A Heartwarming Opportunity for a Humble-Brag

I haven’t been crocheting anything lately, which feels weird. For a couple years it was a compulsion. I couldn’t stop making tiny little critters and itty itty pumpkins via crochet.   It seriously was not that much different from a drug. And then, I just quit. I would like to take it up again, but I just find myself doing other things instead.  I was talking about this to one of my daughters, who didn’t see the point. Honestly, it’s not like I really crocheted anything useful.  Children in North America are not suffering from a lack of tiny crocheted turtles, two inch teddy bears, and octopuses in their lives. She said she recognized the compulsion was a major form of stress release, but since I am not that stressed any more, what’s the point.  Do I like it that much?  If it isn’t for stress relief, what am I getting from it, she asked, reasonably enough, I thought.

I gave it some thought, trying to explain, no, really trying to figure out for myself what it is that I vaguely felt a sense of loss over since I was no longer crocheting. I found it.

Crocheting gives me a tangible sense of accomplishment.  I can clean a room but the sense of accomplishment is temporary. A crocheted teddy bear the height of my index finger may be pointless, but it exists.  It stays made once done. Also, it makes me feel competent, and I like the sense of having done a good job at something, and I don’t get that very often.

My 11 year old grandson (Ye old Dread Pirate Grasshopper, for long time readers) had been eavesdropping when we thought he was reading.  He piped up something like, “You mean besides feeding your grandchildren? Because you’re pretty good at that.”

Yes, that made me feel ten feet tall and very competent, but it’s funny because all I’d fed him that day was apples and mandarin oranges, with as much milk as he wanted to drink.  They ate lunch before they came so I hadn’t done any food prep- just bought the fruit and milk.  I even did my shopping online at midnight the night before and had it delivered.  Ridiculously simple.  The way to a male’s heart and all that.

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3 Comments

  1. Frances
    Posted April 29, 2021 at 3:50 pm | Permalink

    If you should feel so inclined I would love an update on the family. How many grandchildren now? I hope they are all thriving!

  2. Anne-Marie
    Posted May 1, 2021 at 10:59 pm | Permalink

    The sense of accomplishment from making a lasting physical object reminded me of two stories.
    The first you probably know; the miller tells it to Kate and Jancsi in Kate Seredy’s The Good Master. Prince Matyas, in search of the land where people live forever, comes to the City of Work, where people live for as long as their work exists on earth. In a Hungarian peasant’s house, the counterpart of one built 500 years ago, they eat gulyas, because that’s the only thing the peasant knows how to cook. His wife is not there to cook other dishes, because she was a great cook, and everything she made got eaten up.
    The second is not really a story, but a passage from The Scotch, John Kenneth Galbraith’s memoir of the town he grew up in. He talks about the relative drudgery of tasks that have to be repeated every day compared to seasonal or yearly ones. When you do barn chores, you produce a clear floor, but even before you put down the fresh bedding, the cows start dropping pats again. “In contrast, one could look down a row of [hoed] beans, and know it would remain fairly clean for the rest of the summer.” If a young man joined the army, which very few did, “it was invariably said that he went because he was tired of doing chores.”

  3. Susan Humeston
    Posted May 5, 2021 at 9:08 am | Permalink

    How sweet to hear about him. I remember when he was born and the first few years. So glad to hear he is 11 and reading and appreciating your sustenance.

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