Sometimes these days I think the only way I have stopped myself from strangling my brother and/or my mother is by picking up a crochet hook or a pair of knitting needles and going at it with a new hank of yarn.
I realized recently that I am a “process” craftsperson rather than a “product” one. I have at leave five projects started that I’ve set aside because I got to points in the patterns that required a lot of attention to detail. So I’ve started a lightweight crocheted afghan for when I move in with my daughter and family. It’s the same stitch over and over again — striped using two related yarns. There is something about the rhythm of the hand movements that’s mesmerizing, mentally relaxing. I can sit in the middle of a raging familial storm and block it out with the repeating stitch mantra. It’s certainly better for my health than drinking.
Oh, I have finished projects — like this and this and this and this.
But that was all before I moved my mother and me in with my brother. That was before my mother needed 24/7 care. Then I had the mental energy to focus on the details of form.
Now I just need something to do with my hands, something to intrude between my world and my brain. Something that I can easily put down if I have to.
So, it’s
Yarn over hook.
Insert hook in the next stitch to be worked.
Yarn over hook.
Pull yarn through stitch.
Yarn over hook.
Pull yarn through all 3 loops on hook ……….