Written the night before on the bus on the way home
I keep thinking about knitting or crocheting a scarf with one of my fancy yarns up in the attic. I am even thinking of redoing some of the scarves I had already finished to make them into scarves again using a different pattern. I want to crochet a flower brooch I can wear on my coat’s lapel in Paris, or maybe attempt a funky hat. Then I am reminded that I have to sew the hems of 3 pairs of pants, at least 2 of which I intended to bring to Paris with me. — Maybe I’ll do the brooch at list.
Doing things with my hands has always been very therapeutic for me. I find great comfort in the rhythm of creating something with my own hands. When I am in the midst of crochetting, feeling the crochet hook wind and pull the thread into the loops to create the stitches is like a dance of the fingers to the beat of a very fluid cadence. Cross stitching is like a drama in dance in slow motion as I put the needle into the aida cloth’s predetermined holes to recreate the pattern in full color on cloth.
I have to admit that there are times when just thinking about these crafts gives me a sense of relaxation even if I am only imagining what I wanted to do or remembering a project I had done sometime ago. The only thing is, fulfillment can only be found in working a project from start to finish and seeing it to completion. In time.. in time.