Hooked on a Feeling

 

I don't know if this is a sign that I'm getting old or what, but in October, I picked up crochet again and am loving it.

My first project was a puff-stitch hat, made of light blue "hygge" yarn. It is slightly too large for my large head, but lovely in my eyes. All the warmer and more comfortable - or comforting? - because I made it myself. 

As I crochet, I've been thinking about why this simple, repetitive task is so appealing to me at the moment when it never really was before. For one thing, my lap was so often full of baby and toddler that the idea of trying to keep track of, let alone actually finish, a project was mind-boggling, more stress that I didn't need. I also didn't want to inflict homemade scarves on all of my long-suffering relatives but I didn't know how to read a crochet pattern so that I could make anything more interesting.

I still can't read a crochet pattern, but that's what YouTube is for! My grandmother taught me the basic stitch long ago and now all of the crafty (in a good way) YouTubers can teach me the next level. Thus I can make more than just plain old single-crochet scarves. Rather, I plan to inflict fancy stitch scarves on all of my unsuspecting relatives! And a few dishcloths, as well. 

Also, I have come to appreciate the slight imperfections of homemade and/or handcrafted items. I care less than I used to what other people will think of my imperfect projects; if they look pretty good and I enjoyed making them, then that's enough for me. 

Beyond these things, though, I suspect it has to do with where my life is at the moment, specifically mom to five still at home, teacher, and like everyone else, a passenger on the current crazy train of a global pandemic and sin-crippled culture. Crochet brings a little peace and order to the chaos, even for just a few moments.  

So, excuse me, please. You are interrupting my crochet time and I have a dishcloth to finish!