When a guitar is more helpful than a blue highlighter

I haven’t a lot to share just now. Last night I unravelled four rows of the border on the rug I am trying to finish for my niece, because I discovered the whole thing was fluting quite badly. It’s difficult crocheting into the sides of double crochet (or trebles for some), and obviously I had put too many stitches in. I am not overly happy with this rug, and I would have been less happy with it surrounded by a ripply border, so that was a loss of hours of my life and I will try again doing it the way I did it on Lucy’s rug. But I will ramble more about that when I actually have photos.

I am reading Notes from the Tilt-a-Whirl by ND Wilson and loving it, though sometimes it’s too late at night and my head is tilt-a-whirling. I have sadly neglected my guitar this year. I stopped having lessons because I was aiming to save more money, in a New Year's resolution and all, and realised that basically to improve I just need to put the time in to playing it and practising. It’s the juggle of too many hobbies, and I have been working on the above rug for much of this year. But I hope to go back to guitar in more disciplined fashion soon. I was nudged also by this quote from Notes from the Tilt-a-Whirl (though recognise it takes hard work to be proficient enough to so express a sunset):

We feel the need to communicate with each other about this thing we’re on, this spinning thing we can’t get off. We combine language and imagination and do our best. But our words fall short. They’re just noises in the air and flat ink on the page. And so we paint. We poke clay. We develop theories of architecture. We write poems and novels and produce grainy independent films. All to communicate ... how the world makes us feel? To make others feel the same? To proselytize? To remind others of what we all know, of what we all see, of what we all have felt, and then make them go through it again?

We imitate God’s words, but our noises are insufficient. So we doodle in the margins, children working to capture the Sistine Chapel with finger paints on a paper plate. What else can we do?

My father uses a blue highlighter to remind him of the good bits he reads, but it has trouble sticking to sunsets or thunderstorms or the cries of the meadowlark in Spring. His guitar is more helpful.