In a week where my city gave a voice to all members of our community then said, "oops, never mind," it felt good to finish my #welcomeblanket. Made with yarn purchased from three locally owned shops, using a stitch I first learned from my grandmother. This blanket is headed to Chicago to join 2,000 miles of warm welcome before finding a home with a new immigrant to the United States.

It's not too late to knit, crochet or sew a blanket for this project--deadline November 4. Details at www.welcomeblanket.org.

Crafting my message, stitch by stitch

It took me awhile to figure out what I wanted my sign to say. It was important to me that it represented what I was marching for--and honestly, that list feels like it grows every day.

Should I put every issue I care about on one sign? What if I leave something out? What order should they be in? Should I focus on just one?

So I took a step back because, at the core, there are some fundamental things about this country and what I thought it stood for that are under attack in ways I didn't even understand. There are things that I believe that I need to take fuller ownership of, and keep marching for.

I believe that our differences are what make us interesting. That our blending of cultures, heritages, languages and religions are what weave the beautiful tapestry that is America. That our connections across neighborhoods, states and countries make us stronger. That we, as a people, can only truly get ahead when we lift each other up. That none of us can truly be free until all have equal access to opportunity.

My forward-facing sign was a personal expression of my beliefs. The act of stitching it was an opportunity to reflect on what matters to me and a tangible reminder for the days ahead.

The reverse was a message to my fellow Marchers, with women especially in mind. Simple words that can never be heard enough.

I am thankful that so many messages were carried on the signs of millions of marchers around the world. Some provided levity, others were heartbreaking or hopeful. I am heartened that so many issues, causes and beliefs will march on with others as I focus on the issues for which I can do the most good. The awe-inspiring feeling of yesterday, of being part of the rivers of people that flooded so many streets, brought me hope and reaffirmed for me what I am marching for. None of us are alone; we are truly stronger together. Thanks to my fellow Marchers I am fired up and ready to go.

Friday Confession: I don't know how to knit

Knitting is one of those things that seems to be synonymous with craft for some folks. It's also what many assume you're doing if they see you out and about with yarn and some type of needle.

And since I own a craft truck, surely I know how to knit?

Confession: I don't.

I have a personal stockpile of yarn (in yummy colors and delicious textures). I have a bag and a bin and maybe another smallish box of unfinished yarny projects. I have needles in varying sizes. And I love the texture of a finished piece. But I never learned to knit.

I don't have anything against it. In fact, I'm always rather in awe of the beautiful pieces I see knitters create. But crochetting is the thing my grandmother taught me to do and I just haven't gotten around to taking a class on knitting. Perhaps I'm afraid of those pointy needles...or the fact that you need more than one to create. Or maybe I'm just afraid that my love of yarn would really get out of hand if I added another method of using it. Or maybe it's that I still have so much to learn about crochet first.

Regardless, I love seeing a ball of yarn become something else entirely--no matter the type of needle that helped it get there.

Blog post inspired by Tiffany Han's Friday's Confession series. Darling handmade bowl pictured above made by Tasha McKelvey.