If I write about my love of sewing and music, I must tell you about the wonderful people in my life who helped me learn and polish my skills. This is my grandmother's house. I remember several holidays, most of them with snow up to the top step of the porch, where I sat watching her knit and spent hours in the back bedroom sifting through craft supplies older than I could have ever dreamed.
My best memory of this was 1983. I was 9; my sister and I received a " color with yarn" kit from our Grandma. I think we had a fashion doll each, and there were always clothes, but my favorite was the neat pen with the bobbin on top that was supposed to "color" in yarn. In my family's fashion, we cleared off the table and prepared all components for our project. The " canvas" was a sturdy piece of glue-laden cardboard with a picture drawn in black. I think mine was a butterfly, and my sisters was a horse, but I could be wrong. We loaded our "pens" with our yarn, carefully removed the plastic protecting the precious glue from the rest of the world and began our creative work.
I worked diligently for hours, not knowing or caring when my sister gave up, my cousins left for their house, or my mother went to the kitchen to cook dinner. I was determined to color with yarn. By the time I was forced to stop, I had one section of one wing stuck, and I think I had an antennae done. That was it. Every time I tried to make the yarn stick, it would pop back off, and I would have to replace the whole section. I finally gave up on the "pen" and worked with my not-so-coordinated fingers. Finally I had to put my precious project back in its box, and pack it away for the trip back home.
Then there was the magical trips into Grandma's closets, and the craft room. Her sister had, at one point, owned a craft store, and perpetually sent us supplies too. My Grandma's supplies were all organized in the best room. Up the stairs where you would bump your head if you weren't careful, and just on the left the door opened into an overgrown closet, I'm told it was my uncle's room at one point. Anyway, there were strings of beads, in many different colors, hanging from nails in the wall, rows of spooled sequins, and boxes stacked from front to back filled with treasures- blank brooches waiting for someone to paint them, jewelry findings, and tiny Christmas tree decorations for the heirloom Christmas trees we all received on our wedding day.
My favorite spot was in Grandma's closet where the cabinets were. Strangely enough, in the dining room this closet hid out of season clothes, leftover cleaning and remodling supplies, and ..... Grandma's leftover yarn. Grandma knitted for everyone; our family, her neighbors, and the nursing homes were all recipients of her hobby. Christmas usually held something she'd crafted, I still treasure my sweater vest from the late 80's and the several scarves I received still provide warmth in the southern winters, as do the memories of playing in her yarn and knitting needles.
Even though I watched my Grandma knit many years, my skills were limited to crochet, a single hook method of making garments. Finally, in my 20's, I asked Gram to teach me to knit. To say she was overjoyed would have been an understatement. She sat with me for hours, with the same intensity I had when I sat at her dining room table trying to color with yarn, patiently showing me how to hold the needles, cast on, knit and purl. These lessons came with a disclaimer " My tension isn't the best, and you'll have to watch yours". Grandma knew I liked to crochet tightly, and in her efforts to help me learn correctly, she wanted an indication to support my new interest.
What seemed like miles of knitting yielded uneven rows, holes and dropped stitches, all the while being very tight on my needles. What was I to do except rip it out and start again? Exactly what I did.
Years later, and a few months after my grandma's memorial, I have a ball of multi-colored baby yarn sitting beside me. This project is for a friend who will welcome their first child into the world very soon. I can't think of a better way to share in my Grandma's legacy than to continue her hobby and give to others as she did.
