Marcia Brady syndrome*

It is a well-known fact that I have trouble with stick-to-itiveness (potentially lesser-known fact: That is an actual word in Webster's), so even I am amazed that I was able to knit a whole hat in a mere matter of days.

First, a long-winded background on my needlework history (not including my stints with '70s latch-hook rugs and long-stitch embroidery, which were as rampant as bell-bottoms and "Frampton Comes Alive!"). Though I grew up in a house with a grandma who could crochet and sew (I'm guessing she knitted, but I don't remember her doing so), I never bothered to learn much beyond your basic crocheted chain, and my cousin Jahna and I went through a mini-beanbag-making stint using scraps of fabric and, I'm pretty sure, actual beans.

Fast-forward to the '90s, and I realized I really should have mined that wealth of handiwork right under my nose when I had the chance. But I didn't, so I took a handful of classes at the sewing paradise Baer Fabrics in Louisville and finagled a sewing machine for Christmas. I made a skirt out of cute Cicely Mary Barker Flower Fairy fabric (though the pattern involved a weird shape and I've never worn it), and I made a curtain for my kitchen window. Then came a polyester blouse class. First, I never would have worn the shirt in real life. Second, it involved buttonholes. Needless to say, I didn't finish it before the class wrapped up, and the shirt lived unfinished in a Baer's bags for years, until I finally sent it along with a thrift-store donation during a move. Let someone else finish what I started. Aside from the occasional repair of clothing, the sewing machine has mostly been unused since (except for a brief quilting stint last year, but more on that later).

Fast-forward again, to the 2000s, and I decided it was time to take up crochet after failing to teach myself from a book. I found a helpful woman who ran a shop in Oregon, and next thing you know, I was dropping in for her help all the time. I made a baby afghan for goddaughter Claire and ordered personalized labels to sew onto my creations. I found a pattern for adorable baby hats with handcrafted flowers on top and made several for friends' kids. Then I was seduced by a class at the shop in tatting (which I'd seen on TV once and was enthralled) and another, at a private home, in rug-hooking. NOT to be confused with latch-hook. Traditional rug-hooking involves strips of wool hooked into burlap, and the most elaborate are amazing works of art (unlike the Ziggys and Tasmanian Devils of the past).

Around the same time, I decided I should learn knitting. There were no classes to fit my schedule, so the woman at the shop offered to put one together if I could round up enough people. I recruited four late-night co-workers, we managed to pull ourselves out of bed for a few mornings and off we went to knit ... a vest? From a pattern that had been devised by the shop owner and still needed tweaking? That involved the old tape-measure-around-the-bust for sizing purposes, not to mention math? Ack. The class lasted five weeks, at the end of which I had a back panel and one other random piece. None of my co-workers finished either. Our dreams were shattered. We'd expected to make something easy, like a scarf. I ended up with another bag containing another unfinished project. I had also started one of two crocheted afghans I'd planned for Stacy's twins. I practically finished one, then, in a fit of overwhelmedness (not in Webster's), I stopped. Everything. Unfinished tatted lace, unfinished rug, unfinished vest, unfinished afghan. That was in 2004.

Next? You guessed it: Fast-forward. This time to New Mexico. My mom had since taken up knitting, so when she visited in 2005, she taught me to make a dishrag. Yay! Something small that I could actually finish. It came out shaped more like Arkansas than a square, but it was functional, and I was obsessed with it until I finished it, misshapen and all. I also made a scarf while she was there -- super-easy, I was surprised to find out. Then I made a scarf for my friend Ann for a belated birthday present. Then I took apart the sad "vest" from Oregon and started a scarf for Michael (though I didn't finish it until the following Christmastime, in Colorado). Then, who knows? I wanted to make more elaborate projects but was scared away so stopped once more. Decided what I really needed to learn was quilting (believe me, I realize the ridiculousness of it all). Actually I'd tried to learn quilting while in Oregon but couldn't get classes to match my schedule. Turned to my master-quilter friend Lydia, who got me quite far along in the process, but then I moved to Colorado. The unfinished quilt is in my closet, though I promise I am going to finish it. It's just a matter of pulling out my sewing machine, setting it up and reading the instructions again on how to thread it. The quilt's potential is too high not to complete it, what with its Roy Rogers theme and all.

After moving here and finishing Michael's scarf, I thought a knit hat would be nice, though I knew nothing about knitting in the round. Found out that a co-worker knits, so we met for coffee one day to make hats. Utter failure. I left with nothing but a promise to myself to never pick up knitting needles again! Mom was almost ready to fly out and show me herself when she realized I was throwing in the towel yet again. When I went to Seattle, Stacy -- who was in the process of making a sweater for a friend's baby shower and had just finished a hat for another friend's baby -- offered to help me. I pshawed, especially when she told me double-pointed needles would be involved -- but somehow, miracle of miracles, I managed to do it. Yes, the brim is a little funky, but for the most part, I'd say it's quite a lovely first hat. And the most miraculous part of all -- I finished it on the airplane! It was clear I wouldn't finish it before I left, which filled me with fearful visions of another unfinished project, so Stacy gave me pointers on the double-pointed needles. I was highly dubious, but since I had time to kill at the airport, I figured I may as well keep knitting in a circle. I started the decrease before I got on the plane, then picked up where I'd left off once I boarded. Before I knew what hit me, I was knitting with double-pointed needles, and then I had a hat. And no one to share my disbelief with until I saw Michael.

It would seem that my stories, like my needlework, take a long time to get to the point. Now you see why I said, when I first started this blog, that I may not stick with it. Who knows what'll come next, if anything (though my trip to Seattle and all those cute DIY shops really have me wanting to get out the sewing machine). It's anyone's guess.


*In "The Brady Bunch" episode "Today I Am a Freshman," Marcia tries to fit into high school by joining every club possible, only to suffer burnout. Further proof that most scenarios in life are relatable to the Bradys, the Partridges or the Cleavers.