My stolen heart

I have long nursed a desire to crochet. I have dabbled in the past and can just about crochet an edging or a hem but anything greater has alluded me and it's not as if I haven't tried! Every once in a while I get out my crochet books and spend the next week walking around with a hook constantly in my hand. You see crochet, or at least not being able to crochet, is addictive. I become obsessed for that week, I go to sleep hooking in my mind, I awake and hook a little while boiling the kettle, stirring the porridge. At the end of the week I admit failure, none of my squares look like the ones in the book, the ones in my mind and in disgust I tuck it all away and pick up my knitting with a sense of relief.

Nonetheless, at the back of mind, that crochet hook taunts me. Finally I will forget all about crochet and then months later I see another beautiful crochet blanket and that burning obsession returns. The focus of my crochet ambitions has for so long been a glorious afghan made up of dozens of squares. My recent reignited obsession began with Babette's Blanket. I really wanted this blanket and so my week began, I obsessively hooked solid squares, I consulted books, I watched U-tube tutorials, I hooked and hooked, rejecting square after square and eventually I began to admit defeat and wonder if squares where never to be my thing but yet I could not quite give up my crochet dreams. Suddenly I had a flash of inspiration, maybe I needed to forget about the squares and try ripples instead.

I began to ripple and ripple and ripple, I obsessed and rejected, obsessed and rejected and then by jove! I think I've got it!!

Oh joy, oh addictive, compulsive joy. Excuse me now, I need to get back to my hooking.


Popular Posts