Monday, November 24, 2014

Becoming the Champion of Knitting

I have a tendency to get notions. Most of these notions come out of nowhere, just an idea, and then suddenly I throw myself at that idea. Without warning anyone. I simply decide that I think something is possible, therefore it will be so. In other words, I'm a bit stupid. When I was about nine years old I decided I was going to become the knitting champion of the world.
It didn't matter that I had never knitted before. I was sure that I would be the best.
I mostly decided on knitting, because everyone was always going on about how good the other girl in my class was at it. She was forever clicking her needles and casting off beautiful scarves. I decided to scope out the competition.
After listening to her speech about how much she loved to knit things for others, I decided she was a fake. I also decided that my knitting success would cause her to be forgotten forever more.
I knitted for all I was worth. I did not even know what it was I was knitting.
It soon became clear that I needed a goal. Knitting to take over the world was not enough. I needed a smaller temporary thing to focus on.
That didn't work either.
I had to tell someone my plans, that way it would be easier to keep going. So I told me father of my plans to knit him a hat.
I was incensed.
We had to bring our knitting to school. I was too embarrassed to take mine out as it was not quite at extravagant as I had wanted it to be. So I spent the class glaring at our prized knitter and contemplating ways to steal her work.
But the teacher insisted that I join the class activity. So I knitted along with the best of them.
This obviously didn't last long. There is nothing more soul destroying than knitting.
Knitting soon took over my life. I spent my evenings trying to make my dad's hat, knowing that queen knitter was visiting her granny, bestowing countless scarves upon her.
It became clear that this was one battle I would never win.
But then I had a notion.
I would knit more than anyone else, I'd just knit super tiny things so it wouldn't take ages.

Monday, November 3, 2014

The Truth About Riding Sheep

There comes a time in every girl's childhood that she notices a void in her life. For me that was a horse. Having never wanted anything much, up until that point, it seemed like it would be something easy to obtain by simply smiling and requesting it.
But the pony request was met with silence. It seemed there was a limit to the happiness my parents would allow me. So I decided to pray to the God-person everyone was always talking about.
It became clear that he was a fake.
So I turned to the other magical entity of childhood....Santa....
It was harder for me to understand why Santa didn't answer. I had physical proof of his existence every Christmas morning. It seemed silly he wouldn't bring me a pony, when I did all the things that adults told me constituted being a good girl.
It was clear I needed to take matters into my own hands.
I decided to turn our dog into a horse.
The dog was less than cooperative and I soon gave-up. I cast about for different ideas and soon I had an idea.
I scoped out my mother's small gathering of animals (her attempt at rekindling her childhood farmyard memories) and decided on my next victim.
I wanted to commandeer the fastest animal. I was surprised when I discovered which animal that was.
The geese were by far the speediest of our creatures and also, as I soon discovered, relatively difficult to straddle. After several attempts I finally had myself the most unlikely of pony substitutes.
However, geese are an oppressed creature and it wasn't long before my goose-horse turned quite violently against me.

The Goose was not a long term solution.
It was clear to me that I would need to pick an animal with less dexterity of the neck, no beak and no tendency to manic fits of violence.
I decided upon what I deemed to be the most gormless of creatures.
The sheep were faster than me and after running several futile laps of the field, I had to reconsider my tactics.
I decided to pull out all the stops.
After several ninja-type approaches that failed, I decided to scale a tree that they grazed under. I knew they would never expect me to drop from the sky onto their fluffy little backs.
I'd like to say I only tried this method once, but we both know that would be a terrible lie. Instead I plunged from the tree countless times.
Each time. the sheep would wait till I was inches from straddling them, before side-stepping neatly out of the way and continuing to graze. The sheep broke me, I lost interest in finding a pony and learnt an important lesson about underestimating our fluffy friends.

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