"Can't you just give us the answers?"

This was a question one of my 7th grade students asked yesterday as we finished a review for a test today. The question stuck with me long after the school day ended. Usually, their questions are lost in a miasma of repetition. Can I go the bathroom? What? May I go to the bathroom? Why do we have to say "may I?" Can we have snack; I mean, may we have snack?" Do we have silent lunch today?

The test did not go well for a lot of them. They are, for the most part, struggling with the following concepts: absolute value and addition and subtraction of negative numbers. I try to explain to them that they have to take the time to figure it out, that me giving them the answers is insufficient, that all I can really do is give them the tools to figure out the answers, but that ultimately, the answers are theirs to find, not mine to give.

They are, however, not reassured. Like many of the other questions they have for me, they expect action (signing a hall pass) or at least an answer (Yes, you do have silent lunch today). They are not the least big comforted when I tell them that it is up to them and that they must take action. Everything is new. The endlessly hurt feelings as they jockey to find their places in the world. When they say things that are mean and thoughtless, they think it will hurt my feelings they way it would hurt theirs. They are genuinely sorry, even if only for a few seconds.

Monday is a new day. Perhaps they will find some answers.

I have other interests besides crochet, not least of which is wrinkle treatments. I don't know what it is I like about them so much. I know that part of what I like is the ritual. Not just the ritual of using the products, but the ritual of going out to buy them. The way I slip my flip-flops off at Walgreen on a miserably hot summer day and cool off while I peruse the labels of the myriad products. Or perhaps, it is finally having the house to myself and making use of whatever preparation awaits. One of my new favorites is the revita-lift mask by L'Oreal. What I like is how unapproachable I am when I have the mask on my face. It is as if it is a barrier between me and all of the things in my life that encroach on my psyche. Sort of a moat for the soul. Then there is the glycolic peel. It is so easy, but so effective. Then there are the lotions I keep in my drawer at work. I apply them to my face whenever I I need to ward off the world. I do love wrinkle cream.

To say that I like to crochet doesn't quite get at the intensity of my level of involvement with yarn and hooks. While my investment of time with the craft waxes and wanes, since I learned to crochet, it has become a part of my life that I didn't anticipate. I stop and talk to people I don't know and ask to examine their hats, shawls, purses, and other assorted accessories and items. I am utterly shameless where crochet is involved, and if the occasion came across my path, I would probably interrupt a funeral to learn about a stitch I hadn't seen before.

While I can accept on an intellectual level that it is possible that there is no such thing as a crochet emergency, this intellectual knowledge does not inform my personal life. After Katrina hit, all I could think of was all of the displaced crocheters whose yarn, hooks, and patterns had been lost forever. What would they do for tools and materials? How would they relieve their stress with all of their earthly crochet good washed away or forever damaged beyond repair? I would hope that if life put me in a similar situation, someone would step forward and provide me succor in the form of hooks and yarn that I could use to start my life fresh.