Me and Johnny Cash.
We share the same birthday, but that’s as far as we go. If he were still alive today, he’d be 54 years older than me. The only reason why we share the same birthday is because I held out half an hour so that I wouldn’t have to share a birthday with my aunt. My mom likes to tell this story a lot. Repeatedly. In any case, me and Johnny…we’re good. We’re tight.
I grew up in a lovely house in the suburbs of a then quiet, prairie city. Those really were the good old days.
My childhood consisted of being surrounded by pom poms, construction paper, glue sticks, paint, fabric, googly eyes, crayons, markers, scissors, beads, clay, and of course, stickers. Strangely enough, yarn didn’t enter my life until I was 11, when my aunt tried to teach me how to knit. I picked it up very quickly, but lost interest even quicker, mostly because my life (at that time) was full of changes…new school, new friends, more homework, music competition after competition…I got my first grey hair at 11.
By the time I got my hands on yarn again, I was 23, in love, and…apparently this is where everything gets a little fuzzy. I can’t remember the exact day I picked up my needles again, but I do remember being ridiculously bored while surfing the net.
And that’s pretty much where it started.
But please don’t get me wrong…this blog isn’t completely about knitting. It’s just that knitting occupies most of my free time, and I like talking about it. A lot. To a point where, out-of-the-blue, someone came up to me one day and said,”Yarn?”
I didn’t know how to respond…I didn’t even know if it was a legit question…so I just replied with,”Yes.”
This is me!