My favorite afghan

I'm a fairly advanced crocheter and an intermediate knitter. I have several stitch dictionaries with thousands of patterns and dozens of balls of yarn. I have only one afghan, though.

I made it myself. It's not very fancy but it's mine, and it's my favorite. I've made dozens of "nicer, better" afghans, but I love what it represents. I deserve something beautiful, in my favorite colors, in an interesting stitch pattern. I deserve to invest dozens of hours into something for myself.

Since I can remember, I could never measure up to the normal stick - all the things normal people were able to accomplish with such ease. Tying my shoelaces? Riding a bike? All that happened, with great difficulty years after all the "normal" kids could do it. I had terrible social skills and was socially immature. No one knew it, but these were all classic signs of my disabilities. I always had a tremendous creative impulse, though, and I loved expressing myself.

I've never known any different and I thank God. Like I tell my husband, it's hard to miss something you never had. I never drove a car, so I don't miss it. I was never a party girl, so I don't miss lots of lights and action and excitement. Ugh. The thought of going to a club gives me the cold chills and it always has. I don't miss it, but I never felt adequate.

All the "Normal" people could do this and that. I can't. All the normal people have lots of freinds and such. I don't. About 12 years ago, when I was manic, I started creating an afghan in fall colors. For myself.

Up to this point, I'd made three afghans for myself but I wasn't happy with them. The first two - lurid creations of clashing colors that would give a blind man nightmares. The third was made with "gift" yarn. I had asked for bright yellow, I got butter yellow. I made it anyway but everytime I looked at it I remembered it wasn't what I wanted. I wanted warm fall colors that reminded me of the flaming trees and crunchy leafy goodness of a Virginia fall.

I started it. I liked it but I wanted something - more. Wide swaths of crimson and (finally!) bright yellow were an excellent start, but I wanted something more evocative of fall. I'd add random rows of red, crimson, and various oranges as the muse struck. I bought mystery yarn in thrift-store baggies and felted it (oops!) into the afghan.

A decade later, the finished product is a somewhat itchy, pilly acrylic. I didn't weave in some ends and the cheaper yarns shed more than my cat. But it's mine, and I made it. I am a loving, lovable person who deserves the afghan she always wanted.

I sleep under it every night, even in the summer.