It all started with a cross

It all started with a cross. Well, I assume that’s how all good love affairs begin. A cross here and there. To be honest I can’t remember how it started. But for as long as I can remember I have been cross stitching. Nothing fancy. Just some good old fashioned crosses. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with the fancy types. I have tried them all over the years. Long stitch, embroidered flowers, herringbone, whitework. But my happy place is always back in the comfort of a cross.

As an early teen I’d enter my works in the local country show. First place every year. Sure I was the only teen in town who cross stitched. But I still feel those first-place certificates were that extra hit of dopamine I needed to continue. That and the $10 prize money.

I’m sure most, sorry ALL of those early works were far from a Picasso on the back. More like a Dali on the front. Lines like a bad snakes & ladders game, knots galore, threads breaking off and possibly unravelling. My actual crosses on the front were all over the place too. I’m actually ashamed to say how long it took me to notice the difference between crosses all going in one direction on a piece, and crosses that don’t. How many times did I glance past the paper ‘instructions’ with that little graphic showing how to do all the first row in one direction? Ppfffttt. Why would I need instructions on how to do something I’ve mastered to do while watching television? Something I’ve been literally doing my whole life.

Therapy. That’s all it really is. A cheap, harmless, quiet, take anywhere therapy. A way to zone out of everything else and keep my hands and brain occupied. I struggle sometimes to watch TV without doing an activity. If I’m too tired to craft, then I’m clearly too tired to concentrate on the TV. I even bought a few small kits while living/ working overseas in my 20’s. Restlessness took over after a few weeks, and without access to all my craft supplies I had to find the smallest, cheapest ‘quick fix’. Like a bad habit you can’t kick. Oh yeah, that’s probably called an addiction. I could give up anytime. But why do I need to.

I like to use the patterns as inspiration. I change colours and details to suit. Most of my creations have always been gifts for other people, and all that remains is a terrible photo I took in the taxi on the way to the party. One of my favourite gifts of late was a Wedding card for a best friend. I remembered a time when her and her now husband were always making lots of Game of Thrones references. So I scoured the internet for anything Game of Thrones related. When I found an image of all of the GOT characters, I knew I’d hit the jackpot. I chose two of the most recognisable, possible ‘couple’ characters, changed the colours a little, added a border, voila.

But today I’m making pride ‘Love’ cards. Bright colours to show my fantastic friends how much they are loved. “Are you there” whispers the Netflix holding screen. the world around me has gone deadly silent. But for how long? How long has my inner monologue quietly been whispering “in a minute”. I am lost today. Fallen down the rabbit hole. Lost in my addiction. Lost in a piece of aida cloth and the tiny crosses I can’t stop repeating. Just one more line. Just finish this skein. I’m nearly at the end of this colour. Lost. Lost and happy. And well, that’s all that really matters in the end. Isn’t it?