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YourCrochet Launches An Extensive Database of Free Crochet Patterns for All Skill Levels

YourCrochet Launches An Extensive Database of Free Crochet Patterns for All Skill Levels

Introducing a new hub for crocheters to search, save and share free crochet patterns from around the world.
'Our goal was to create a one-stop center with free crochet patterns for those looking for inspiration and new projects.' — YourCrochet Team
LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM, February 13, 2025 / EINPresswire.com / -- YourCrochet, one of the best online platforms for crochet lovers, built an extensive database of free crochet patterns. This giant collection includes thoughtfully selected projects from designers worldwide, serving as the ultimate source of inspiration for crocheters.
With the growing popularity of crochet as a hands-on hobby, YourCrochet saw the need to create a searchable database of free patterns for all skill levels, from beginners to advanced crocheters. Among the standout features are filtering options that allow for sorting patterns by skill, season, and project type. A library designed in such a way makes searching for patterns particularly easy and user-friendly. Additionally, it is possible to save liked patterns in a Pinterest profile, where one can create their own collections for further inspiration.
The library features a diverse collection of patterns, including blankets, amigurumi, decor, and garments. Moreover, one can search for projects that match a particular season, looking to make festive Christmas ornaments or Valentine-themed ideas like this Crochet Heart Granny Square Pattern. As a result, crocheters can find multiple types of projects in one place without spending hours scrolling through the internet.
'We are extremely pleased to have built such a huge and easy-to-use pattern database on our site, said YourCrochet's team. 'Our goal was to create a one-stop center with free crochet patterns for those looking for inspiration and new projects, and we think that work has been delivered.'
YourCrochet's team carefully selects projects to include a mix of classic and modern designs. Their library is constantly updated with new patterns to bring the latest designs from the most popular crochet designers.
Offering a built-in search engine for browsing patterns redefines the way crocheters can search for their new projects. The platform continues to be a destination for everything crochet-related, and the new library reaffirms its commitment to providing valuable resources for the community. Visit YourCrochet.com to start exploring its vast collection of free patterns.
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Asking Eric: Neighbor denigrates Chicago
Asking Eric: Neighbor denigrates Chicago

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time8 hours ago

  • Chicago Tribune

Asking Eric: Neighbor denigrates Chicago

Dear Eric: We are a group of three female former co-workers who have gathered regularly for 10 years to celebrate birthdays and Christmas. We have taken turns at each other's homes and always had a nice time eating, laughing and reminiscing together. This year, one member of our group ghosted the other two of us. She will not respond to phone calls or messages. We are totally in the dark and confused by this and don't know if we should continue to reach out or let it go. She has given us no indication, at any time, of a problem. She recently became a grandma and didn't invite us to the baby shower. My feeling is to let it go and hope she is OK. What do you think we should do? – Heartbroken Dear Heartbroken: This abrupt shift is concerning. If you know someone else who knows her, even casually, you should reach out to them just to confirm that she's physically safe. You don't have to get into the details of your friendship, but something as simple as 'I haven't heard from her in a bit, do you know if everything is OK?' could put your mind partially at ease. Since you know about the new grandchild, it's likely you already know that she's fine, just not responding. But if you have a doubt, reach out. It may not prompt her to re-establish contact with you but could affirm that she has a good social safety net, should she need it. Now, it's possible, though unfortunate, that she may have outgrown the friendship, or something may have shifted in her feelings, and you and the other friend may not have noticed. This can make you feel powerless, in addition to hurt. One way to take some of that power back is to perform a ritual of closure for your friendship. Don't worry, this sounds fancier than it is. Right now, there's just a sharp drop-off where your friendship used to be. That's going to feel like a wound that doesn't heal. Write her a letter in which you thank her for the times you spent together and the gift of friendship she gave you and wish her well. You may not even want or need to send it. This is a letter for you, as well. We may not always get to tell those we love 'goodbye and thank you,' but that doesn't stop us from saying it. And in speaking it, it becomes real. Dear Eric: I'm a right above-knee amputee. I became an amputee two years ago due to an escalated argument with my mother who stabbed me seven times while I was knocked unconscious with a bat. She was given 12 years. She'll do six and a half. She is also my neighbor. Should I move? But also, why should I move? I bought this property as a teenager. I've worked all my life. Why should I give up a home I have poured blood sweat and tears into? Is it worth the trauma to stay? – Want to Stay Home Dear Home: You shouldn't have to move. And it sounds like you have a number of years to figure out how to make your home a safe space. Talk to the local authorities and perhaps the DA that handled your case about your options for a restraining order or other protections. However, this isn't just about property or physical safety. Even with her incarcerated, this neighborhood is a site of violence for you and so it's likely that the trauma is going to keep being perpetuated if you don't address it. You've suffered a huge loss, and a therapist or support group can help you process that. Tending to your emotional well-being will better set you up to make a healthy choice when she returns. Dear Eric: Recently I was chatting with a new neighbor and said that I had lived in Chicago for a number of years prior to moving to my current city. This new neighbor looked at me and said, 'I'm sorry.' When I said, 'sorry about what,' he turned and walked away. Can you shed some light on this? – Former Chicagoan Dear Chicagoan: As someone who loves Chicago whenever I visit, I don't think there's any light to shed here, alas. People who feel the need to denigrate entire cities need to work on their conversational skills. Maybe get a hobby. It shows a real lack of understanding about how large the world is. It's silly to write off an entire city. It's silly to write off an entire block. If you don't want to live someplace, that's perfectly fine. But to say no one should live there or it's beyond saving? Wow, I can't imagine being so unimaginative.

