Last year I had a brilliant idea that turned out not so brilliant after all.

In the summer of 2008 I decided I was going to crochet gifts for everyone on my Christmas gift list.

As a little girl I loved crocheting, I once made a bubble tote that I carried with me everywhere for months.

I’d make little cutesy crafts that everyone thought was amazing (or maybe they were just indulging my childish whim).

My connection with crocheting is like the Neil Young song Helpless

With dream comfort memory to spare

And in my mind I still need a place to go

All my changes were there

This was supposed to be a scarf for Rita, I threatened her years ago that I was going to hand-make her Christmas present.

It was going to be a nice surprise, in a sort of “oh wow, she did get me something she made herself, and surprise… it’s not half bad” way, except I just kept going, crocheting and crocheting…

Christmas came and went and I’ve been at it for a year and the half now.

I don’t know what it is, or what it’s going to be. Maybe an oval blanket or a throw.

I don’t want to be still at it come next year, seeing as I’ve moved on to other distractions.

But I’ll probably always come back to crocheting, because it’s comforting.