Wednesday, February 3, 2016
I was once an avid knitter, having created over three dozen afghans which I presented to many friends and relatives. My mother always had a project on the go - most much more complex than anything I have made. She dressed us all in her handmade sweaters. I never tried anything that had to fit. Afghans, scarves, ponchos (it was the 70s) were my specialty.
This afghan was my big challenge - a complex fisherman knit pattern. It was a gargantuan task but I did it! I made it for my husband who died just a couple of years later (1982). It languished for a while in a cupboard as did my ardor for knitting. And then finally, I started to use it. A few years ago I started to knit a bit again and am now thinking of embarking on a new project. Maybe I'll actually try my hand at a sweater.
Handmade articles come with so many memories, of the creating, or the one who created it and of those who used it. The combination adds extra warmth as the stories weave together with the stitches. As I lie under the afghan, embraced by its history, I can feel my mother's guidance when I learned to knit, my own struggles with the complexity of creating, my love and loss. And the new stories created since I pulled out the blanket and started to use it again.