Still can't crochet, dammit. Told myself to pull my socks up a while ago, and stop pretending that somehow it'd come to me overnight. I learned to knit and embroider as a kid, and while I hope I've improved since then, I think it's no coincidence that these are the techniques with which I feel most comfortable. Kind of like learning a second language before the age of six, I think. Some part of my brain sealed over before crochet got in. It doesn't help that everywhere you look there's lovely crochet happening, and people proclaiming, come on, it's easy. In spite of myself, I'm re-inspired, after listening to Brenda Dayne's interview with Annette Petavy. She's one of the ones touting crochet's easiness, but somehow, her tone is encouraging, rather than simply taunting.
This book has also re-inspired. Again, I can't tell for sure, but I think this is all the work of Eriko Aoki. If, by some miracle, I can conquer crochet, everyone I know will be getting a string bag for Christmas. Or a scarf loosely based on these drink coasters. In the event I fail, you'll all be getting heavy felt oven mitts.
Sometime back in January, I single, double and treble crocheted my way through a marathon night session at the Australian Open, feeling more and more confident that I'd cracked it. Only, my test square wasn't actually square: it was more of a triangle. As far as I can tell, I 'm not picking up the final chain in the row below, and for the life of me, can't tell where that might be. I swore I'd practice a little crochet a day, accepting my beginner status with zen-like calm. Rome wasn't built in a day, and all that. It hasn't happened. And I still can't play the piano, and my French..... well. Back to it.