A million years ago, before I was ever a knitter, I loved to cross stitch. My mom made some really beautiful cross stitch pieces as gifts when I was little - maybe four or five years old - and I used to stand over her shoulder to watch. I loved the way a larger image slowly grew out of so many tiny stitches, and as soon as I had the dexterity, I started doing my own projects. My finest achievement: a fastidiously copied photo portrait of my brother and me, translated to cross-stitch and given to my mom as a Christmas gift when I was ten. (I started my overachieving dorkiness early.)
Even now, I can see echoes of deeply rooted creative joy in it: the methodical process, the colorful & complex charts, the tedious attention to detail - decades later, all of these things still make my heart sing.
Way back in there somewhere, I picked up this piece that my mom started. I think it's been in my stash for ten or fifteen years - and even through multiple purges, this neatly folded and color-coded project (thanks, Mom!) has remained. It's a picture with four panels and a leaf border, and even though I have no idea what the finished object could be, there's something about it that I love - maybe the delicate flower motifs, or the unusual dark background?
In any case - in the tradition of overachieving dorkiness - I think I'm going to try to finish it.
Happy Monday - and happy February!