I Have GG's Hands

I was working an intricate scarf for Wonderboy.  The pattern is my own, but in a stitch that you have to pay attention and look closely at your work. I was watching the yarn go around the needles, off the needles, and turn into a work of art.  At some point the meditation Zen kicked in and I was contently watching my hands.  That’s when I saw GG’s hands.  I have GG’s hands.  

It makes sense. 

GG’s hands were the first to put needles in my hands. I remember playing with yarn and needles when I was little and stayed at her house. Later, when I was an adult, GG would remember times when I was 4 years old.  She said I would wind the yarn “around and around the needle, as close as you could get it, until it got to the top. Then you’d push all of it up and off, “pop!”, watching it twist around and laugh and laugh.”  She was amused every time she told the story. She giggled, saying I would sit for a very long time winding, over and over again. She was delighted that I was so interested and had what she called “The Needlebug”. 

GG’s hands were the first to teach me how to properly hold a set of needles, a crochet hook, a sewing needle, a quilt frame.  GG’s hands were the first to show me how to hold yarn, cast on, bind off,sew a seam, make a test swatch. Although she wasn’t a stickler for gauge, test swatches were plentiful so that you could see the stitches, learn the pattern (then promptly change it to suit your needs), and share the experience.

Over the years, my visits with her always had some sort of needlework going on. If she came to my house, one large bag (or two) was devoted to yarn and something she wanted to show me. If I was at her house, I left with new stitches, patterns, and techniques in my head or written down. We would exchange stories while we knit. I learned about her life, her values, her humor while knitting or crocheting. One of us would cook while the other knit. If we couldn’t knit (like outside in the heat or on the pontoon boat) we would talk about knitting.  

One night, at my house, we stayed up very late. Both of us were so “wound up” about a pattern we were trying to make work. As I mentioned earlier, she taught me how to adapt a pattern to meet my needs. We kept talking in the dark. — If we just changed one thing or another. Maybe we should twist the yarn backwards. What if….— We “didn’t know enough to go to sleep” because we couldn’t stop talking about knitting. Suddenly, we realized we both had our hands in the air trying to imagine the stitches. She started laughing so hard in that laugh that made you unable to keep from laughing yourself. She taught me to laugh at myself.

My hands are older now and have the wrinkles, spots and aches that come with age. They remind me that GG’s hands showed MY hands how to make art, how to love, how to live, how to laugh, how to bind together our lives.

The Wonky Afghan

GG and I knit and crocheted together.  It’s one of those memory moments. You know, the ones that flow together so that you don’t know what year it was, what visit that you were together.  You just remember being there, in the moment, sharing time and growing as a person.  Most people have memories of hanging out in their grandmother's kitchen.  My memories are when GG and I knit.

You remember the memory moments ... it’s where you talked about boys, then guys.  You talked about your dreams, your worries. You talked about your future, her past.You talked about her life stories, her memories, her wisdom.  You told her secrets.  She gave advise.  My GG did this while we knit.  

Every visit as an adult we would sit together and she would start out with a “hey, let me show you this” and proceed with her hook or needles and a new pattern stitch.  I would follow along with my own yarn and tools.  We continued to talk as we worked a complete square.  No attention to gauge, no need to, it was simply to learn stitches and exchange techniques. By the end of the visit there would be several squares, some looking identical, made by the two of us.

One return visit, GG was pretty excited to show me an afghan she had just finished.  It was some of those squares sewn together.  The “wonky afghan”. We made more squares, and she continued to add to it. It was not planned and she used what ever we made. 

The afghan is not square.  It doesn’t even have straight edges.  The colors are not in the same family, the stitches are not the same size, the yarns are not compatible (although most of it is acrylic). It is made by two different set of hands at different times in both of our lives. She continued to add squares until it was the perfect size for the back of her couch. It stayed there for years, and is now in my house.

She told me she liked to look at it.  I imagine her sitting in her chair across from the couch, remembering the times we were working “on the needles” together.  That’s what I do now.  I can remember how excited she was to show me how beautifully a stitch would make a repeat lace pattern. 

How to sew together without a needle.  A new cast on. How to make a butterfly…

I’m happy that the wonky afghan is one of the things I have from GG.  Something that’s a part of the universe, a part of her, a part of me with her, and a reminder of the memory moments.

Me and GG on the couch with the Wonky Afghan