After I picked myself up — having fallen off my chair from giddy delight — I decided that my life could not carry on until I had mastered this craft and created my own huggable Link.
Having attempted crochet in the past with no success, I was reluctant to pick up a hook. My knitting skills were rusty and my teacher, my Gramma, lives 18 time zones away. Thank Google for the internet. Many balls of knotted yarn and GBs of monthly download later, I had managed to master the basics from watching various YouTube instructional videos. The results were supposed to be a monkey. My crochet skills might have been slightly sub-par but my ability to hide my mistakes rivals no other.
But that was ages ago, I now brandish a hook like a pro and have discovered that crochet is akin to smoking; it is highly addictive and those who refrain find it annoying when you light up, or in this case, yarn-on.
I see everything as crocheted; my salad sandwich, my Sunday drive, or even my favourite movie. My partner delights in seeing me happy, but frowns every time he has to untangle incessant bits of yarn from the vacuum cleaner.
Crochet is my calm, my escape from the pressures of life. I never feel completely at ease unless I have something on my hook. Teaching myself crochet is one of my greatest triumphs. It may not be rocket science, but it gives me endless pleasure.
Unlike knitting which seems to take forever, crochet’s joy is almost instantaneous. As the owner of a terribly short attention span, crochet fits in nicely with my impatient nature. 2 hours into a project and I already have a nice, woolly addition to my portfolio.
As for the Link doll, I haven’t made it – yet. I’ll get there eventually, but for the moment there are just too many other paths I need to follow, unraveling my yarn as I go.
Oh, and my costume turned out excellent:
