This evening I miss my Gramma Keagle...I was a fairly 'good girl' today and accomplished the dishes/dusting/vacuuming mantra which in turn 'entitled' me to spin. I have been working with 50/50 Blue Face Leicester and Tussah Silk. It spun fairly thin and I got to thinking that a two-ply would make lovely socks-if I only knew how to make socks! That made me think wistfully and lovingly about my Gramma K.
That woman made bread by touch, propagated African violets like nobodies' business, and could/would knit or crochet anything a grand child asked for. Yes, my sister and I really took advantage of that fact as teenagers. Our favorite remembrance is when my sis stopped by Gramma's on the way to High School and asked her to whip up a little 'bun holder' in a color to match her outfit. (The in-thing back then was to put your hair in a pony tail, then place the crocheted little net-like piece over the wadded up hair to make a bun). Fifteen minutes later, my freshly bunned sister was off to school.
My request was much later, and much larger. I was working on appliqueing old crocheted doilies onto quilt blocks and decided this quilt would HAVE to have crocheted lace edging on the entire outer edge... I found a delicate, gorgeous pineapple pattern that seemed perfect and went to see Gramma. She looked over the pattern and said, "I swore I would never work a number 7 hook again in my life!". But she did, for me. There was a slight catch though. She insisted she wouldn't do this lace for me unless I learned to do it as well, in case she died mid-construction. She was in her late 80's then and lived to be 95. We agreed she would do three sides and I would do one side.
What a gift that lace was! Not just the fact she made it for me, but the fact she insisted I learn to do it. I would take my ever growing length of pineapple lace out to a coffee shop or restaurant, order a cup of tea and brazenly lay the work out for one and all passers-by to admire as I crocheted. Honestly, I milked the praise and admiration for all it was worth. I was SO proud of me and my lace! That fall I entered my length of lace in the county fair and won a Best of Section rosette. A real 'chest puffer upper'!
Gramma Keagle is gone now, and I will have to find someone else to teach me how to make my own socks. Miss you, Gramma.
That woman made bread by touch, propagated African violets like nobodies' business, and could/would knit or crochet anything a grand child asked for. Yes, my sister and I really took advantage of that fact as teenagers. Our favorite remembrance is when my sis stopped by Gramma's on the way to High School and asked her to whip up a little 'bun holder' in a color to match her outfit. (The in-thing back then was to put your hair in a pony tail, then place the crocheted little net-like piece over the wadded up hair to make a bun). Fifteen minutes later, my freshly bunned sister was off to school.
My request was much later, and much larger. I was working on appliqueing old crocheted doilies onto quilt blocks and decided this quilt would HAVE to have crocheted lace edging on the entire outer edge... I found a delicate, gorgeous pineapple pattern that seemed perfect and went to see Gramma. She looked over the pattern and said, "I swore I would never work a number 7 hook again in my life!". But she did, for me. There was a slight catch though. She insisted she wouldn't do this lace for me unless I learned to do it as well, in case she died mid-construction. She was in her late 80's then and lived to be 95. We agreed she would do three sides and I would do one side.
What a gift that lace was! Not just the fact she made it for me, but the fact she insisted I learn to do it. I would take my ever growing length of pineapple lace out to a coffee shop or restaurant, order a cup of tea and brazenly lay the work out for one and all passers-by to admire as I crocheted. Honestly, I milked the praise and admiration for all it was worth. I was SO proud of me and my lace! That fall I entered my length of lace in the county fair and won a Best of Section rosette. A real 'chest puffer upper'!
Gramma Keagle is gone now, and I will have to find someone else to teach me how to make my own socks. Miss you, Gramma.
