I've never, ever started anything new, be it role, hobby or lifestyle, without being utterly and implacably convinced that I was too stupid to do it properly or even at all. Knitting, singing, gardening, cooking, parenting, etc, I've always been sure that whatever I undertake will be a monumental failure. Why? No idea. Mom and Dad always believed that all of us kids could do anything, so it must be inborn. I also hate starting new things because the learning curve is so incredibly frustrating, which is why I make myself learn new things. I'm trying to cultivate patience, but I still suck at it. I hate not instantaneously understanding all related components to whatever it is I'm learning, and, even though I have yet to give up on a hobby I've started (as an adult-I mean, I only took figure skating for two weeks when I was twelve), nothing can ever convince me that the next thing I learn won't be the one that licks me.
Enter these socks. Socks, you say, incredulously? Feh. How can they be so difficult? Do you see that little window of color? That's not one yarn that is dyed to stripe or pool. That's a different strand of yarn for each single stitch. That's a bitch. I'm knitting these socks as a gift to Julie, and her PhD is almost finished, so I need to get off my dimply backside and get going. Failure is imminent, I just know it.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Viv calls every woman who looks even vaguely like my sister (and many people who absolutely do not) "Tina". She does this many, many times a day, and my usual response is, "Where's Tina?" She'll then point to whatever woman she thought looked like T at that moment, be she 80 or Asian. However, as we were leaving the house today, Viv looked over my shoulder and said the name. I asked the usual question, expecting her to point to someone walking her dog or to our crazy neighbor possibly up on her roof, but instead, she replied, "Spokane." I think she needed to prove that she really does, in fact, know who and where Tina is.