I was a freshman in college and we were not allowed to go home for the first six weeks. We had freshman orientation during that period and it was suppose to help us overcome homesickness. I was so lost having never been away from home. Growing up I was always close to my family. My grandma and grandpa and two loving aunts, with their families, lived just up over the hill, as was the saying. Indeed it was within a young girl's walking distance. You see, we lived on one hill and grandma and grandpa lived at the base of another along the truck route, highway 77. My grandparents settled on that little plot of land back when Oklahoma was still Indian Territory. Mode of long distance travel was by Conestoga wagon, but I digress, that is their story.
I have many fond memories of my grandma working in her beautiful flower gardens bent at her hips, for her knees were bad, or quilting her latest hand pieced quilt top supplemented by fabric rescued, from worn out clothes, set into the quilting frame in the middle bedroom. You see, nothing ever went to waste; everything was either used entirely or repurposed. I love that word; it sounds much better than recycle.
My little brother and I often spent a day with grandma, while mother was shopping or at the doctor's, where fidgety little children made for a very stressful task. Grandma would always invite us to take a coffee break after a round with her needlework. She was knitting, crocheting, embroidering, or hand piecing another quilt top. She learned the skill of needlework either at her mother's hands or an older sister's. It was a necessity, when she was a young girl, to be very proficient at these skills, otherwise there would be no warm quilts for the winter, anything to decorate neither humble home, nor clothes to dress her family. Sitting at the round oak dinning table situated in her cozy little kitchen, grandma would offer us some popcorn and mugs of coffee, of course ours was warmed milk flavored with her strong coffee.
I have a few items of my grandma's handiwork and wished I had more. Most of it burned when the old house caught fire from some faulty wiring. My grandma died of heart failure from the trauma of her legs being burned. She was in her 90's. My grandma's greatest fear was being burned. I think it was either her mother or mother-in-law that died in a house fire.
I have told you this story so you would understand why I decided to buy the simple booklets called "Teach Yourself to Knit" and "Teach Yourself to Crochet". I did not learn at my grandma's knee the skills of needlework. I must have been a hand full back then, because I could not sit still long enough to learn how to cast on stitches, or even how to chain with a hook, and forget tiny embroidery stitches. Oh, but I watched and learned to love the arts by watching my grandma making miracles with such simple tools. I would be remiss, if I did not pass on these skills to someone whether they are blood family or adopted by love of friendship.
My freshman year of college I learned to knit and crochet and it took me home while I was miles away.
Welcome to my blog. Here you will learn who I am, what I do, what I like, and what molded me. Oh yes, you will get to follow me while I relearn knitting.