
And that, my friends, is what I cannot make meaning of, and will unlikely be able to make meaning of regardless of how many articles in how many learned publications I read. How to make meaning out of polarization deliberately stoked?
Well, despite my best intentions, I did not write for the past three days. I could make excuses: I had morning-til-night days on Friday, and again on Saturday, and again yesterday. All true. But also true is that I just sort of…forgot. Let it slide.
That’s the laziness part.
Now to the forgiveness (of myself) part: it’s OK. No point in being mired in the unworthiness of it. At least I’m here now, and I’ll be back again tomorrow.
Since there’s nothing I can share with regard to crocheting today, having done none since Friday, I will share this instead:
“Sincere forgiveness isn’t colored with expectations that the other person apologize or change. Don’t worry whether or not they finally understand you. Love them and release them. Life feeds back truth to people in its own way and time-just like it does for you and me.” –Sara Paddison
Well, I did it! Started the project, I mean.
Look at me! I’m a blob! A black blob!
I am digging the feel of the yarn through my fingers. I almost always crochet with worsted weight yarn, so it’s delightful to use sport weight after a very long time, and a smaller size hook. It’s all so melty. Oh, I know why it feels especially odd right now: in my last project, I used three strands of worsted weight yarn together and a size P hook. So, it hardly needs stating how my fingers are luxuriating in the fine weight yarn and a size F hook. The freedom, the expansiveness, the alluring atomity of it.
In other news, did you know that you can “Create a free Dictionary.com account and keep track of your favorite words and search history”? Keep track of your favorite words. And search history. People that do this, I love those people. Those are my people.
I struggled a bit today. I’m still struggling. I have a project I need to start for a friend.
Here’s the yarn
Here’s my problem: what if she doesn’t like it? What if it doesn’t fit? Or it’s the wrong color? Or style?
Ah, insecurity. You crafty, mucilaginous devil.
Well, as some old guy said, if it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly. Off to find a pattern. Tally-ho!
Why not, I say. Both are delightful and addictive and generally make my life better. See also Crosswords Birdwatching Hiking Symphonies
My two most recent large projects,
a paneled afghan for my wife and
a scrap afghan made of her leftover yarn for myself,
reminded me of the thankless inglorious misfortune that is weaving in ends. I don’t get it. I see so many appealing patterns, so bright and shiny, filled with multiple colors and multiple color changes, and the only thing I can think is, are you KIDDING me. Do you know how many ends will need to be woven in to make this thing?
How do people do it? No seriously, I need to know.
I am a heron. A great heron. A blue heron. A great, blue heron. A great blue heron.
Just kidding. Mostly, I’ll talk about crocheting. I can get opinionated, though, and vocal when something doesn’t make any sense.