I’m behind on blogstalker 3. So I’m posting two, two, two topics in one. Lucky you eh?
I love ______ because _______.
Hmmm… as one might be able to tell I’m not in a love mood lately. I’m in a grumpy, mean, rotten, do you really think it’s a good idea to sit next to me mood. But I’ll try.
I love baking because it’s scientific.
I like things to have a rhyme and a reason. A plan and a predictable result. Well most times anyways. And that is why I love baking. You add the ingredients in the proper proportions – you know what you can futz with and what you can’t – and then walla! (Just kidding!!!) Voila! You’ve made something wonderful. And baking makes people happy. There’s a man at my husband’s work who likes nothing better than *my* chocolate chip cookies. And my lemon bars have become legendary. And it’s just science people. Nothing but science. Measuring and stirring, and baking.
Now if I could only perfect the science of good hand-kneaded bread. Because I suck at that.
The second topic is what motivated me to start knitting.
I have no idea. All of the sudden I decided I wanted to learn to knit. And I mentioned it in passing to my husband, and for Christmas of 2004 he bought me one of those Learn To Knit Kits, and some grey-blue Lion Brand Wool-Ease.
And I proceeded to do disastrous things with yarn and needles. In fact, I made holey rock blankets. Huh?
When the boys were younger they used to collect rocks. Anytime we went somewhere that had interesting rocks, say in a garden or driveway, they would take one and bring it home. They were all very pretty. I’m not sure where they all got off to. Anyhow, one day after a few weeks of really struggling with the knitting, my son picked up one of my swatches with an excited gleam in his eyes.
“Mommy! Mommy! Can I have this?” (This was when they still called me mommy. I miss it!)
And I, being ever so proud of my knitting, told him of course he could. He told me how these would be perfect blankets for his rocks. Perfect! And the best part was the big holes in them meant the rocks could breathe.
Yeah. Gotta love a kid for bringing you down a notch with love and jam-hands. Anyhow, after that I realized I needed professional help. So I went to Michael’s and took a short lesson. And then I got it. And the rest is history. Or herstory. Or an embarrassing collection of unfinished projects and stashed yarn and books and magazines.