Category: Crochet

In terms of school days, an early dismissal is a beautiful thing. Just over four short hours of pretending to learn throughout four shortened classes, and the final bell still rings in time for be to get home for lunch. Best of all, these throw-away lesson plans still carry all the same weight as a full day would, bringing us that much close to the ultimate reward of summer vacation. I know that most if not all my peers are headed home on these days to blow off homework and do nothing more strenuous than watch tv, but my plans come no where near such absent-minded behavior. You would think that packing up my books early would give me so much luxurious leisure time to while away as I please, but somehow, almost inexplicably, I end up working twice as hard instead.

Returning to my residence by noon, the desire to make up for such an unproductive school day compels me to over-compensate in my domestic duties. With the oven cranking away mere minutes after I first breezed through the front door, I’m already dashing about trying to simultaneously combine ingredients to make cookies and complete any knit or crocheted works in progress. Then there’s always some pile of laundry to sort, dishes to wash and put away, craft supplies to organize… I simply can’t shake the feeling that I would completely waste this rare half-day if I didn’t utilize this time to the fullest. There is nothing more unfulfilling in my book than watching tasks stack up on my to-do list, only to turn a blind eye to them when given some extra time to accomplish them.

Watching me run around like a headless chicken was a good friend of mine who happened to be feeling a bit blue that day. I offered to include him in my activities and maybe have some fun while getting work done, but he hastily turned down my offer. Instead, I spent much of the time aware of his curious eyes boring holes through my back where ever I turned. What looked like tiresome tasks to him was in fact wonderful fun for me, and he simply couldn’t comprehend that. Taking cookies out of the oven, tying off my final stitches, he was still there, watching.

After a couple hours of nearly manic crafting and creating, my energy level began to drop. Cursing my pathetic excuse for endurance, I soldiered on, making increasing numbers of mistakes on my projects as my focus began to lessen. Soon I was spending almost as much time correcting my errors as making progress, taking three steps forward and two steps back. It didn’t take much of this slow going for me to take notice of my exhaustion, and I reasoned with myself that a short rest would be a good thing, so I could continue working hard after.

Up the stairs I climbed, headed for my soft, cozy bead. Ready to collapse in it right then and there, I peeled back the covers and was startled to see my watch-hawk friend was already there, lazily opening his eyes! I guess I hadn’t noticed when he had chosen to abandon me, but he sure looked tired now.

Complaining that the act of observing me rush about like a madwoman was tiring, he claimed to need the rest just as much as I did. Well, had he actually helped me out I would have understood his desire to take a break, but through my own worn down eyes, I saw little pity for this lazy friend of mine. Wanting to push him clear out of bed, I restrained myself nonetheless and allowed us both to take a break. Keeping this favor in mind, I can only hope that he realizes how much easier it could be on both of us if he offers to contribute his own time on my next half-day of school.

With the pressures of looming deadlines growing nearer, essays multiplying like bunnies, and relentless batteries of tests scheduled each day, it’s hard to believe that a full week of vacation just passed so recently. Feeling worn down, just waiting for that next day off, my exhaustion with the daily routine of early mornings and late nights of studying seems to be a common experience among my peers. Waking up with a fresh, powdery layer of snow covering the ground, the desire to have another try at our failed winter vacation is so strong that I can almost reach out and touch it. The holidays clearly fell at the wrong time of year this time around; My winter wonderland finally awaits my goofy-looking snowmen and haphazard snow angels more akin to the stark chalk marks surrounding a dead body, but no, my crazy antics will now remain absent. Snow pristine and untouched, I trudge off to catch my train, leaving all of my holiday cheer months behind me where it should have belonged.

I wish I could get excited at this long awaited natural phenomena, but now that snow appears every other day, without even been summoned by the usually stingy weatherman, I only bemoan the missing sunlight. Seasonal effective disorder is something that runs in the family to a certain extent, and while I won’t make any claims for myself, I do know that cloudy days spell cloudy moods in my book. These darned New England skies just have it in for me – Temperature aside, is a full day of bright sunlight so much to ask for?

Complaining as usual about predictions of seemingly endless overcast afternoons, I noticed a friend of mine trotting on by, inexplicably cheerful as can be. Rushing over to find out what good fortune had befallen her, she gave me a quizzical look, declaring that she was just happy since it was time for her “vacation hour.” As if this was something standard that everyone should know about, she continued on without another word and gracefully plunked herself right down… In the pot of ferns occupying a kitchen corner.

