When I was young, my Aunt Mary taught me how to crochet one
summer when I was staying with her. Or rather, I should say, she tried to teach me to crochet. I remember
I was always fascinated watching her fingers swiftly push that pastel metal
hook through loops of yarn and having it all turn into something pretty. She
made many fine-threaded white doilies that she soaked in liquid starch then
stretched out and pinned to her spare bed with what seemed like hundreds of
tiny silver pins, letting them dry until they were stiff. She made Afghans, so
many Afghans, in every color that was popular back then—avocado green, orange,
gold and magenta in rippled patterns, granny square patterns, and patterns I
don’t even know what they were called. She also crocheted Afghans in what she
called “afghan stitch.” Those were different—she crocheted long thin panels in
a square pattern on long crochet hooks. Eventually, she stitched them all
together to make a blanket, and to these blankets, she added cross stitch
designs. She gave me this one shortly after Tony and I were married, and while
I draped it over the back of our first couch in our first apartment, I didn’t
particularly like it because it was stitched with a yarn that is not very soft
or cozy. I think it is some kind of wool or acrylic and wool blend, and it is
rather scratchy and stiff. It now lives in my linen closet upstairs.
Other items Aunt Mary crocheted for me, I do indeed use.
Like this tablecloth that she gave to me not long after we moved into our new
house almost 20 years ago.
On that summer day back when I was somewhere around 10 or 11
years old, I asked her to teach me how to crochet. She tried, she really did,
and she was so patient, but I never got past making a chain that was about as
long as her couch while she watched one of her “stories” and crocheted away. I
couldn’t get the tension right, and some of my loops were tight and knotted, some
of them were large enough to poke a finger through. Even back then, I gave up
on things too easily, and I quickly gave up on crocheting.
I never picked up a crochet hook again until a few years
ago, and that was only because I wanted to crochet an edge around a gift I had
knitted for a friend. Yes, I can knit, but with a crochet hook in my hand, I
always felt like I was all thumbs.
Then, several months ago, I stumbled upon a really wonderful
striped blanket while perusing Pinterest one Sunday morning. I thought it was
so lively and fun and colorful, and I really wanted to try to make it. I went
to the blog it was posted on, and unfortunately, it wasn’t knitted, it was
crocheted. I was so disappointed. However, something kept drawing me back to
that blog, to that cheerful striped blanket, and I decided I was going to teach
myself how to crochet so I could make that blanket. I settled myself in front
of my computer with a cup of coffee, a ball of yarn and a crochet hook, and
spent the next hour or so watching you tube videos and following along. Soon, I
had figured out the basics and had a little square of about 6 inches of perfect
crochet stitches. Feeling pretty confident, I went to Hobby Lobby on my way
home from work a few days later and stocked up on some really super-soft yarn
in whatever colors appealed to me. I started my blanket that night, assuming I
might finish it sometime in this decade, or…I might not, since I am THE QUEEN
of unfinished projects. (I have a Rubbermaid tub of unfinished projects in my
basement to prove it!) Thankfully, the pattern was very easy with row after row
of the exact same stitch. It quickly became very mindless, and I found I could
finish a couple of rows while watching a tv show.
It is called Granny Stripe Blanket. The blogger who made it
popular crocheted it in random colors, no pattern, and while that method
totally goes against the grain of who I am, I decided to try it that way. I’ll
be honest—I fought it at first. My instinct was to pick a few colors, figure
out a pleasing pattern, and stick to that pattern. That or use an array of
colors yet arrange the colors into a ROY G. BIV rainbowish pattern. I was so
torn as to whether I should just throw caution to the wind and make each row whatever
color I felt like making it at the time or if I should be true to my orderly
side and spend some time coming up with a pleasing pattern and arrange the
colors just so.
I eventually chose to throw caution to the wind.
Well, sort of. While I did decide to not follow a set
pattern and let my mood at the time determine which color I would add to the
blanket next, I did make a few “rules” for myself.
1.
I wouldn’t put two colors next to each other
more than once or use the same pattern of colors more than once
2.
I would make sure the more bright/vivid colors
were spread out somewhat equidistant from each other (but I wouldn’t count to
make sure. J )
3.
I would use each color at least 3 times
I did follow my own rules for the most part, but there were
times that I would jump ahead of myself and plan out the next 5 or so rows,
arranging the skeins of yarn in rows on my kitchen table. I even took photos of
them so I wouldn’t forget what I wanted to do next. I don’t think I put the
same colors together more than once—if I did, it was an accident. And, I did
use each color three times. Some colors I used more than others, like the
yellows, pinks and blues, and there was only one color that I had to force
myself to use three times.
Okay, enough about all the nitty-gritty probably boring
details.
Why did I title this “worry blanket?”
That is a long and complicated story.
It has been a long and complicated winter. Long, stressful
and complicated. Working on this blanket ended up being my saving grace. I
spent many nights curled up in my favorite chair, a glass of wine or a cup of
tea on the table next to me, soft light spilling out from the lamp onto my lap,
the growing blanket warming me on cold nights as I slowly wove colorful yarn
and my worries into this blanket. Probably a few cat hairs too since it quickly
became a cat magnet. 
