Wednesday, November 24, 2010
When I married, the possibility of becoming a grandmother never occurred to me. Never. Entered. My. Mind.
But sometime early in the new year that reality will be here. And with it has been unleashed a torrent of, well, grandmother type behaviour, like knitting and sewing baby stuff.
And too, the stark realization that the person who knows more about this than I, is no longer here. I could really use her help just getting it all done. I want to knit it all. Ha!
I have her books. Stacks and stacks of her books. Her needles. Her stash. My stash. I bought the McCall's Needlework magazine above in 1978, expecting to someday make a bunting for my babies. But just like the magazine predicted, it was Grandma who knit the bunting instead.
I even have some of her UFO's - UnFinished Objects - not all her fault. That little hooded sweater up-top? Violinist's. I was supposed to finish the front with crochet. She knit. I crocheted.
Instead, the other day I pulled it out from the same bag she handed to me maybe eighteen years ago with instructions, "Here, I'd rather knit, can you do the crochet?" I held it close to my face. I could smell her. Yes, I'll do the crochet.