This weekend, I found myself more or less confined to a small house in Chimbote for the wake and funeral of one of the uncles to the family, with my crochet hook and the yet unfinished bobble bag, some size 3 needles, and small balls of leftovers. I couldn’t remember the bobble stitch, and I didn’t have any patterns with me, so I used single crochet to make a back and strap, and turned the bobble bag into a small purse {Christmas present for one of the girls?}. I finished the Hannah hat in the bus on the way to Chimbote, and I used up the left-over purple cotton fleece to knit a drawstring pouch as a gift for the exchange we have in class on Thursday-saves me having to buy a gift, I used up stash yarn, and kept my fingers occupied for a couple of hours. The family welcomed me with open arms, considering the situation, and as the days passed more people realized that I wasn’t so-and-so’s niece, or that-one-cousins wife, and then we started talking about knitting. One of the nearly blind cousins yanked my needles and project right out of my hand to hold it up to her good eye, and then proceeded to purl across the row. Apparently Stockinette stitch is called Jersey stitch (pronounced yer-say), and seed stitch is known as arroz (rice) stitch. Learn something new everyday-and by the time we left yesterday afternoon, at least thirty relatives asked whether or not I had finished my projects-even in a country where people knit while walking down the street there are still some that are intrigued by what you are making.
No comments:
Post a Comment