Bonus points and I promise to like you if you can tell me what that’s from.
Last week, I shared with you some of my recent crafting disappointments. Things that didn’t quite turn out as planned. One of the main things I had been working on (which I really needed to cooperate with me) were the crocheted cuffs for Rana’s pants. The poor kid’s giraffe legs make all her pants look like high-waters. I made these cuffs thinking it would be a nice affordable way to get some more usage out of pants that otherwise fit. Except I ended up with this:
Still no explanation for this.
After multiple failed attempts at making a third cuff that refused to match either of the existing ones, I rolled them up and chucked them in a bin with assorted craft detritus. No, not the garbage, just random odds and ends.
Well, Kristen from Kristenisms wouldn’t let me give up that easily! If you go back and look in the comments, you’ll see how she kindly but firmly encouraged me to go block the darn things. I had nothing to lose at that point, so I gave it a go!
Grow, little cuff, grow!
And you know what? I had thrown in the towel too early. Kristen was right — through the miracle of blocking, I was able to get the cuffs to match. Hooray! Here’s Rana strutting her stuff in her refurbished pants.
The little patches on her pocket are hearts I crocheted out of the same multi-colored crochet thread last year when she deemed the gray corduroys “too boyish” and refused to wear them. Now they’re extra girly-pretty!
That should work!
Until her next growth spurt. In two weeks.
There is no Thanksgiving in France. Well, of course, that shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone, since there weren’t any Pilgrims and Indians and all that. So, no Thanksgiving in France. But neither is there any kind of equivalent holiday. For ex-pat Americans, this is one of the things we miss the most and something that almost all of us tried to replicate as best we could. Sometimes it’s a little tricky since the 4th Thursday of November is just a regular Thursday as far as the French are concerned. Some Americans would take the day off and others would just wait until evening for their Thanksgiving meal, or celebrate another day.
For our first Thanksgiving in France, Mr. Gren and I were delighted to be invited over to the apartment of some friends, along with a few other Americans from our church. But when that Thursday rolled around, Mr. Gren and I both woke up feeling sick as dogs. Sadly, we had to bow out. We spent the next few days sprawled out on the futon, feverish and puking, while we watched reruns of “Friends.” I don’t think that’s why we were sick.
Luckily for us, we didn’t completely miss out. Our church (American in origin) held an annual Thanksgiving dinner and invited the whole church body, plus a few people from the community. It was a huge event that took a lot of work and planning, but it was always a lot of fun. 10-12 turkeys, multiple pans of mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes, green beans and pumpkin pies. Our church was made up of people from all over the world and they enjoyed participating in an American tradition with a very American menu. The pumpkin pie was usually the dish met with the most apprehension. For the French, pumpkin is for soups, so to put it in a dessert was very strange to them. We won a few over, though. They especially enjoyed the idea of having a day of gratitude for all of God’s provisions. Une Fête de Grâce.
The church rented a large community hall. We decorated with flags representing the homelands of all the members of our congregation.
The church continues the tradition of a community Thanksgiving meal. So I guess I should revise my opening statement: There is Thanksgiving in France. It just looks a little different.