I just remembered I'm a hooker!

Thanks so much for the 'nice things' comments! You who are more observant, responsible, and intelligent than I probably noticed I was so busy patting myself on the back about the socks, being on time for the announcement of the Great Giveaway ( I mean, c'mon, how hard is it to announce a mystery?) and the rant that wasn't supposed to actually happen but, uh... that I failed to mention any further details. I'm leaving the Great Giveaway drawing open to anyone who comments by Sunday, May 11th. I'll contact the winner on the 15th.

There, now that that's done, did you know I was a hooker? I've been a hooker since I was a kid, though I never progressed beyond the very basics of crochet (you didn't think someone would really pay me for THAT, did you?) on account of what my mother would determine was my utter inability to understand a granny square. As the years went on, and my older sister manufactured all manner of granny square blankets in school colors for homecoming raffles and 4-H shows, I moved on to sewing and proceeded to humiliate them both by sewing (perfectly, I might add - not one seam out of place and a zipper inserted with skill I've not since recovered) a dress out of different patchwork schemes of camo and winning a grand prize ribbon and 25.00. I called it 'barbie on a rampage' and it even had a 3-tiered skirt ruffle - but they were unimpressed and I was deemed no longer worth the effort to teach crochet to. I didn't pick up hooking again for some many years until I moved to the city and was in need of some home furnishings on, literally, a shoe string. The pillows were cute but I put them in the hall closet and later gave them to a homeless person in my alley because some guy I was (foolishly) thinking I needed to impress remarked that he was shocked, after visiting my apartment, to find I was, and I quote, so 'homely' that I made my own pillows. I tell you what, if I could replay one scene in my life and make it different, I would have put the guy in the hall closet and kept those squishy rainbow colored pillows I made. If I had my way about it, with over 20 years perspective on that doomed relationship, I might have put him in the dumpster, let the homeless guy have the pillows, and moved to another state....but I'm told, though I cannot see why, that I am sometimes bitter.

Anyhoo...there you have it - the beginning and middle of the years I spent denying I was a hooker. The only thing I was more sure of during those years was that I was certainly NOT a knitter. Then, one bright day when the stresses of farming were weighing heavy upon me and darn near smashing the pocketbook - and I wanted desperately to escape the crazy-making of raising three small kids on my own while the hubster was working 3 hrs. away in the dead of winter in Maine, I picked up my old tricks and made a pair of slippers. It was invigorating and exhausting all at the same tim and so it took me three more years, when in need of a gift for my pretty and sweet little girl, I made one more attempt to be a real hooker and crocheted a dress for her favorite doll. Her excitement was contagious so I made a hat and belt to go with it. Then, I was literally hooked again. Shortly after that, the cosmos mystified and befuddled me by making me aware that the yarn I'd been spinning for a couple of years before returning to crochet was. indeed, going to be knit - by me! You could say it's been all downhill (or up which is, I think, the case) from there. Still, I abuse and neglect crochet at times. Seems like that great big king size blanket that I crocheted from handspun last year just catapulted me into crochet denial for a while. Then, the other day - in need of a quick fiber fix and tired of having to frog every thing I touched, I pulled out my favorite hook and some handspun and started making a jacket. Feels good to be back. Knitting is my home, and there's no doubt I do more of it than crochet - but crochet is awesome in ways that knitting is torture. With crochet, you are building onto the item row by row - hence, mistakes are easily righted - unlike the unholy surprise you're in for when you cast off a project and realize it looks like troll's entrails. Sizing is so much easier as you can try your thingie on as much as you like and not have to pierce your boobles with needles holding onto your stitches - they are self-contained and behave quite nicely. And, last but not least - it is lightening fast and colorwork in crochet is soooo simple! So, while I'm sure the shawl in my basket of hate that caused me such grief last week and the socks that just won't seem to 'come to me' at the moment (disguised as many balls of sock yarn with dpns stabbed maliciously into them) will no doubt titillate my interests in the days to come, I am happy to torment them with my unabashed compliments to the crochet jacket. You know, see the above and, I think, totally mis-guided mentioning that I stand accused of bitterness.

One thing I'm not bitter about at all has finally been let out of its kitty holding bag. Mwraoh, Haven't you heard? I can't say how much of an honor it is to work with Sheri - a spectacular woman/knitter/yarn genius/kind human being whom I am thrilled to know. Thank you, thank you, thank you sounds far less creepy than 'could I follow you around your shop and drool over yarn' so I think I'll stick with that!

Just to balance the scales - one thing I may grow more bitter about:
hubster: so, how are we going to plan the rest of this week (he means getting ready for shows, finishing shearing, planting, etc)
me: Uh, I thought I'd dye a boatload of yarns for Mass Sheep and Wool and them make a billionty batts and dye some roving and process a few fleeces and plant the herb garden and then, if I'm done, maybe sleep in a little on Sunday and spend most of the day with the kids. (hello, she's hinting!)
hubster: you sure you want to do that cuz I could help you dye on Sunday and finish up and then you could have Monday to relax a bit?
(she rolls her eyes and leaves the room - swearing she will not slap him upside the head with the calendar when she re-enters the room, only to overhear one of the kids whispering something like, you dope, it's Mudder's Day!)
She re-enters the room and finds a steaming cuppa waiting for her - this means Sunday is a go. Hope all you moms - be you moms of kids, or moms of other living things in need of loving care - have a splendid day!