Turning your Work - IRL

I blame it all on my husband. If he hadn't decided to change careers four years ago, I might never have made my own move. But watching him return to full time study for the first time since his teens, seeing him really sink his teeth into a new vocation and do well at it, and then witnessing his satisfaction (and yes, exhaustion) in his new occupation, made me start questioning my happiness in my own. Fortunately, the stars aligned, and aided by a firm nudge from both him and my friends, I started on a new path of my own. I'm currently one-third of the way through qualifying to become a high-school English and Humanities teacher.

I'd always had the idea of teaching in the back of my mind - it was something I thought I'd look into 'later on'. I'm glad I didn't wait any longer - the past six months have likely been the most challenging and rewarding of my life so far, and I've done some pretty challenging things. It's been like learning a whole new language, learning to re-wire my brain, and learning to listen and observe and be present in a way I'd never thought about before. Needless to say, it's also been the most exhausting six months of my life, too. 

During semester, I've been trying to keep my hand on the hook as often as I could, even though sometimes I'd feel guilty about it - but the husband stepped in and quashed that hyper-critical inner voice of mine and reminded me it was all about balance. So I still managed to fit in episodes of MKR and MasterChef whilst crocheting a granny stripe blanket in the summer holiday shades of browns, greens and blues. I like how the blanket is getting heavier and heavier the bigger it gets, and how it's now big enough to keep me warm while I add to it, stripe by stripe.

I also had Craft Camp to look forward to, booked in for the first weekend of holidays; even though that was weeks ago now, it still warms me to think about it - two whole days of crafty creativeness with nine lovely ladies, in a cosy country cottage built just for getaways of the type. All day and most of the night spent practising old and learning new crafts, making new friends, laughing, sipping tea and wine and swapping stories. It was so good, I had to force myself to go to bed and get some sleep. But who needs sleep when there's so much fun to be had, right?

I had wanted to try making little crochet skulls - there's a pattern for a day of the dead skull motif I'd had my eye on for a while. My first couple of attempts were fit only for the grave, but I soon had the pattern down - though it wasn't long before I started planning tweaks to the pattern. This resulted, of course, in me obsessively going over and over the pattern till I got something more aligned with the picture in my head. So I went from this:

to this:

Even though the second skull looks a little like a storm trooper, I like the way it's rounded and has more height at the top, and the fact that it has cheekbones and jaw bones. I'm still playing around with the pattern, but once it's done I'm going to try and write it down - maybe it'll be my first contribution to Ravelry.

I'm off to watch Netflix and crochet on the couch. A week and a bit of holidays left before we jump back in to study, and I plan to hook my way through as much of it as I can.

Crochet: what's not to get?

Anyone who knows me, knows I love Nigella - though that love took a test the time I watching the one where she punches a hole in an apple and pops a tea-light candle into it. It wasn't the waste of a perfectly good Granny Smith that got me going; it the throwaway remark that followed. She said that this was about as crafty as she was ever likely to get, before a request to the effect of 'kill me if I ever start crocheting'. Well! After all the time I'd spent defending her talents to non-believers, you can imagine my surprise etc etc. I may have hit the pause button as a time out and had some harsh words with her that night.

I can understand how some people might not get Nigella. But crochet? What's not to get about crochet?

Yes, I know I've already owned up to the fact that I wasn't always mad about it myself, but let me put my former indifference into context:
1) I was a child
2) I was also a tom-boy, and
3) Everyone seemed to only use threads that sat somewhere in the colour spectrum between white and beige.

My recent relapse into to world of crochet happened via a very good friend of mine, Fran at wishthimble. I had always known Fran to be a crafter, and even though I have always owned a sewing machine (having one within reach makes me feel safe in a strange way), I've never really used it for more than repairing jeans and making costumes to wear to parties. I always admired Fran for her interest in crafting in all its forms, and envied her awesome crafting room at the bottom of her lovely courtyard.

Then one day, Fran introduced me to Attic24. The rest is history.

I've got a couple of ideas on the boil at the moment, which will lead up to me opening an Etsy store. Here are some projects I've made to date:

 A granny-square blanket for my niece:

A name wall hanging for the same niece:

A rainbow ripple baby blanket for a friend (also used as a background for this blog):

I'm sure you can understand now why I'm loving crochet again. It's the ultimate in lo-fi instant gratification, and it makes me happy. 

What makes you happy?

Happiness, by hook or by cook

Of all the things in the world that (currently) make me happy, the two things I love most?
Crochet and cooking. Happiness, by hook or by cook.

I say ‘currently’ because either activity hasn’t always inspired joy.

I was introduced to crochet when I was a child. My cousin showed me how to hold the hook, how to twirl the thread around my fingers; how to hook the plain thread in and out to transform it into a length of perfect chain links. Then more magic moves made loops and circles, diamonds and pineapples, the possibilities were endless… until I lost interest.

Cooking was something I was protected from till my early teens. My mother shielded me from most forms of housework despite the frowns and tut-tutting of her six sisters. She’ll have to do that stuff for the rest of her life, she’d tell them calmly, so she might as well enjoy herself now. I was never destined to be a Junior Masterchef contender, but that was fine by me – I grew up without television, anyway.

I’m lucky to have been blessed with a mother who is a whizz in the kitchen; while I may not have been cooking as a youngster, watching her cook meant I was definitely not afraid of it. She began teaching me to cook in my early teens. We started gently with milky stove-top chai, then progressed to her charging me with regular cooking tasks, like making the rotis for the family’s breakfast and lunch every weekday morning. Once I started, I loved being in the kitchen – especially since mum’s minimal-housework rules meant I didn’t have to do the cleaning up most of the time.

My love of cooking has endured over the years, waxing and waning like the moon – always there, but sometimes burning more brightly and brilliantly than others. I have a dishwasher in my kitchen now. It eases the pain.

Crochet, on the other hand, was buried under layers and layers of life until quite recently. Those lessons provided by my cousin lay dormant within me like a late-flowering, long-forgotten bulb. They’ve been slowly pushing up toward the sun since then, the first green tips just now breaking the soil, making me curious to see what blossom will follow. They are all different, and they are bright and gorgeous, and they just keep on coming.

I wonder though - does this mean I’ve entered the Autumn of my life..? Meh - who cares. I’m enjoying myself too much to worry :)