I can’t help but notice that you’ve stumbled across my brand-spankin’-new blog! 

I need to make a few confessions before we begin.  Deep, dark confessions.

A) My name is not Ginger.

B) I don’t make stuff.

There, now I feel better. 

HOWEVER.  If I may, I’d like to offer a little explanation of what this blog is about, and to justify its existence.  Or something like that.

A) I was born to be a Ginger and my parents just didn’t realize it.  My stupid, stupid parents.  Also, Ginger is a shortened form of my married name, so yeah, that’s fate trying to work out my Ginger destiny.  Thanks, Lady Fate! 

B) I’m starting to make stuff!  My mother is a wildly talented artistic type– she designs landscaping, knits, crochets, sews, quilts (by hand!!), paints, rearranges furniture like a mofo– you name it, she can do it… and it looks great on her first attempt EVERY time.  She uses some sort of voodoo spell, I’m convinced.  My dad, on the other hand, is not artistic in the least, but he is a methodical, careful, meticulous, and thorough person.    

I’m pretty sure I’m adopted.  Or that someone switched storks on my folks without their knowledge.  I am, well, not very much like either parent.  I’m: messy, impatient, careless, a perennial starter-of-projects-that-will-never-be-completed, and a consumer of way too many corn syrup-based foods. 

All this began to change (well, except the corn syrup part, which will probably never change) about a year ago when a lovely friend introduced me to both knitting and the intoxicating world of Ravelry!  I’m slowly but surely building up patience and the ability to do things slowly and correctly, and I’m discovering for the first time the joy of making– of taking a few balls of yarn and turning them into a sweater for a treasured friend, for example. 

Through this, I’m working up the nerve to conquer my childhood archnemesis, sewing!  My mother is an exquisite seamstress, and her attempts to teach me this craft involved, in no particular order, temper tantrums, crying, and an Aladdin-themed fashion show at the county fair (hosted by men wearing iridescent purple Hammer pants, just in case you were wondering). 

So… wish me luck!  I can’t help but feel that I’ve been missing out all these years on a crucial connection to women’s history, as well as to my mother, and I’m eager to join this mysterious sisterhood (are there secret handshakes?  Will I learn how to use a zipper foot?).  Thanks for reading, and maybe we can, um, make something together, like, if you’re into that sort of thing, or whatever, I mean?