My youngest is off to college, but I reject the term 'empty nester'
My youngest is off to college, but I reject the term 'empty nester'

USA Today

timea day ago

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My youngest is off to college, but I reject the term 'empty nester'

My son will leave, as his brother did, and my wife and I will remain in a nest that, granted, will have more space and be a bit quieter. But those who say 'empty nest' suggest something is missing. My wife and I will soon be, in the parlance of parenting, empty nesters. It's a term I've decided to reject. I've been rejecting a lot of things lately, if I'm being honest. Things like the fact that my youngest son – who approximately 15 minutes ago was a warm, burping bean slung tenderly over my shoulder – is now an adult human, both prepared for and (rudely) excited to head to college. And the simple fact that I played a small part in raising two remarkable additions to humanity, and the 'they live among us' portion of that job is done. How is that possible? It was a blink. It was a marathon that unfolded like a sprint. Taking my youngest child to college is a chapter's end I want to reject the reality of the moment – a moment I share with all parents preparing to send their last offspring out into the world – but it's a fool's errand. Opinion: On a college visit with my son it hit me. He's leaving. He's ready. And I'm not. This is a moment that should come. That must come. Our kids enter our lives, fabulously and chaotically. They give us more than we could ever imagine while wearing us down to shadows of our former selves. We live for them and through them and around them, all to prepare them to split, to go out and do their own things and live their lives and hopefully – hopefully – find we gave them the tools to live well. So I can't reject the fact that he's grown. He's taller than me, stronger than me. It's all very obnoxious, frankly. And I can't reject the fact that he's leaving. He's ready. I may or may not be, but it's happening. And I'm happy – thrilled, really – for him. Go get 'em, kiddo. I'm so proud of you, it hurts. The term 'empty nest' doesn't reflect the reality of a happy home But I can and will reject the oft-used term 'empty nest.' I'm writing this from a chair in our living room, and while no one else is home save the dog, I don't see emptiness. I see, vividly, as if he were there, my youngest's now-long legs dangling off the arm of the couch while he tells me about his day. I see him years ago, on the sidewalk outside, walking to the bus for the first day of middle school. I see him and my wife and his older brother at Christmas, collapsing in laughter. I look into the dining room and can hear the whirr of drones he'd fly around the house, the shouts of 'BOOM!' around the old wood table where we played countless games of UNO and Yahtzee. I see, clear as if they were there, LEGOs strewn about the floor and Hot Wheels tracks twisting and turning up and over furniture from one end of the house to the other. To new and struggling teachers: Don't give up. America's kids need you. | Opinion You fit a lifetime into raising a kid for 18 years This nest isn't empty. Not even close. In his 18 years, we've stuffed this house so full of memories it's a wonder the drywall doesn't crack from the pressure. Smiles and tears and skinned knees and arguments and lectures and hours of football and snacks and movies and long tales and 'Be safe!' exhortations as he had one foot out the door. This nest isn't empty. He will leave, as his brother did, and my wife and I will remain in a nest that, granted, will have more space and be a bit quieter. But those who say 'empty nest' suggest something is missing. They suggest emptiness with a note of negativity. As if the home where we raised our children will somehow become vacant. That I reject. I'll miss my son terribly, but I won't return home to emptiness I will miss my youngest as I've missed his brother. It will hurt like hell at first, I know. Not hearing him rattle around upstairs. Not seeing him surreptitiously toss bits of whatever he's eating to the dog. Not seeing him wave with a goofy grin as he parades through the living room with a pack of cackling friends. Locking up the house at night and knowing he's somewhere else. Opinion alerts: Get columns from your favorite columnists + expert analysis on top issues, delivered straight to your device through the USA TODAY app. Don't have the app? Download it for free from your app store. I'll miss him, but whatever room or hallway I pass through in this house will never be empty. This nest, blessedly, will forever be full, brimming with moments and movement and the echoes of our boys, scenes from a monumental chapter of our lives and theirs, with many chapters to follow and more moments and echoes to add. I won't call myself an empty nester. Nope. I reject that. But as I hug my boy and drive back to the home he helped fill with boundless joy, I'll gladly call myself the luckiest man alive. Follow USA TODAY columnist Rex Huppke on Bluesky at @ and on Facebook at You can read diverse opinions from our USA TODAY columnists and other writers on the Opinion front page, on X, formerly Twitter, @usatodayopinion and in our Opinion newsletter.

