I am crafty.  That is, I consider myself a ‘crafty’ person.  Not ‘crafty’ like Wile E. Coyote or Boris and Natasha… ‘crafty’ like ooh-I-can-totally-make-that.  Maybe it comes from my thrifty spirit or the need to fix things.  I can ponder the reasoning somewhere besides this blog.

Because of all this, I’ve gained somewhat of a reputation over the years.  Friends have come with broken mirrors, old picture frames, bolts of stained cloth, leftover party supplies, and various other mishmash to have repaired or repurposed.

I take pride in being able to darn a sock and build a canopy out of piping.  These sorts of projects provide a lot of satisfaction.

But an inaccurate assumption was made.  Usually, it happened when a baby was to be born or winter was coming on.  A friend would come by for tea and arrive with a few skeins of yarn.  Beaming, she would plead, “Teach me to knit!”  It was then that I would ruefully shrug and give the bad news.

I couldn’t knit.  And I didn’t want to.

Well, one year a friend came to live with us.  She was a military wife, and her husband was off fighting terrorists on the other side of the globe.  She was a paragon of the perfect houseguest.  And she was appalled that I could not knit or crochet.  Patiently, she prodded and guided and coaxed me through a scarf.  Crocheting was a door to a whole new understanding; knitting was painful and frustrating.

Since then, I can crochet just about anything.  It is relaxing and ideal for creating a homemade gift.  But sometimes, the look of knitting is so nice.  A project would come along that would be darling and delicious, but I would sigh and think, “Too bad it’s knitting.”

Yesterday, that changed.

Now this isn’t great shakes or anything, but it IS crocheting.  That purling up there near the top, that’s crocheting, too.

Well, actually, it’s called ‘knooking’, and I found it on this site.

I whipped out this little… er… washcloth?  Sure, washcloth… in about an hour while talking on the phone, making weekend plans, and holding a conversation with Mr. Anonymous and our daughter.

The next one will be better.

And now knitting is nothing to fear.

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