What on earth was going through her mind? After a few minutes of painfully confused contemplation, I queried her aloud, and was rather taken a back by the answer I received. “Vacation hour,” according to her, was one designated slot of time in her day that she chose to put aside her work and relax, pretending that she was hundred of miles away on some tropical beach. The fern merely provided a nice change of scenery, a backdrop if you will, for this mental excursion. How is one expected to take a break from the mundane and imagine some exotic locale while sitting in front of the same old computer screen, anyways?

I must say, with her eyes slowly closing in contentment, I could almost see her sun bathing in the warmth of some distant island sun. Had she been able to send a post card from this languid state of mind, it would have probably said “Wish I were here, really.”

As silly as she looked, sitting there in my potted plant for her designated hour of “vacation,” I must admit that she may be on to something. When can I take my “vacation hour?”

Did you know that today is a holiday? Well, for those of you that didn’t mark your calendar, in Japan it just so happens that a festival called Hina Matsuri, sometimes referred to as “girl’s day,” is being celebrated. If you had no idea, don’t feel bad; Being the uninformed, ignorant westerner that I try to pretend I’m not, I myself completely forgot until just yesterday evening, causing a mad scramble to make something presentable to honor this tradition in time. Admiring the elaborate displays of dolls on towering multi-tiered, red stands for as long as I had first been enlightened to such a practice, I had wanted my very own. Swearing many months ago that this would be the year that I attempt to recreate something similar, it should come as little surprise that my preoccupied mind promptly pushed this thought to the very depths of my brain. Thusly, my rushed efforts fell short by about 50 miles.

With my one lone doll, any display I might assemble would pale in comparison to the real thing, but I’m still happy that I was able to recognize the holiday in this small way nonetheless. Looking quite delicate and dainty, my little girl here would probably have been one of the three court ladies had there been another two to join her, but alas, she must go it alone for this time around. I don’t think she minds too much though, since without anyone else of higher rank to force her to a lower status, she seems fairly content to pretend that she’s the empress instead.

…Or so they say about the month of March. Similar to the movement of a runaway freight train barreling out of control, time has apparently escaped my grasp at lightning speed again. Arriving at the first of the month today, stunned as I may be, the weather has adopted a compliant role in playing along with this saying thus far, giving me reason to believe that we aren’t still smack-dab in the middle of January, even if my brain seems to think that makes more sense. Intermittently warming and freezing, raining and snowing, the outdoor conditions have been truly ferocious, just as the big cat it is typically compared to at this juncture. While I would usually question the validity of the phrase itself, sighting discrepancies in the month itself, my first thought in this case was of what a terrible stereotype it forces lions to conform to! Sure, in the wild, they may be an intimidating force to reckon with come dinner time, but I hate making blanket statements, no matter the group or the label. In fact, just the other day, I happened to meet a lion who was anything but a fearsome foe.

Sporting comfortable pajamas and wearing a placid, benevolent expression, we chatted for a bit about the grave injustice done to his species by condemning them to always act as heartless killers. Studies show that self-fulfilling prophecies are much more common than we’d like to think, as even kids in high school have been proven to live up [or down] to expectations, depending on what they’re raised to believe. Given no excuses for failure, they will pull in good grades because they know they’re supposed to; Praised for attempts and told that their C’s and D’s just fine, they won’t ever try for better. We always conform based on other people’s perceptions and presumptions, whether we like to admit to it or not. It’s easy to, it makes sense, and don’t you know? -Everybody’s doing it. Isn’t society just screwed or what?

Well, such a basic conversation about the weather sure did fly completely out the window in no time. With so much to think about, I think my new friend was feeling a bit overwhelmed, moving away from the calendar he had been dutifully filling in with the new month’s activities with a far-off look in his eyes. Hoping that I hadn’t hurt his feelings, gathering that he was a fairly sensitive soul indeed, I asked to make sure he would be okay and offered him a minute to lay down a mull it all over a bit. Nodding slowly and sinking down to the ground, I wasn’t entirely convinced, but left him alone to think for a few minutes.

