My mom crochets. My grandmother used to crochet (and knit). I, in fact, still have lots of Barbie doll clothing that my grandmother knitted and crocheted for me. I have other pieces that my mother sewed for me. They are in a weird, flowered suitcase straight out of the 70s. The suitcase used to live in my guest room so that I could make sure nothing ever happened to it. Here in this house, the suitcase is in the basement, but on the top of a bookshelf where it can’t be touched by any flood water (our old house had a basement flood once). Those items are very important to me, even though they haven’t been used since my childhood.
My grandmother tried to teach me to crochet. The best I ever did was just as square, because I would get lost or frustrated and give up. I never learned to knit. My grandmother figured if I couldn’t crochet, knitting was out of the question. Years and years later, I discovered a knitting board, which I purchased and became obsessed with for a brief period of time. I made hats and scarves for lots of people, some with fancy fun yarn, some with some cool patterns. Then I started having more muscle issues, and I realized that using the knitting board was bad for my posture the way I was using it. I had to look down, it hurt my neck. I had to hunch over my lap, it hurt my shoulders and back. And the constant stress on my fingers and hands made them hurt. I ended up giving it up because although it was relaxing to do, it made me hurt a lot. I have two different size knitting boards, one is about 18″ wide, the other is 28″ wide. Both of them have half-started projects on them that have been sitting idle for years. I miss it, but every time I try to pick it up, I end up in pain again and I put it away. I took the smaller knitting board with me to the hospital during my mother’s surgery, but I literally used it for less than half an hour total, and even then it was in fits and spurts just to keep my hands busy. Then I put it away again.
My mom was crocheting lots of premie hats with leftover yarn she had. She made them and donated them repeatedly to different hospitals. She had to have made more than a hundred of them over a couple of years. Then she stopped, I think because she was busy with other things and I kind of think her hands started getting somewhat arthritic. But I know she misses it, and I know it helps her relax. And I know she has more time on her hands these days than she used to. I encouraged her to pick it up again and do something small. When we went to her wig appointment, they indicated that a lot of the chemo caps they have are donated because they have clients who can’t afford hats, so they offer the donated hats to those clients. And there was conversation about Mom’s crocheting and the premie hats, and how maybe she should do some chemo caps.
The opportunity to do something, to take herself outside of her own head was good. Mom went to the internet to look for patterns and realized that you basically can do any hat. So she worked some stitches and made a couple of hats. And then I invited her to go to the yarn shop that is about ten minutes away. So off we went on Saturday to shop for some fun yarn. It was so lovely to be in the moment with her, to touch the yarns and discuss the colors. To laugh and talk about what would work and what was pretty and what was soft. We bought four different skeins of yarn, two for her and two for me. And today, I went over to her house and sat at her kitchen table and she tried to teach me to crochet again.
And while she worked on one hat and I worked on the mess I have that may or may not ever be a hat, we talked. We talked about nothing and lots of things. My niece’s upcoming wedding, my brother and his wife, my other brother, my parents’ basement remodel-in-progress. The dogs. The birds. The yard. Her appointments. A drug trial. The yarn. My horrible crochet stitches. My grandmother. My husband. Her husband. Food. Drinks. Stuff. There was no music, no television, only the ticking of the clock over her doorway and our voices (and occasionally my cursing as I struggled with the stitches and her laughter at me).
Time. I know I want more of it. Don’t we always? But at least in these moments, I have them. And I will always have the memory of them, knowing I spent my time in the right way. Not worrying about her treatment or what might be, but being there with her and enjoying the time spent together.
I’m grateful and thankful for this time. And for the friendship I have with my mom.
PS: It will never be a hat. But it makes a lovely doily…if I ever needed one of those (and in this particular color palette). ‘Tis a fine doily, English, but ’tis no hat.