Love Crochet Love

Sometimes when I’m feeling blue, I hold tightly in my hand the crochet hook that my Grammy used and think of her memory. She taught me how to crochet when I was five.
On those days when my soul can’t warm up and my heart wants to skip a beat, I think of the craft she taught me. Crochet is that old timey craft that holds my heart in the interlocking fabric of the yarn.
I remember sitting next to my Grammy in the kitchen of the house I grew up in. She held the needle and showed me how to do a few stitches and then I tried. I loved it. I couldn’t stop. I made a ball of the chain stitch and kept connecting them together. Strand after strand I would make and then add it to the ball. It was so long it went around the outside of my house three times. I still have it.

Later on my Grammy taught me how to do the single crochet, and then the double and triple. I can remember her voice and she would tell me the instructions, showing me the ways. I can still hear her voice. I keep that memory close to my heart, it keeps me in comfort on those nights where I want her by my side once again.

My crochet is my craft from the heart. My Grammy taught me her love for it, she showed me the joy of it, and the best thing was always to make it for someone else. I miss her every day, but holding her crochet hook in my hand keeps me rooted in that place of peace when I was so young and learning from the person that could always make my world feel right on a rainy day. I still feel her love of the craft every time I crochet.
