when i was about seven i asked my mom to teach me to crochet. i always admired the way she could sit and crochet a baby blanket while simultaneously keeping us in line. how did she know she was putting the hook in the right spot i always wondered. kind of like when i would watch my cousin play the piano without looking at the keys. how did they know? i have since discovered the answer. i have experienced familiarity with objects such as the keyboard, my cellphone and the ever trusty calculator. nothing quite as artistic as yarn and hook or slick piano keys.
my mom taught me to crochet. i caught on to the mechanics quickly and despite the mint green outfit that i made for my favorite doll that my mom bragged about to everyone she could, i gave up. i couldn't master the no-look technique. i felt like i had failed.
at the tender age of eight i bid my hook and yarn farewell and moved on to more hopeful alternatives. like building forts out of other people's junk with my brothers and the neighborhood boys. tomboy? me? no way.
i fared well in that environment until i started growing and i, as well as said neighborhood boys, began to notice the difference between boys and girls. perhaps in an attempt to keep their boyish pride, i found myself the victim of girl-slandering nicknames and several unfortunate incidents. one such incident involving two hammers, my legs, two very angry parents and the local police department. memorable to say the least.
i took piano a few years later. i enjoyed it for the first month or so. maybe even two. i would roller blade to mrs. richards house a few minutes away with my older brother justin who had lessons right behind me. mrs. richards just happened to be mother to his best friend. his waiting time was nothing but a holiday, while my waiting time found me yet again in awkward situations. i vaguely remember being tackled into a choke hold on the backyard trampoline. boys are strange. i grew up to be friends with this boy who at the time wanted nothing else but to show me how strong he was. might i reiterate, boys are strange.
lessons fizzled out as i grew increasingly unsure of myself. try as i might i could not take my eyes off of my clumsy fingers and those black and white keys. i felt like i had failed. again.
notice a cycle? good. it only took me twenty-four years of going round and round with it to figure it out.
yesterday i decided to get back on the horse i call crocheting. of course under the direction of my mom. i felt like i was seven years old again. i sat on my floor and played with some yarn while my two boys ran wild. i played and played into the wee hours of the morning. then i put it away and snuggled my cold body into bed. sweet, warm, welcomed rest.
i crocheted in my sleep. seriously. i dreamt of perfect, consistent stitches and beautiful creations. i woke before the boys and got straight back to that ball of yarn. and i'll be there for a while until i've mastered it. really mastered it.
what next you ask? i am thinking piano.