My mother reminded me the other day that my new love for knitting was being subconciously created in me when I was a kid by my grandmother.
Oh yeah, Grandma did try to teach me to knit when I was about 8 or 9. By that time I was sewing by hand and on the machine and I was crocheting. I had those two crafts learned fairly well by then. So the next step was knitting. I was in awe of her skills with the needles. She knitted sweaters with pictures on them and I thought that was really cool.
Even with the other handcraft skills, knitting eluded me. I could not get the hang of two needles, keep the thread on them and wrap thread hither and yon in some fashion to create even a couple of rows that became a knotted mess. I would cry because I was so frustrated and finally just gave up.
She tried frequently over the years to get me to try again but I was stubborn.
So now, just because I read a book that mentioned a ruana and I had to have one for myself, I am knitting.
Mom said Grandma is rolling over laughing about this outcome. I think I agree. It must tickle her to realize I finally got it. And without as many tears and foot stomping.
While she giggles about that I will remind the family of the giggles we had at her expense one early morning in Oregon. As I remember it, the moment involved a tin can, a steep slope, an incoming sea breeze and my two grown brothers in hot pursuit at sunrise.
Hope you are chasing your passion today.
3 hours ago