This blanket became my therapy, and I may have a few less
gray hairs because of it.
As I worked on my blanket, and again as I started writing
about it, I thought about how crocheting was almost like a form of meditation. I
even did some “research” into the therapeutic value of knitting/crocheting, and
what I read didn’t surprise me. I read that research has shown that
knitting/crocheting can reduce stress and burnout, lower heart rate and blood
pressure, and distract you from worry and pain.
And there is more.
I read a Mayo clinic study that shows knitting is good for a
person’s brain, especially as they age—that it helps keep your mind sharp.
Another study pointed out that 60% of your brain is committed to the use of
your hands and that using your hands, especially both of them in the same
activity, actually stimulates and strengthens portions of your cortex.
My cortex must be super-duper strong right now.
I didn’t know all that while I was in the midst of making my
blanket; all I knew at the time was that the rhythmic, repetitive nature of
what I was doing was calming my soul and relaxing me. And most importantly,
taking my mind from my troubles for a while. When I was crocheting away,
sometimes long into the night, I really focused on only that and nothing else.
I didn’t think about the worries that were weighing heavily on my heart. I only
focused on what my hands were doing. I only focused on counting back every so
often to make sure I hadn’t made a mistake. I only focused on what colors I
wanted to use next. Many nights, I crocheted until I was falling asleep.
As my worries grew, so did my blanket. I began to think of
it as my worry blanket. And, I thought about some “life lessons” as I worked.
For instance, I ended up using a color that I really didn’t
care for at all. What I thought looked like a pumpkin-y sort of orange ended up
looking just yucky and brown and out of place among the rest of the cheerful
colors. I was several rows beyond the first time that color appeared in the
blanket when I noticed that it was really quite ugly. I thought about ripping
out the rows that came after it so that I could take it out, but I decided I
didn’t want to invest so much time in that, that I would just live with it and
try to use other colors around it the next time that would make it look better.
Yeah. Nice idea, but that didn’t work either. No matter what
color combination I used around that ugly orange/brown, nothing made it look
any better. I almost became obsessed with it, but finally, I just let it go. I
realized that nothing I could do would make me like that color in the blanket,
and while I wished I would have left it on the shelf at Hobby Lobby, I was
stuck with it. It was part of the blanket, and I began to think that when it
was all finished, it would have its place in the overall scheme of the blanket.
I hoped that when it was finished, while I might sometimes notice that ugly
color that I would mostly focus on the overall beauty of the finished product,
not that one color that I hated.
That ugly brown color in my blanket reminded me of life.
Sometimes, or often, things happen that are unpleasant and downright ugly,
things that we want to go back and change, but we can’t. Those things typically
stand out in our lives as a glaring and awful in the midst of what is otherwise
good. We may focus on them too much, not noticing the good things around us,
before we finally give in and decide that while we wish that ugly thing hadn’t
happened, it is part of our story, part of what makes us who we are. Just as
that ugly brown is part of my blanket’s story. As I worked on the blanket, that
not-so-pretty color began to bother me less and less. Once it was finished,
those who have seen it probably didn’t even notice the one color that I hate so
much. In fact, one person who saw it immediately said, “Wow, that is
incredible! You must have worked so hard on that, and it’s beautiful!” She didn’t
look at it and say, “Wow, that brown is one ugly color! It ruins the whole
thing!”
My worry blanket is thick and heavy, huge. Much larger than
I imagined it would be when I started it. Every time I thought I would only add
a few more rows and be finished, I couldn’t stop. I was dusting one day and
noticed the colors on the covers of a few of my favorite books on my bookshelf
and thought those combinations would make a nice addition to the blanket. One
morning, I glanced out my kitchen window at 6 AM and noticed the sunrise, and
those colors inspired me to add yet a few more rows.
Finally though, a few weeks ago, I came to a point where I
knew I was finished, and I knew it was time to stop adding rows and start
adding the border. I chose yellow for the final color because it reminded me of
sunshine and a quote I recently read that said to keep your face to the sun and
the shadows will fall behind you. This blanket represents shadows--my worries,
my fears…yet it also represents some of the good things in my life--favorite books, the colors of the beach, a beautiful sunrise...the border that finishes it off represents sunshine. It is supposed to be pointy,
but for some reason, my points droop off to the side, which makes me think even
more of sun rays. The last three rows before I started the border are the
colors on the cover of one of my very favorite books—Simple Abundance. It is a
book that reminds the reader to be grateful for all of the blessings in life and
to take joy in simple things. I thought that was an appropriate ending to my
worry blanket, that along with the sun ray border.
This blanket, that I
will keep draped over my favorite chair where I spent so much time this winter
creating it, serves as a reminder to me that while I don't want to let the few "ugly" parts of it ruin the overall blanket, I also don't want to let the "ugly" parts of life ruin life overall. Just as a lot of hard work went
into creating that blanket, so goes life. You work hard on it and hopefully, overall it is
beautiful even with the less-than-pretty parts woven through it.
My worry blanket, 2 months after I started crocheting it on a dreary, cold February night.
