(Inspired by one of the suggested topics from
last month's Knitting and Blog Crochet Week)
Have you ever dreamed of having an entire day of crafting? (Heck, since we're dreaming, let's dream big - make it a week if you like). No obligations or appointments; no expectations to fulfil - just you and your yarn (or paper, or fabric, or beads, as the case may be).
I've dreamed of it, often. Here's how my day would pan out:
I would wake early, without benefit of alarm (a fantasy in itself), after a perfect night's sleep. My face would be dewy and glowing - no need to wash or make up - and my hair would fall silkily into place. (Still in the realms of fantasy here.) After slipping into something casual yet stylish (ha!), I'd float happily into the kitchen, where a pot of fresh tea would be waiting alongside a perfectly cooked breakfast. I don't know what the breakfast would be - whatever I was in the mood for at the time - but I do know it would involve eggs and some savoury part of a pig. And definitely pastry of some sort.
I'd eat in the porch, with a blue sky outside my windows, birds singing in the trees, and squirrels hopping across the lawn. No traffic noise would mar the sounds of the morning; all would be hushed and listening to nature's song.
Breakfast over, the dishes would fade mistily away, and yarn and hook would magically appear in their place. What kind of yarn? Silk yarn. Alpaca yarn. Fine cotton, wool, and every luscious combination of natural fibers known to woman. With a happy sigh, I'd choose one and start to crochet.
What would I make? Whatever I wanted. A design would grow - not without effort, but without any sense of urgency, or the feeling that I ought to be doing something else. Time would stand still while my hands and my hook investigated all the potential variations on a theme (which seems an inevitable part of the design process). And I'd be able to decide, without dithering, which of the many possible stitch combinations was best.
Fresh tea would appear at intervals throughout the day, along with perfect snacks and meals. Calories wouldn't matter, because in fantasy craft world crochet burns as many calories as cycling. (We have clearly exited the realm of fantasy and are now in an alternate universe.)
No phones would ring; no laundry would be waiting; no thoughts of cleaning would intrude on this period of creativity and peace.
Would I be alone all this time? I think so. Mr. M would be off on some ploy of his own, which would include comfortable meals at proper intervals - but meals not served by me, not today. (Perhaps my fantasy craft day has been preceded by a few days of intensive cooking, so there are plenty of things for Mr. M to take with him. Interesting that even in a fantasy world I think about feeding Mr. M.)
At the end of the day, I'd have worked out a handful of designs. I wouldn't have completed the objects themselves, just settled to my own satisfaction the way they should be tackled, so I'd have the making of them to look forward to. And, having spent the day on my own, I rather think I'd be missing Mr. M by this time and want to enjoy a good dinner with him. (A magical dinner, of course - appearing from nowhere and leaving no dirty dishes behind.)
The day would finish with a spectacular sunset, of which I'd take many beautiful pictures (for posting here), and about which I'd compose a perfect poem - one with no wasted words.
As long as I'm in fantasy land, I may as well dream up some dessert: a large slice of mud pie* would do me just fine, with one final cup of perfect tea. And so to bed.
What's your perfect craft day?
*Mud pie, as understood by me: a base of crushed Oreos mixed with melted butter, pressed into a pan and frozen, then topped with a layer of ice cream and frozen again. A goodly amount of fudge sauce is added as topping. The glorious whole is frozen once more, then sliced like a pie and consumed with delight.
After reading over this post, it occurs to me that many of the elements of this fantasy day are within my reach. I'll never wake up with perfect skin and hair; I'll probably never have the world of luxury yarn within my grasp; and magical meals have yet to appear in our lives. But I have plenty of food in the kitchen (including farm fresh eggs and local bacon); a bountiful supply of tea; a porch to sit in - with blue sky and birds and squirrels outside; I have baskets of yarn and oodles of hooks; and a husband whom I love (and who loves me). And, lactose-intolerance notwithstanding, I still enjoy the occasional slice of mud pie. Real life isn't so bad.
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