These are a couple of my flowers in bloom now. I have been trying to weed out the winter weeds to bring my gardens back to shape. My window of opportunity to do this is closing fast. The rain is impeding my progress. And pain. I have an appointment with the surgeon on Wednesday to see about having a hip replacement.
Nails. Not needles.
Craft work. Today. Has changed since I was a child.
More ways to do the same work. To work with a few stitches in another manner.
Many types of cotton. Or Wool.
Sizes in hooks. And needles.
Every item you need is available in the shops.
My mother used knitting needles. I was never allowed to touch them.
“You’ll break them,” I was told. “Needles are too dear to replace.”
Wool was also “too dear” to waste.
Eventually. I was given a few scraps of wool. Wool no longer of used to my mother.
No needles. I might injure myself.
Where there is a strong will. To achieve what you want. There will be a way to do what you want.
You just have to be inventive. Search for a replacement tool.
I needed a strait object with a point on the end. Oh. Wait. I need two.
Knitting needs two needles.
I kept my bits of wool in the doll’s pram.
If my mother wasn’t going to give me a set of her precious needles. I’d find my own.I walked out of
the caravan. Disappointed. I smiled. To hide a plan I had. Maybe dad would provide what I needed.
No. He wasn’t about to ask. I crept past the car to dad.s work bench. In one of the tins I found
treasure. Better still. My treasures. A full jam tin full of shiny six inch nails. The oily coating didn’t
put me off. I grabbed a few pairs of nails. I used a clean rag to clean each nail. I hid them beneath the
mattress in the doll’s pram.
I had what I needed. I could practice to do the stitches I’d watched mother do.
I took the doll from the pram to discard on the bed in the annex. Naked.
The dress, bonnet and booties, I put on Ginger, my tabby ginger cat. I then placed him in the pram to
wheel him around to the other side of the caravan, where a swing from the branch of the tree. Lilac
flowers carpeted the ground, I sat on the swing while I rocked the pram. Once Ginger was asleep I be
gan to practice to knit. I finger castered a few stitches on one nail. I knitted until the small came to an
end, slipped the stitches from the nail. Pulled out the work to roll into a ball to start over again.
“Those nail I bought have all rusted. They must have given me a cheaper brand,” complained Dad.
Years later, dad found out why his nails. Rusted. I had used then replaced the nails once the wool
didn’t slip without being snagged.
Once I had mastered the knit stitches, I began to crochet. I had begun to do sewing at school. I
graduated from samplers to duchess set once I knew all the stitches. I did the sewing in what spare
time I had. Work came first. Each set I finished I had to crochet an edge around the.
One lady came to be shown how to crochet. Mother refused on the bases the woman was left handed.
I practiced to go in the opposite direction with my left hand. I showed the lady the stitches.
What I learned way back when, I used to male rugs which are given to those in need. I have enough
crocheting I had completed over the years. Many stuffed toys I knitted. But I only do the crocheting
in between times I’m not writing. Doing my work. Gardening. Or times I am forced to take time out
from the pain. I know when to take a break. Not continue way past my pain threshold.
So I went out to buy a few nails to prove I could still knit with nails.
Craft work is another of the hats I wear. This hat keeps the mind from vegetating. And gives me
thinking time. Besides going for a catnap. To sort out any problem I have with my writing.
I am trying to discard a few of my hats to concentrate on the few I want to have more time for.
The above story is something else I do when I have spare time. Or I do while crocheting. I find I do more writing when crocheting because most of the time I don't have to concentrate, or count the stitches, which frees the mind to wander over what story I'm working on.
Comments
Post a Comment