Where it begins

Sometimes when the world takes over and you're in that special spiral of family, study, work and whatever it is that fills the days, it's good to stop occasionally and think - and breathe.

I remember when I started to crochet.  I remember it well, and I still have my first crochet hook.  My great aunt Beryl gave it to me.

Beryl passed away about eight years ago now, but every time I look at a stash of wool (oh how I love the photo above - my first ever order from Deramores), and especially every time I swoop around the corner on a granny square, I remember her.

Then I recall what I've made, how it squeezed into all the gaps of busy days, or floated along through holidays, and how making time is breathing time.  Making time is breathing time, colour time, connecting time and happiness.  Even when you have to go ten rounds back because you missed a stitch and now everything is out of step, this is a good time.

This is your time.  This is that chance to think about how much a stripy blanket will be loved, whether this beanie will be slouchy enough for your uncle, what colour square should go next, and what's happening on Ravelry.

And this is when I have always felt at my best.  I'm sitting there aged six with a half made coaster, then thirteen frowning through a blanket challenge, and going through my twenties making granny squares and sewing Irish roses on my tops.  I have never stopped making things, and every project has a story and a place in my life.  Even though I may never see the blanket/bag/scarf again, it is part of my story, too.

As the years pass, I'm drifting through the suburbs finding bookshops, funny little antiques stores, and wool shops that make me smile and check my usually coin filled purse and topsy turvy handbag.  These places become landmarks, signposts to projects and presents, ideas and inspiration, supported by the rest of the world as it reaches out and shares in an online connection so much like all those projects and patterns that surely entrench themselves in our DNA.

And who could ever imagine this absolute brilliance in the middle of all their busy days, or when they're little, just starting out with uncertain acrylic and chain stitches?  Who knows what that odd ball of cashmere is going to become, or whether the pattern translated from another language will translate into something beautiful or useful?

This - this minute, this stitch, this strand - this is where it all begins.  And - I love it!