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.