AECapital City Weekly When I first began to crochet, my self-taught creations often emerged as strange alien-like tubeworms, as opposed to socks, or old man winter's stocking cap when the attempt was for a hip headband. But then I discovered the absolute thrill that entered me when I began to rip out the stitches of half-crocheted wonkiness. Gleefully I would tear through row after row of semi-neat little yarn soldiers, felling them one by one. It gave me a sense of peace, while onlookers (like my family) watched in horror at the destruction. I was in a state of Zen.
Undoing mistakes and the Zen of tinking