I often joke that I’m ninety years old on the inside, sipping tea, watching old movies, reading old books, and crocheting afghans.
There’s something soothing about smooth, soft yarn around my fingers, weaving into a pretty pattern. I feel accomplished, seeing the skein of yarn transform into something useful. I started with warm scarves. Then slouchy hats. Granny squares that connect into a baby blanket. More “fancy” blankets. An infant sweater. A toddler’s dress.
And I love nothing more than to give these items away, to see someone else enjoying the warmth.
Piles of yarn. So much potential for the beautifully functional.
And maybe some Christmas gifts.