|pink, charcoal, oatmeal|
my mom taught me to crochet when i was little just as she had learned from her mom. my grandmother created very fine work using tiny steel hooks. she made doilies and had the infinite patience to complete tablecloths and bedspreads with intricate, floral granny squares all with those tiny hooks.
my mom made me granny square vests and ponchos in bright thick yarns using big hooks in metallic colors. she also made a bedspread for me and surprised me with it when i came home from a week long 6th grade class trip. it was a soft turquoise yarn complete with popcorn stitches.
i've tried my hand at using both types of hooks, both dainty and substantial. i've made granny square quilts for my kids, none as beautiful as my mom or grandmother's but they were warm and well loved.
i haven't crocheted in years and that's what seems to happen. i pick it up and put it down again. so now i have the urge again and somehow i just know that when i do pick up the hook, that my fingers will know what to do. it feels like the memory is in the whorls, loops and arches of my fingertips, passed down from my mother and grandmother's hands. do your fingers have memories too?
hmm... but will i remember how to read a pattern?
so, now to go dig out the yarn and hook to make a cowl for the coming winter.
and just to keep it democratic and equal opportunity and stuff... here's a knit cowl
|susk and banoo|
is it the pipe, the lightly mussed hair, the hint of a beard? oh, yeah right, it's the cowl, yes the cowl, the beautiful cowl.