caroline holzberger

Old Dogs, New Tricks

I was never a girly girl.

In fact, I was basically a little boy until womanhood hit me over the head at the ungodly early age of eleven. Not cool, God.

I liked getting dirty.

I love, love, loved sports.

I loved building and inventing.

I didn’t play with dolls.

I didn’t have an Easy-Bake oven.

And I certainly didn’t knit or crochet.

Until now.

Now, as a Mom of Miss Priss, I love playing dolls.

I love cooking and baking in my big girl oven.

And last night (dun da da duuuuun!) I bravely embarked on the world of knitting.

I mean, crocheting. Which, apparently is not the same thing.

Super Neighbor learned how to shocker! and she’s now a crochet extraordinaire. If she starts making her own bath soap or candles, I’ve told her I’m moving.

As soon as I took this picture of what she made my baby girl and her ‘best baby’, I knew I had to learn. I am aware ‘best baby’ needs a bath. Just sayin’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t get me started on the adorable one she made for me…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OR her sweet baby boy…

 

 

 

 

 

I know, I know. Ridiculously cute, huh?!

Anyway…I had to be able to tell my little girl, “Mama made that for you!” someday. And not be lying through my teeth.

I want to learn teach her about make-up.

I want to learn how to French braid.

I want to paint her sweet little toes.

Not because i think she has to do this stuff to be a ‘real girl”. That’s dumb. But I want to be into what she is into. And she is into that stuff. Along with bugs, dirt and trying to pee on a tree like her brothers. Don’t get me started. But, these girl things may be easier than learning French without Rosetta Stone. At least, for me. But, God can teach an old dog new tricks. He can. And He’s gonna have to.

So, Super neighbor threw a little crochet girl’s night, which, a few years ago I would have laughed at, politely declined, and then teased my friends that did go. While I stayed home and watched SportsCenter.

Now, however, I am much more mature. So, I accepted the invitation, arrived, and then made fun of all of us while eating chips and queso and chocolate. I love you queso!

I generally don’t like to do things I’m not good at. It’s one of my finer qualities, of course. In some cases, I keep trying, so that once I become good at it, then and only then I enjoy it. Then, all is well. After all, my kids gotta eat. The ‘learning to cook’ stages of my life have been darn near hilarious. But, that’s for another time.

So, some of my dear friends and I sat around trying to not get kicked out of the party pay attention as Super neighbor’s sister-in-law, Anna, with the patience of a saint, explained everything. Again and again and again. Undeterred by our rascally attitudes – “I teach high school Spanish, I can handle you girls.” – Anna stayed the course. God bless her.

Let me tell you something. Crocheting is not easy. At all.

It takes patience. Discipline. Precision. Consistency.

In case you didn’t know, no one has ever described me in that way. Quite the opposite actually.

But, I am convinced that God can teach an old dog can new tricks. Eventually.

There’s something peaceful about crocheting. It is adorably mind-numbing. I appreciate that.

This hobby has been enjoyed for decades centuries? I have no clue. and has brought women together for a purposeful gathering.

To laugh. To listen. To share life. To be productive.

I kinda love that I actually sat there and tried but failed miserably to do something that generations before me have done.

A hundred years ago, women didn’t txt each other.

They didn’t blog, or post on facebook.

They gathered around and quitled, or knitted, or crocheted.

I am not saying that those two things are next on my list, Lord, help me but God once again didn’t cease to amaze me as I reflected on my attempt at this time honored tradition. He assured me that old school isn’t bad. Getting back the basics can be a beautiful thing. Pure. Lovely. Good.

I’m kinda over the whole fast-paced and culture-driven life everyone (including me!) has fallen victim to. I don’t have any desire to be a part of any rat race. I don’t know the Joneses and therefore don’t’ feel like I want to try and keep up with them. Been there, done that. Got the materialistic closet full o’ junk to prove it.

Last month, Anna lost her husband to cancer. She is thirty-nine years old. She crochets these hats for cancer patients. She gives back. She serves. She takes this beautiful trade and blesses others.

I want to do that too.

Winter is coming and God has already told me that I can be praying for some people who will need warm scarves and hats this winter. People with no heater to keep them warm and no roof to keep them protected.

So, I will keep practicing. I will make it past the eight inch straight line I made last night. Frustrated, I cried out to my friends for reassurance – “Homeless people need yarn-snake-bracelets, too, don’t they?!”

They didn’t comply.

Darn those old dogs.

I sure do love them though.

 

 

 

 

 

Ps. Look what I taught myself how to do today. Girliness, here I come.

Too bad sister friend will never sit still that long again!