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Thursday, March 6, 2014


One of my "babies" I like to knit.
Ever since I was very small, I have enjoyed creating.  Not in the sense of  "everywhere she goes she creates a crisis", but in the sense of making things. 

Like doll clothes out of Kleenexes. I may or may not have used a whole box of these versatile tissues,  making a spring wardrobe for my doll. The arm holes are very tricky when your not old enough for pointy scissors, and you have to poke the hands through to make them, this takes a lot of practice.

My other favorite endeavor was making swans out of shirt hangers. If you bend them just the right way, and twist the hook part, very carefully, so it is pointed in the correct position, without breaking it, ...this also take a lot of practice.

Again, I may or may-not have made dozens of these swans. Some may or may not have had butcher paper, "borrowed" from the kitchen wrapped around them to emulate feathers. Tape was an integral part of this creation, so much so, my father lamented the fact he had never bought stock in 3M. (his point totally lost on me)

My grandmother was the lucky recipient of these creations, if indeed, they did exist. Though, I never remember seeing them on subsequent visits. Hmmm.

Just like this one, even the same color,
but not luggage rack, we carried enough of our own.
I started knitting when I was around three. I typically sat in the third seat of our Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser, pointing backward towards the cars behind us. I was the non-carsick child, so this was my lot in life.  I would diligently knit on small double points with left over gray yarn from one of my mother's projects. I would have preferred red, but she was not sharing that color at the time.

I would admire the lovely shape, I produced by my tightly knit stitches (read VERY tightly knit). Kind of like an hour glass. My only concern was, just how to duplicate this lovely pattern.

Upon arrival at my grandmother's house, which was a forty-five minute ride, so lots of knitting time,
(oh joy!), I would jump over the seat, and out of the car, waving my project with pride, for her to view.

"Picking up and dropping stitches, I see, can be corrected, with practice, you will get there."
Which, of course, was meant to be encouraging, but really was just eye-opening to me.

In time, I did learn how to stop dropping and picking stitches indiscriminately, make doll clothes without using an entire box of Kleenex (much to my mother's relief), as well swans without emptying the entire closet of it's hangers (much to my sister's relief, as frequently it was her clothing that took one for the team, so to speak).

Now, I am adult. Or at least it seems to be the case, and I make many things. Everyday. I am grateful to my family for giving me the room to develop, construct, create and imagine. For without their forbearance, (read patience with all of the mess), I would have never spread my own wings, and flown through life so well.

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