I think I've mentioned that a woman I knew in high
school is serving time for Addiction-Fueled Bad Choices? I write to her
about once a month. From what she says, prison sounds like being trapped
in high school, 24/7, with the most bumbling or bullying of the
students, teachers (like your shop instructor) who can strip-search you, and nothing but the worst of cafeteria food.
Hooking, she says, helps keep her sane, and at Christmas she sent me a scarf she'd crocheted.
You can't send presents directly to people in prison, you know, because you might hide Bad Things in them. You can send stuff through Amazon though, so I subscribed to a crochet magazine for her.
Then I got looking at crochet online (I had no idea!), and for Valentine's Day I printed out this crocheted daffodil pattern for her.
I thought I'd like to try making it too, though I've never crocheted before. So yesterday, Valentine's Day, I went to a yarn store (it shall remain unnamed, but it's on the west bank) where I had a surprisingly bad time of it.
Usually people who work with fiber and yarn are more than thrilled to help you. I mentioned to a customer at the thrift store that I was going to start crocheting, for instance, and she said she would come back next week to see how I was getting along.
But I told the yarn-store woman I had no idea what I was doing, and she couldn't have been more sour. Maybe she was having a bad day and my perky demeanor rubber her wrong?
And maybe her payback for me changing my mind three times about what yarn to buy (surely I'm not alone in this) was to sell me the wrong needle size, which I only noticed this morning when I looked at the chart on the back of the yarn?
Anyway, I decided
1. I would rather go to the nearby K-Mart to buy the right hook than go back to this store (ever again); and,
2. I am not up for the daffodil pattern and am going to start instead with hooking a square. You can see this Italian wool yarn changes color, so even a square will look cool.
I don't need washcloths, because Poodletail knitted linen washcloths of the most unsurpassably wonderful texture for Christmas, but maybe I could work up to a hot pad or something.
Ideas welcome.
_________________
After the yarn store, I went to see an exhibit of photos from Siberia at the U's art museum. Some of them look like they could have been taken here--this one, for instance, Anastasia Rudenko’s “Krasnoyarsk” (a city on the Yenisei River), could be on the banks of the Mississippi River, just up from the museum.
____________________
I gave Mz some trinkets for V-Day––including a concho (bridle ornament)––from Schatzlein's Saddle Shop.
She got me a sparkly belt and a card, "Petit Lapin en Croute," that she says is like me, real happy to sit in the pie-crust dough of my thoughts.
Hooking, she says, helps keep her sane, and at Christmas she sent me a scarf she'd crocheted.
You can't send presents directly to people in prison, you know, because you might hide Bad Things in them. You can send stuff through Amazon though, so I subscribed to a crochet magazine for her.
Then I got looking at crochet online (I had no idea!), and for Valentine's Day I printed out this crocheted daffodil pattern for her.
I thought I'd like to try making it too, though I've never crocheted before. So yesterday, Valentine's Day, I went to a yarn store (it shall remain unnamed, but it's on the west bank) where I had a surprisingly bad time of it.
Usually people who work with fiber and yarn are more than thrilled to help you. I mentioned to a customer at the thrift store that I was going to start crocheting, for instance, and she said she would come back next week to see how I was getting along.
But I told the yarn-store woman I had no idea what I was doing, and she couldn't have been more sour. Maybe she was having a bad day and my perky demeanor rubber her wrong?
And maybe her payback for me changing my mind three times about what yarn to buy (surely I'm not alone in this) was to sell me the wrong needle size, which I only noticed this morning when I looked at the chart on the back of the yarn?
Anyway, I decided 1. I would rather go to the nearby K-Mart to buy the right hook than go back to this store (ever again); and,
2. I am not up for the daffodil pattern and am going to start instead with hooking a square. You can see this Italian wool yarn changes color, so even a square will look cool.
I don't need washcloths, because Poodletail knitted linen washcloths of the most unsurpassably wonderful texture for Christmas, but maybe I could work up to a hot pad or something.
Ideas welcome.
_________________
After the yarn store, I went to see an exhibit of photos from Siberia at the U's art museum. Some of them look like they could have been taken here--this one, for instance, Anastasia Rudenko’s “Krasnoyarsk” (a city on the Yenisei River), could be on the banks of the Mississippi River, just up from the museum.
____________________
I gave Mz some trinkets for V-Day––including a concho (bridle ornament)––from Schatzlein's Saddle Shop.
She got me a sparkly belt and a card, "Petit Lapin en Croute," that she says is like me, real happy to sit in the pie-crust dough of my thoughts.
Here is a link to a really lovely scarf/shawl thingy by Comme des Garçons. As you can see it was originally $495 and has been marked down to $247.50. It's just a bunch of crocheted Granny squares and it's not even made of beautiful yarn, just some nasty acrylic blend! You could pick up a few skeins of Madeline Tosh yarn (which you & I love for knitting!) and make up a spectacular replica of this! (I would do it myself but I hate to crochet.)
ReplyDeleteOOps. The link:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.lagarconne.com/store/item.htm?itemid=22877&sid=1891&pid=1877
In high school, I made a granny square throw for my new niece. Never crocheted again, but at least there was one pretty thing out there, in varigated mint green.
ReplyDeleteMy granny decided to knit an afgan in a fine wool, very complex shell pattern, many pieces. My aunt taught her to knit on the project, managed not to kill her mother, but refused to help her knit after. That was the only thing granny knitted.