It’s still easier to make hats than new friends.

Three and a half years go, I knitted my first scarf. Since then, I have knitted four toques. I nearly finished a fifth in the time it took to drive from Montréal to Vancouver, but when I got to the stitch decreases for the crown, I decided my handiwork was a waste of fancy yarn and unravelled the whole thing.

I’ve started something new, but it is not going well. Reading a knitting pattern is a skill I have yet to master. It goes something like this:

1: K1, P2, K2, K1togbl2, *K2, P2; rep from * across, end K2.

2: K1below, P3

3: Alternate between rows 1 and 2, until you realize that you’ve spent hours doing the wrong thing, and clench your jaw so hard in anger that your teeth shatter.

Ah, what a relaxing hobby.

Continue reading “It’s still easier to make hats than new friends.”

Yarnwork.

Three winters ago, I decided that I needed to add to my extensive list of hobbies. I don’t cycle or camp when it’s cold out. While climbing remains a viable option, I’m not strong enough to visit the climbing gym more than twice a week. Without natural light to work under, the art supplies remain stored away over winter.

As a kid, I specialized in wrist jewelry made of rexlace, embroidery thread, or seed beads. I made sculptures (and ashtrays) out of pottery, polymer, and modelling clay. My primary school book reports were often accompanied by papier mâché heads of the characters’ likenesses which I now realize may have weirded out my teachers. I pointlessly melted and re-formed crayons by throwing them in boiling water. I had a calligraphy set and a collection of rubber stamps with embossing powder.

I still have glitter in my hair from that era.

Continue reading “Yarnwork.”