These are three crocheted crosses done in the last couple days. There is a mistake within each one of them.
The first one is on the edging, when I forgot to close a loop, and didn’t see it until I had already fastened off.
On the next one, the beginning stitch for an arm is connected in the wrong row. I didn’t see it until I got to the tip, so I decided that ripping out was too much trouble. I covered it over by doing an extra stitch within the colored border.
The third one wasn’t discovered until I was pinning it flat while wet. A set of 5 stitches has only 4 in place.
I simply stretched it a little. You can’t tell it’s missed.
But I know. And I almost was going to toss them all away.
My husband consoled me by telling me again about the human imperfections for doing handmade crafts, and that the recipients will appreciate my effort.
I was in bed, in the dark, trying to figure out why I made mistakes in the crochet. Usually, I stop and look back every 5 or 10 stitches, so I catch it if the pattern isn’t true to form.
And more important, why did I consider it too much bother to try and fix any of them?
Maybe because in my mind, I thought I had been done with the tiny work. I had made 12 little bookmarkers for donations.
My next project, a granny square aphgan, will be made with 4-ply yarn and a size K hook.
Then I read obituaries, therefore the need for sympathy cards, and I like to put in a cross as a quiet gift.
Almost resentfully, I set aside the heavy jeweltone yarn and again brought out the size 20 cotton and size 9 steel hook. These folks don’t know if I remember them or not. I haven’t seen her in almost 26 years. What does it matter after so long?
Then I got a long and sweet e-mail from someone who doesn’t usually have time to write more than 2 sentences.
Part of me thinks it doesn’t matter—he’s done with his body, but most of me thinks it sucks that people, men, friends of mine can leave this world with such little regard.
There were some angels out there doing some nudging.
Yeah, my crazy sentimental efforts do have meaning.
And the little crocheted crosses will soon be on their way.
I’m not going to point out any errors, my intentions are good.
~~love and Huggs, Diane