“Dang, that’s a hardcore rope belt you got there. That’s not a rope belt–that’s a rope.”
“Yeah,” Ming said, working at a knot. I took his picture.
“Can I touch it?” I asked. “I think I’m really not going to like how it feels.” It looked rough as jute.
He held the rope out to me. I touched it with one finger. “Oh, it’s not as rough as I thought,” I said. “Looks like it could give you a splinter.”
Of course, Splinter was the wise rat in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I think they called him Sensei.
True confessions of Ming Lai–he was a boy scout. He was an eagle scout, in fact. When the cords to my headphones got tangled, I always handed them to Ming. “Will you untangle these for me?” I’d ask.
He was really good at it and didn’t get frustrated. So I began to refer to him as the untier of knots.
Yeah, this post from last year, right before my birthday, is sort of about that.
I remember that day, playing that David Bowie song “Life on Mars” for my mom, and she hated it. Poor Mama. I played her other songs that she liked too, I promise.
So strange, all that Mama is lost. Brilliance, skill, love, knowledge. All she remembered. The softness of her hands. How good she was at crocheting.
“Read this pattern to me, Marie,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“Yeah, just read it!”
“I don’t know what it means!”
Crochet patterns look like this.
Row 1: 2 dc in 4th ch form hook, *ch 7, sk next 5 ch, sc in next ch, ch 3, sk next 2 ch, sc in next ch, ch 7, sk next 5 ch**, (2dc, ch 1, 2 dc) in next ch; rep from * across, ending last rep at **, 3 dc in last ch, turn
She offered to teach me so many times.
“No,” I said.
“Why?” she asked.
“I can’t do one more thing!” I said. “All that yarn is not a good idea for me!”
“You don’t have to do it like me,” she said. “I have a yarn problem.”