Having wandered in the back door via a knitting blog, I am becoming dissatisfied. My crafty life is all over the place right now, in baking and gardening, and I have a pile of beautiful coloured paper waiting to be transformed into something lovely.
I had a free morning at work a couple days ago, and I was immediately drawn into the crazy-creative lives of a number of bloggers who sew and paint and build, nary a knitter among them. Blogging for me is a constant search for an identity, who do I want to pretend to be? I keep remembering that I am not a knitter first, that I love embroidery and cross stitch, that knitting was the chosen outlet only because it was winter and cold and you have to have somewhere to set up the sewing machine (and it has to actually function).
There is a pile of quilting cotton hiding in the closet calling my name, my fingers itch for an embroidery hoop, and floss. And, even worse for a knitter, I've been at the crochet, which doesn't come easily but provides results I can't ignore.
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