After a moment of anxiety on my part, having never intended to offend, he was on his feet again and looking calm and collected like before. Undoubtedly, anyone would be disturbed thinking that they were doomed to be stuffed into cookie cutters that obviously did not fit their personalities, but it was harder knowing that his whole family was out there living out this schema that we humans had built based on prejudice. Luckily, gentle as a fawn, he was also a strong guy, determined to be a role model for nonviolence for lions. I wish him the best of luck; it’s not any easy aspiration, to say the least.

…Any who, let’s hope March sees that it needn’t be a pitiless and brutal month just as the lion leading it in has decided.

Life always manages to catch me by surprise, no matter how I try to prepare, reason, or rationalize. Feeling okay about a certain test grade? Oh sorry, turns out you failed. Set your sights low so as not to be disappointed? Well, it seems you won the lottery some how! Good or bad, it sometimes feel as though I’m living backwards, as if I were looking through the mirror and consistently failing to remember how only opposite reactions are possible. At the very least, this perspective ensures that even the mundane occurrences never get old, appearing as new and novel as if you stood on your head and realized how confusing it would be to walk on the ceiling.

Now, in my usual pessimistic fashion, I already had a foot halfway in the door to pack away my snow boots and declare this winter a bust, when of course, the sky finally opened up at long last and unleashed a torrent of powdery ice crystals. No pathetic flurry either, this was the real deal; Schools were canceled all around, and real inches of snow accumulated in visible inches throughout the morning. Never mind the shock, I whipped those boots right back out, jammed my feet into them, and thrust my arms into a thick coat on the way out into the backyard. Glorious, beautiful snow surrounded me like a fine lace, falling gently and melting into tiny pools on my red, frozen nose. It was all I had ever wanted out of these past three months.

Dazzled by this fantastic display, I explored the entire yard with fresh eyes, as though I had never seen such a spectacle in my entire life. Returning to the house for a burst of heat and perhaps hot tea, I nearly fell on my face walking up the porch steps when I caught sight of the brave creature sitting on the railing. Not a single living thing had stirred throughout the time I had spent exploring, but here, sitting on a veritable throne of fallen precipitation, was the most stoic snow bunny I had ever seen.

Such a tiny, delicate looking rabbit she was, but the freezing temperatures didn’t seem to bother her in the least. Here I was, shivering in my thick layers, and all she had was her fur coat to provide insulation! Wanting to thaw my frosty hands, I would have raced inside in any other case, but I hesitated to leave this fragile-looking sweetie outside in this weather. Slowing down to invite her inside, she only refused and continued surveying the landscape she sat above, seemingly oblivious to the frigid winds that were chasing me away.

I still felt bad, but clearly she was well equipped to deal with these conditions, so I went on my way and started up a pot of tea as soon as I had shed my sopping wet outer layer, still carrying a few clusters of melting ice. Proving my mirror-thinking remained intact, I would have bet anything that all the animals outside would have given anything to curl up by a toasty radiator for even a few minutes, but this tiny trooper defied these preconceptions. Hopefully that little bunny will be okay out there, but should she ever need a break from the cold, my offer for a rest and a steaming cup of chai still stands.

Rolling out of bed in the morning and stumbling into the bathroom, few sights can be more horrifying than the image that meets me in the mirror. Eyes full of sleep sand and hair sticking out in ways that actually defy gravity, it’s a miracle that I manage to look halfway put together before leaving the house. Luckily, my grooming routine only involves basic hygiene, nothing time consuming like applying makeup or styling my hair beyond a basic brushing. With such a busy modern world we live in, how do some people find the time and patience to do themselves up every day? I guess some people are just perfectionists, not accepting anything but a spot-on appearance no matter what they’re doing that day. Looking at such meticulously styled people, it always shocks me to hear that almost every single one thinks that they could have done better some how.

One such perfectionist is this prissy little poodle here, with her carefully combed fur and delicately tied ribbons. While she looks perfectly presentable for any social situation to me, she insists that her fur is all wrong; So fuzzy and unmanageable! So tangled! So unruly! If it were up to her, she would rather trade looks with a hairless chihuahua, for all the grooming she would be able to forgo! Strong words coming from a dog whose identity is based on the tell-tale puffs and pom poms of curly fur painstakingly carved out of their coat. I guess it just goes to show that perfection is in the eye of the beholder, even if that eye happens to be painfully self-critical.