Separated by a border for decades, parents and children are reunited at last
Separated by a border for decades, parents and children are reunited at last

Los Angeles Times

time2 days ago

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Separated by a border for decades, parents and children are reunited at last

José Antonio Rodríguez held a bouquet of flowers in his trembling hands. It had been nearly a quarter of a century since he had left his family behind in Mexico to seek work in California. In all those years, he hadn't seen his parents once. They kept in touch as best they could, but letters took months to cross the border, and his father never was one for phone calls. Visits were impossible: José was undocumented, and his parents lacked visas to come to the U.S. Now, after years of separation, they were about to be reunited. And José's stomach was in knots. He had been a young man of 20 when he left home, skinny and full of ambition. Now he was 44, thicker around the middle, his hair thinning at the temples. Would his parents recognize him? Would he recognize them? What would they think of his life? José had spent weeks preparing for this moment, cleaning his trailer in the Inland Empire from top to bottom and clearing the weeds from his yard. 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All the times he could have used his father's advice. His plan had been to stay in the U.S. a few years, save up some money and return home to begin his life. But life doesn't wait. Before he knew it, decades had passed and José had built community and a career in carpentry in California. He sent tens of thousands of dollars to Mexico: to fund improvements on his parents' house, to buy machines for the family butcher shop. He sent his contractor brother money to build a two-bedroom house where José hopes to retire one day. His mother, who likes talking on the phone, kept him informed on all the doings in town. The construction of a new bridge. The marriages, births, deaths and divorces. The creep of violence as drug cartels brought their wars to Zacatecas. And then one day, a near-tragedy. José's father, jovial, strong, always cracking jokes, landed in the hospital with a heart that doctors said was failing. He languished there six months on the brink of death. But he lived. And when he got out, he declared that he wanted to see his eldest son. A full third of people born in Zacatecas live in the U.S. Migration is so common, the state has an agency tasked with attending to the needs of Zacatecanos living abroad. It has been helping elderly Mexicans get visas to visit family north of the border for years. The state tried to get some 25 people visas this year. But the United States, now led by a president who has vilified immigrants, approved only six. José had a childhood friend, Horacio Zapata, who also migrated to the U.S. and who hasn't seen his father in 30 years. Horacio's father also applied for a visa, but he didn't make the cut. Horacio was crestfallen. A few years back, his mother died in Mexico. He had spent his life working to help get her out of poverty, and then never had a chance to say goodbye. He often thought about what he would give to share one last hug with her. Everything. He would give everything. He and his wife had come with José to offer moral support. He put his arm around his friend, whose voice shook with nerves. East L.A. was normally bustling, filled with vendors hawking fruit, flowers and tacos. But on this hot August afternoon, as a car pulled up outside the event hall to deposit José's parents and the other elderly travelers, the streets were eerily quiet. Since federal agents had descended on California, apprehending gardeners, day laborers and car wash workers en masse, residents in immigrant-heavy pockets like this one had mostly stayed inside. The thought crossed José's mind: What if immigration agents raided the reunion event? But there was no way he was going to miss it. Suddenly, the director of the Federation of Zacatecas Hometown Assns. of Southern California, which was hosting the reunion, asked José to rise. Slowly, his parents walked in. Of course they recognized one another. His first thought: How small they both seemed. José gathered his mother in an embrace. He handed her the flowers. And then he gripped his father tightly. This is a miracle, his father whispered. He'd asked the Virgin for this. His father, whose heart condition persists, was fatigued from the long journey. They all took seats. His father put his head down on the table and sobbed. José stared at the ground, sniffling, pulling up his shirt to wipe away tears. A mariachi singer performed a few songs, too loudly. Plates of food appeared. José and his parents picked at it, mostly in silence. At the next table, José Manuel Arellano Cardona, 70, addressed his middle-aged son as muchachito — little boy. In the coming days, José and his parents would relax into one another's company, go shopping, attend church. Most evenings, they would stay up past midnight talking. Eventually, the parents would head back to Zacatecas because of the limit on their visas. But for now, they were together, and eager to see José's home. He took them by the arms as he guided them out into the California sun.

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