Rhetoric Rheya Tanner muses on life as a local
Loose Ends An incomplete memoir of incomplete hobbies
H
ere lies the lost and forgotten. All my drawings left undrawn, my weaves left unwoven, my passion projects that never saw the light of day, not because they were unworthy, but because I got bored and something else looked way cooler. I’m a serial craft killer, and I do feel some remorse; each new project was so fun and fulfilling during the three days or so that I cared about it. The best way to honor those memories, of course, would be to go back and finish what I started. But I’m not going to do that, so instead, I will recognize them here and, with the tolling of their death knell, properly lay them to rest: One hand-crocheted triangle scarf that was a gift for an acquaintance.
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The Local
I spent four skeins of yarn and 20 hours on it. It still waits at the bottom of my yarn bag, even though I haven’t seen that acquaintance in half a decade now. I don’t even remember how to finish it. Ding. The fantasy novella I started to write in seventh grade, and then the other one I started in eleventh grade, and then the other one I started in my junior year of college. I stick with poetry now. Ding. At least five potted plants that gave their lives so I could be one of those Millennials who had potted plants for a while. Ding. Two dozen decorative canvases, frames, and other decor sitting in my office in a neat little pile. I took them all down last December in order to “re-
WI N TE R G AR DE N
hang them better.” Ding. Three hearty servings of a home-cooked veggie skillet dinner I made last weekend as “meal prep.” I got sick of it and went to Chipotle after the second one. Ding. One knitted swatch of my favorite yarn that was supposed to be a glove until I realized knitting sucks and crochet is way easier. Ding. Five or six facemasks I stitched together back when people still cared about the aesthetics of a facemask. It was my first time using a sewing machine. You can tell. Ding. Too many too-long pairs of pants I haven’t donated because I was definitely going to hem them. I’m definitely still going to do it. Ding. A box of dried Crayola markers and coloring books with an eighth of their pages
a quarter of the way colored in. I always start a new one because the vibes are off with the old one now. Ding. A five-inch embroidery hoop and linen that were part a $30 starter kit I bought from Michael’s when I decided I was suddenly super into embroidery. It is dripping with the colorful threads of the loose ends I never tied off. How symbolic. Ding. And, uh, this. This article, which I’m writing way too close to presstime. Ding. (Sorry.) OK, cool, we’re done, my conscience is cleared. I think I’m finally ready to throw these old crafts away… so I can fish them right back out of the trash for the next project because we’re all about upcycling now, baby!
