For as long as I can remember, she'd always been the crafty type. As a child, I remember the "back room" of her house, which had been converted to a sewing room, complete with a dress form. She sewed clothing with perfect stitches and exact fit. Being a product of the Depression Era, she'd learned young to sew out of necessity, not just as a hobby.
Besides sewing, I also remember her working on various yarn crafts, needlepoint and dabbling in 3-D art. Like her sewing work, every craft project she undertook was done with perfection, producing something beautiful in the end.
After Grandma was gone, my mother and I were cleaning out her apartment. A large bag of yarn accumulated, including some of the fancy yarns I blogged about the other day, and my mother said to take them with me. Then my mother pulled out an afghan from the closet and handed it to me. "Would you like to have this?" she asked. I struggled not to cry.
The beautiful lapghan my mother handed me had been crocheted by my grandmother sometime around 1937, when she was about 20 years old. Here she is a year earlier, standing proudly with her best friend, wearing the coats they'd bought on layaway for 25 cents per week.
|My grandmother is on the right.|
Over the course of nearly 80 years, the afghan has gotten a bit stretched, it feels as if the stitches are tight from washing, but it's crocheted so well that I'm certain it will last on this earth far longer than I will. Someday, one of my grandchildren or great-grandchildren will be given this afghan and it's my job to make sure they understand its significance. It will be my responsibility to tell them about the woman who crocheted it.
Soon the afghan will grace my couch in Germany, where I live most of the time with my boyfriend. We have no pets there and no small children who are prone to spilling, so the afghan will be safe until it is given to a subsequent generation. I miss my grandma every day. But I feel connected to her each time I pick up a crochet hook and yarn, and especially when my fingers run over the very stitches she crocheted in 1937.
|My grandmother holding one of her great-great-grandchildren, September 2012.|