Tag Archives: memories

Hooked on Crocheting

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In one of my earliest memories, I’m about five years old, and I’m sitting in my backyard next to a flower garden. It’s summer, and my grandmother is there with me. She’s short and round and has curly hair.

I feel the warmth of dappled sunshine on my shoulders. Grandma’s doing something with her hands. She’s teaching me to crochet.

That moment is like a photograph imprinted on my brain. I don’t know why it’s stayed with me, but I think it’s because I was learning something new–and also because of Grandma, who was probably smiling. And singing. Maybe in Italian, hence my affinity for Romance languages and all things pasta.

One thing I know for sure is that whenever I need to go to my “happy place,” I find myself back there. Recently, I decided to use that memory to draft a memoir-like children’s picture book about a girl, her grandma, and crocheting. It’s not published yet, but (crochet fingers crossed) it will be someday.

Side note: Did you know that the word "crochet" originated from the Old French word "croche," which in turn came from the Germanic word "croc," which means hook? I find that fascinating for two reasons: (1)"croc" just sounds hook-y to me, and (2) not only is there a CROCodile in Peter Pan (both the 1904 play by J.M. Barrie and the Disney version) but there also is a character named Captain HOOK.

Maybe Grandma’s influence that day is why I love using my hands for things like sewing, baking, playing guitar, and writing. But I never was much of a crocheter myself until a few months ago, when I decided to make afghans as gifts for my two daughters, Erica and Katie.

Like my daughters, the afghans are similar, yet different. Erica and Katie both decided on the same pattern but chose different colors. Erica wanted the strong contrast of black and blush (which matches her living room decor), while Katie chose the softer shades of sage and cream (Not blue! she told me, which was confusing because her living room is blue. Go figure.).

Unexpectedly, all this crocheting has been good for my brain! Yes, while sitting still for hours at a time doing not much else besides moving a little hook up and down, over and under, and in and out, I’ve gained a few insights! For example, did you know that:

  • crocheting is relaxing?
  • once an afghan gets to a certain size, it keeps your lap warm while you’re working?
  • crocheting is a little like meditating? (Except that your mind does wander … a LOT)
  • you can crochet while watching TV? (Unless you need subtitles, in which case it will take you forever to finish your afghan)
  • crocheting will make you feel productive? (Much more productive than blogging ever will)
  • an afghan can be a metaphor for life? Well, mine, anyway. It’s a theory I came up with while my mind was wandering (see bullet #3).

Best of all, you’ll learn an important lesson: that a task that seems complicated at first, and maybe downright impossible, can (probably, eventually) be accomplished if you’re patient enough (and if you don’t mind ripping out your stitches and starting over several times like I did).

Well,  I should get back to crocheting now if I’m ever going to finish Katie’s afghan. But first, I’m curious:

Do you crochet? Have a happy place? Have a happy childhood memory? I’d love to hear your thoughts, which will give me something more to meditate on while crocheting!

Birthday Breakfasts

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My birthday is approaching. I’m not saying which one. That’s for me to know and you to Google. I will say this much: It’s a significant one.

As I mentioned in my recent post, Birthday’s Silver Lining, my birthday is causing me to ponder many things, such as the passage of time, the meaning of life, and … well, I’ve forgotten the third thing.

All this pondering is having an unexpectedly pleasant side effect: I’m finding extra joy in little things, like sunshine glittering on the lake, and the deep green color of the trees. I’m in a spectacularly good mood. Or maybe it’s just because I’m on vacation.

I’m staying in a trendy part of town, a neighborhood that I used to live in during my twenties. The area wasn’t always this trendy. Now it has cute little shops with names like Tru, and Roux, and Roam, and Hemp It Up. It also has a lot of gardens. Two days ago, after a rainstorm, I went out in search of some of my favorite things, like flowers with raindrops on them.

After taking pictures of flowers, I considered looking for more of my favorite things, like warm wooly mittens and bright copper kettles. But instead, since I hadn’t had my coffee yet, I headed to my favorite coffee shop, Glen Edith. It was only a few blocks away, right around the corner from the apartment I’d shared with three other roommates once upon a time.

As I walked past the old apartment, memories came flooding back: the music, the incense, the bell-bottoms, the vodka-spiked Kool-aid. (Just kidding, Mom.)

I kept walking, dressed in the long skirt, sneakers, and hipster sunglasses I’d donned that morning, and I suddenly felt young, energetic, and hip. Or maybe it was the thought of caffeine that was propelling me forward.

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I also felt rich, since I’d miraculously discovered some unexpected cash in my wallet the night before. I’m not making this up. There’s a secret hiding place in the wallet, right behind my driver’s license. I was looking for my Social Security card (don’t ask why) when I felt something wrinkly. I pulled it out and, to my shock, it was several twenty-dollar bills.

The last time I could remember having that amount of cash on me was on my previous out-of-town trip, and since then I’d lost my wallet and had it returned to me, contents intact. Good people still exist!

I went a little crazy that morning with my new-found wealth, deciding to treat myself to not one, but two breakfasts, since, after all, I have a birthday coming up, and life is short.

Breakfast number one was at the aforementioned Glen Edith, where I ordered a delicious cappuccino. It came with a tiny surprise: a mini-doughnut hole.

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And then, another surprise: a bright copper kettle on the counter!

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After the Glen Edith, I moved on to Jines Restaurant, a neighborhood institution since 1971, and ordered my old favorite, creme brûlée oatmeal.

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The creme brûlée oatmeal at Jines is decadent. Come to think of it, the word “decadent” has the word “decade” in it. Maybe “decadent” actually is a contraction, as in this example: “Did you turn 50 last decade?” “No, I decaden’t.”

Having two breakfasts at my two favorite shops in the neighborhood was a small thing that brought me joy. It was all part of my preconceived plan to pamper myself, since, in case you forgot, I have a rather significant birthday coming up.