Wednesday, April 30, 2014


Today's post may shock you...don't read if stories about little kids being told they can't do something makes you angry, mad, sad, etc., and that's not an emotion you can handle.

When I was younger my mom crocheted.  She made these awesome footies with all these loops sticking out all over.  We each got a pair for Christmas.  My grandfather Thornton was all arave about them and actually got two pairs because he wore them out.  she would crochet them holding two strands of yarn together so we got fun colors in there too.

Us kids LOVED them the best because when you took off running you could skid all the way across the kitchen and it was amazing fun.  We had holes in our footies by spring but that was ok because we'd just throw on a pair of socks under them and keep wearing them.

My mom's mom was also a big crocheter.  She made all the grandbabies and great grandbabies (until mine were born) layette sets of amazing beauty and complexity.  She worked with tiny tiny threads and made doilies and Christmas ornaments.

And with two such important women crocheting around me, I was bound to pick up a hook and give it a I did.  And I made bunches of granny squares (I still wonder what happened to them).  One day when I was at Grandma M's house I showed her my crochet and told her that I was going to be just like her when I grew up and she looked at my granny square and told me it was terrible. That she'd never seen anything so poorly done.  She pointed out where I'd messed up and showed me how I'd left some loop open and that it would unravel eventually.

She said I was a "hopeless crocheter" and would never be as good as she was.

I don't remember feeling sad or crying or anything.  I just remember looking at the granny square that I was so proud of 5 minutes earlier and seeing all the errors she pointed out.  It was wonky, mismatched and there were loops hanging out.  I didn't ask for help from her to fix it...she was so beyond me and she'd already shown me that I was terrible.

So I put down my crochet hook and never picked it up again.

Until yesterday.  And yesterday I made a very wonky looking washcltoh and this start to a granny square.  I'm hooked :)


Daddy's story:  Well, this one is a bit about me, but it does show how funny he was.  At the funeral the preacher described my dad as the simplest of simple men.  And he really was.  He loved his few things and the rest he didn't bother with.  He wore blue jeans and t-shirts almost every day, had a routine, and was simply a genuine person.  He was therefore, the most difficult person in the world to buy gifts for.  As a teenager, I  saved my money for several months to get Christmas gifts for people and came upon the best one for Daddy.  It was an indoor/outdoor thermometer with barometer and a few other weather gadgets on it.  It was in a really pretty wooden case and had brass fittings on it.  Quite fancy.  (Daddy was also a major weather lover).

On that Christmas Daddy opened the box, looked at it, exclaimed over how neat it was and then put it next to the back door where he was going to put it up.  And it stayed there for a year.  At Christmas the next year I told mom I just didn't know what to get him and was tempted to get him the thermometer thing I'd gotten him the year before.  She said, "do it."  So I did.

Daddy's face upon opening his present a second time was priceless!

The indoor/outdoor thermometer was hanging up by the end of Christmas day!

1 comment:

  1. Picking up the hook and making the crochet yours. Good stuff, you're a crafty lady. I love how you re-gifted your Dad the thermometer. hehe. I am enjoying your Dad stories :)