I dont always finish things that I start.
Well
thats one of my problems.
This time though, Im going to. I have confidence in myself.
Itll be two weeks Tuesday since my mom taught my how to crochet. You ask why in the world a woman in her early 20s would want to learn the art of making an item out of yarn by using a hook. I say why not?
Next thing you know Ill be sitting home on a Monday night crocheting an watching Antiques Roadshow on PBS. Oh wait, I did that this week. One thing I wont do though, is eat peanut brittle or give out pennies at Halloween.
I asked my mom to teach me how to crochet to simply make myself a scarf, I told her that was the reason at least. In actuality, I wanted my mom to teach me how to crochet because it was a good reason to spend some quality mother-daughter bonding time, something we have been lacking for a few months due to life catching up with us.
While she was teaching me, she told me a story. My moms grandmother taught her how to crochet at a young age. My great-grandmother use to sell her wares at craft shows. At the age of 9 my mom sold her first crocheted blanket. I had never heard the story and was astonished. I wasnt bewildered by the fact that my mom had made something so spectacular that someone would buy it, I was amazed that she was 9 years old when she sold her first piece and had entered a craft show.
I was proud of her, even though it happened so long ago. I was glad that my mom had taken the time to share this information about her life before me. My mom had told me several stories about her childhood, but this was a new one, a new moment added to the other collection of anecdotes in the filing cabinet of my brain labeled Mom.
Crocheting teaches you patience. Id like to think that in these almost two weeks of my crocheting career that I have grown a tad more patient. Patience is a virtue.
Crocheting helped my mom and I share something again. Sure we share many things, but I wanted to learn something new from my hero.
Currently, I am a quarter of the way through with my scarf. Maybe, just maybe, Ill finish it by the end of winter, just before spring hits, so Ill be able to show off my craftsmanship. And maybe Ill be able to finally say that I finished something I started. Even if I dont finish it though, at least I learned a little more about my mom, of who she was and how she transformed into the person that I know today.
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What KLEW has neglected to mention in her interrogation techniques is her unique torture tactics. See, she gets up at a completely indecent hour of the morning, like 0500 under the guise of having some me time to do her journaling, coffee, work on her blog, talk to the two long hair cats who love to be petted by me, but wont communicate meaningfully with anyone but her whilst I, still in near blissful slumber and mouthing endearments like Turn off the [insert favorite cuss word here] alarm clock roll over onto HER pillow for another hour or two of Robs me snooze time.
Only I dont. Snooze that is. As she takes the opportunity to sit on the bed and quiz me on various relationship questions. All in violation of the International Mens Relationship Conventions (signed at The Strip Please bar and grille in Las Vegas in the 1960s) having failed to preface the query with the internationally recognized warning of We have to Talk.
Then, still in near half-slumber bliss and in danger of having the duvet stripped from me and exposing my sensitive and delicate skin to the brisk morning temperature, she demands I answer her before I am allowed to go back to sleep. Shes evil. Evil I tell you!
Unfortunately she also knows the family secret, first discovered by my mother, if you wake me half way you can ask me anything, get an honest answer, and I will not remember anything when I actually awake. No sleepwalking, just sleepanswering. Being a teenager was hell: Where did you get the beer? Why are there footprints on the dashboard of the family car?
Now as long as KLEW doesnt ask me about the secret offshore bank account, my eight children in Thailand, the hair plugs, my all-encompassing addiction to Fantasy Football, my secret life as a male stripper, or that incident with the circus midgets and the donkey, Ill be fine!