Wendi {at random}

Grandmomma Gibson taught me how to crochet when I was a tweenager. She would drink her umpteenth cup of coffee while I nibbled on Peppermint Patties swiped from her covered crystal candy dish. Her cigarette would lay smoking on the edge of her crystal ashtray. I swear that thing must have been as big as a dinner plate. We'd rummage through her stash of yarns, taking forever to choose the perfect colors for our newest projects. I always chose some multicolored skein because I thought it was just so fancy. The colors didn't matter; it was just the way that they blended from one color smoothly into another that spoke to my heart.

Grandmomma taught me how to crochet a chain, loop its ends together and make circles and granny squares out of that. She taught me how to make a really long chain and then go back and forth across it stitching rows and rows and rows. I could make straight rows and curvy rows and even eye-pleasing nice and graphic zig zag rows. Grandmomma taught me all of that. I made lots of granny squares when I was younger. I almost made an afghan once. Or twice. Every now and then as I grew up, I picked up my size G crochet needle (the very same pink metal one Grandmomma bought me) and began a new project, only to grow impatient with it and put it down, misplace it, and then forget all about it for years and years and years.

Recently I spotted this rag rug tutorial over on Craftzine's blog. I fell in love with this rug and had to have one for myself. Now I knew positively why I have been saving old pajama bottoms, shirts and pants I could never, ever part with. (The cooler the fabric, the more convinced I was that I could do something with it some day.) On Saturday I went to JoAnn's and bought myself a size Q crochet needle then came home and cut up my old raggedy clothes. As I wound the strips of cloth into balls I remembered Grandmomma teaching me how to do this with yarn. I was always fascinated with how quickly the balls of fibers grew as I wrapped and wrapped and wrapped the string.

By evening, I began my rug. The tutorial mentioned using a single stitch. Grandmomma didn't give her stitches names. She taught me a chain and some complex set of ins and outs that made one giant stitch. I have no idea what it's called, but I chose to use that one in my rug. It's only as big as a chair pad right now, but it's a perfect oval in shades of lilacs, peaches, yellows and pinks. I think the pinks are the same shade as her eyeglasses. Grandmomma would be so proud.

When this rug is finally finished (hopefully before this time next year) I'll put it in my bathroom, where the evening sun washes the walls in its brilliant light. I am convinced that this project is my next BIG ART THING. What scrapbooking was a few years ago, this rug is now. I'm not fooling myself. I know I won't crochet for the rest of my days. Probably just every now and then until I'm sitting in an old folk's home waiting for Camden to bring me a smile of Benjy to plant a blueberry kiss on my cheek. I know I won't forget how to stitch across the rows or around the granny square. I'll be making these moves with my hands long after I've lost my memory for what I had for breakfast. While I may lose my passion for it in the years ahead. I'll never forget this gift from Dad's mom. Thanks, Grandmomma.