Hello My Friends

When I was a little girl I was fortunate enough to spend a lot of time with my maternal gramma. We called her gramma Jack, that was her last name, I am not sure how that came to be but that was how it was. There is something special about the ease of a relationship with a gramma for me. I always felt at ease with her, she always seemed relaxed to me. In hindsight, she may have just been tired, she was the mother to 9 children.

Nonetheless, Gramma Jack had divine patience and taught me many life skills like: cooking rice and little hamburgers, snapping peas on the porch for hours, picking strawberries that were just right, playing gin rummy and crib, the ethics of crossword puzzles (don't look in the back for answers, keep going, it will show itself) and needle crafts. I spent hours watching her craft hoping I had inherited this gift. She had an incredible relationship with thread. It was as though her hands were born with stories in them. The way the thread and yarn moved effortlessly across needles seemed beyond possible. Watching her 'shows', guiding me in my rudimentary version of her creation and all the while weaving the lightest white thread on an amazing journey. I was only shushed when she needed to count, and once in while this would result in her unhooking the needle and unraveling the story, my eyes popping in disbelief knowing first hand that frustration, but she never complained, sometimes she made a 'tisk' sound, but she just put the needle back in and carried on.