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Last semester, the autumn of 2011, was quite relaxing. I had a lot of time on my hands, but I had a bunch of projects I had been postponing and that I then had time to get on with. After having Son I have been introduced to more and more people who knit. They’re mostly my age and have knitted for years already. The produce one gorgeous creation after the other, and their kids are dressed in the most adorable home-knitted clothes you can imagine. Whenever a friend has kids they’re there with the cutest little outfit, unique, with good colour combinations, and the perfect gift for a newborn world citizen. I can’t knit to save my life…

I had to do something though. Hour after hour I listened to them discuss the quality of different yarns, the recipes, and how to treat the finished garments. I turned to youtube. Then I found a book. I bought a needle. I bought a roll of yarn. And I taught myself how to crochet. It was quite easy. In only a short while I produced a hat for myself, one for son, another hat for myself (I scrapped the first – it was hideous), a set of handwarmers for myself, and a more complex set for my mom. But by then I had grown tired of it.

At least now I can, if I want to. And, while sitting in Aberdeen waiting for our flight home, I taught two of the world’s most wonderful ladies how to crochet as well. That way, when we’re approaching eighty and are sitting shaking together somewhere, we can shake while holding each our crochet needle. That way it’ll look like we’re doing something. We’ve even tried already! Not being eighty, but shaking with crochets needles in our hands. Shaking with laughter of the surreality of the three of us sitting in a room full of people with our needles and yarn. A few metres ahead of us sat three ladies a little older than us, 2-3 times older than us probably, but at least, they were knitting…