Crocheting – only do it until it hurts
It’s January, and I am firmly in the countdown to the annual shows: The Royal Canberra Show and the Sydney Royal Easter Show. In previous years, the run up to the shows has seen me overindulge in High-Caffiene Energy drinks and turn the floor rug into a sacrificial altar to the Plasma TV Yarn God.
It tends to look like this:
But everything gets finished, and we carry off our share of the accolades. This year, I have slightly fewer entries but have tried some new techniques and items. Like that which I have never attempted but had ridiculed before (and probably will do again….), this year – I have attempted Freeform. I wish I could say that I felt liberated by the act of Freeforming and felt some thrill of not following a pattern but…. well… there’s a point when you’ve got 44 yarns entangled on the floor at your feet, a crochet hook entwined into your fringe and a West Highland staring at you, that you start to wish for just a little guidance.
On the flip side, I’ve gone somewhat nova on the use of bullions, a stitch I could never do previously. I have taken a peverse thrill in learning to tweak a bullion so all it’s participant rolls are even. Bullions have even infested my finger puppets that are colonising the top of the TV (away from marauding terriers and one very BAD Golden Retriever who snuck into the Room Where Dogs May Not Go and was found with a skein of handpainted Merino 2ply in his mouth). The Puppets are in response to the “Things of the Forest” and are taking on lives of themselves. Especially the Blue Nosed, Yellow-Horned Wotname. With the Blue Bullion hands…
One guiding force behind this year’s entries is that I am trying to avoid acquiring any more yarn to complete the items, and am shopping the Stash. I have also opted to finish a number of the UFOs that Housemate very kindly bundled into a chest of drawers for me and last night, disc 6 of Season 2 of Castle saw the completion of something that has been underway for 18 months, a Baby’s set in 2ply. It’s not quite the Laceweight Christening Gown (pictured and still growing!!) but it represents 15 balls of Shepherds 2ply and… a fair amount of wrist pain at the end of each session of work. Which is of concern.
But now that item is done, only needing buttons, and I’m moving onto the next item, another Un Deux Trois Shawl, currently at repeat 8 of 49, which hopefully will confirm the pattern enough that I can finish the written version for publication. The great thing about Triangular shawls is that if you can maintain the rage through the first 10 repeats, the diminishing row count means that the last 10 rows are equivalent to the first one… and pow.. it’s finished, just like that. Oh yeah… then there’s a border.
In between making my hands hurt comes the caring for those with four legs and tails. Fergus is usually quite adamant about making his feelings known – especially regarding dinnertime and that I should reconsider my trip to New Zealand. Didn’t the Biosecurity people just love searching my bag?
The sitting on, and tossing of, my carefully folded clothes wasn’t so bad but the dragging of my jeans back up the corridor and the hiding of my shoes was so laughable.
The trip to New Zealand was quick, and involved two days of conference, one evening of being utterly blown to smithereens in Wellington, the discovery of a Balti Indian that did a fantastic Butter Chicken and a flight thatwas delayed several hours due to the weather. Which looked like this:
Leaving New Zealand.
Lord knows enough of them do it. I had four hours each way of crocheting, a peach 3ply baby afghan which drew comments from airline staff, Border Security and fellow passengers. I was very good in Nz and only added a small amount to the stash, finding a small yarn store in Wellington and joining the knitters for a session until late that evening. Yes, ok – I bought yarn….
The Alpacakages, who have all now unpacked, also caused some Customs Consternation. That question on the Boarding Card “have you visited a farm in the last 30 days?” tends to cause conniptions when you have shoes with farmy dirt attached.
Farmy dirt such as enjoyed by Patrick (pictured) and teeny Elspeth. Alfred, the eternally suspicious survivor of the attack which claimed Alvin and KJ, regards the arrival of the babies as a serious inconveinence – the girls’ appetite has turned them into woolly vaccuum cleaners, capable of finding The Good Bits before a dopey male. Alfred makes up for this by looking plaintively at me on arrival home each afternoon and begging for a spray of nectarine leaves.
Alfred and Fergus meet through the safety of the gate. Not sure whose safety was most at risk.
But anyway – crocheting is occuring, so is blogging – the hardest part about snarkery is not reverting to the old phrase of “What not To Crochet”. I am enjoying making Misstitched happen, and looking forward to the new directions in which such a blog can be taken.
Such is my life, today.
Hugs to you all.