Aiming for one granny sqaure.

It’s winter again and I romantically thought that I would conquer a creative hobby that has eluded me since I was 10 years old. Dressed in my brown dress, with brown socks and brown polished shoes sitting next to a lady in a black habit with silver cross wedding ring on her finger that meant she married god (as a small child I never understood that, these ladies that strolled around our school mystified and kind of scared me.) I liked Sister Paula though I thought was nice, she was softly spoken and had a gentleness about her. We were seated on the green wooden slat chair that ran the length of the building. We sat at one end under the school bell that look like an oversized ships bell. (I was always jealous of the year 7 girls that got to ring the bell). We were here so that the lady married to God could teach my left handed self to knit.  I had purple wool that I thought was the prettiest colour on earth.  This knitting activity that I had been assigned made no sense to me at all. I didn’t understand how I was supposed to hold the needles, what I was supposed to do with the length of wool attached to the ball, my mind couldn’t wrap around how to wrap the wool onto the needles.  To this day I remember the confusion and mind melting experience of trying to learn how to knit.  After my first lesson Sister Paula told me that knitting wasn’t going to be my activity anymore and that I would have another quiet activity assigned to me. (The next week I was shelving books in the library – I was ecstatic – books are my crack).

 

A couple of years ago I was determined to knit a scarf. I purchased the wool, needles and asked my mother in law to show me how it was done. I ended up with a stiff neck and cramps in my fingers from sitting so tensely.  My knitting was so tight on the needles that I had to pull it all out and start again. I ended up shoving the needles and wool in the top draw of the dresser in my laundry and buying a scarf.

 

This year it’s Instagram that sucks me into thinking that I can sit down with a cuppa coffee, in front of my fireplace and crochet my way to brightly coloured granny square blanket. I have been following the.hook.nook.  This lady crafts beautifully crocheted wares.  I was watching a video of her crocheting a beanie while talking to her daughter (do NOT try and talk to me while I am trying to wrap yarn around a stick).  She is like the ninja of crocheting. I am like Kung Fu Panda (in the first movie, where he can’t even touch his toes). I thought only having one hook to deal with instead of two knitting needles would be easier. WRONG. I still don’t know how to hold that inanimate object or the wool. I tried to watch my Mum show me how to crochet, I smiled and nodded and still had no clue. I sat down and gave it a go when she had gone home and again ended up with a stiff neck and cramped fingers.  I haven’t given up yet. But that hook and wool is silently sitting in my office mocking me and challenging me to just crochet one granny square. I am not even aiming for a whole blanket anymore.

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