P.S. More On Those Granny Squares

Remember those big bags filled with granny squares I wrote about last time, the ones my friend’s mom dropped off two years ago? Well, I’ve transformed 973 of them — with the help of the four skeins of black wool I used to stitch them together and create a border— into 11 afghans. Ten I dropped off this afternoon for a nearby interfaith men’s homeless shelter. One I kept for my writing nook, to keep me warm while I work.

There are another 75 squares leftover, and I just don’t have the strength or time right now to make the additional squares needed to eke out another afghan. I also discovered 74 half-baked squares at the bottom of one of the bags. Those, too, will have to wait for when I’m not so tired.

I worked on this project during every possible free moment over the past 2 weeks, taking a break only on Shabbos and the 3 days I was away. I stitched at dawn over coffee and late into the night when I should’ve been sleeping. But I wanted desperately — needed really— to finish these afghans up, to reclaim the closet the squares were in and to create something whole and useful and beautiful out of these numerous pieces, themselves made of leftover bits of yarn put to lovely use.

When I finally finished, I folded the afghans and tucked them into several large bags. I then swept the countless scraps of black yarn off the floor, standing back to take a mental snapshot of the scene. I felt enormous gratitude to G-d for enabling me to do this, as well as a sense of complete physical and creative exhaustion. Plus, my shoulders ached from hunching over for so long.

Still, I immediately began itching to make something else. I bought 15 shades of green and blue at Michaels’ yesterday. Not sure what I’m going to stitch, but it surely won’t be granny squares. Though I adore them, I need a change of crochet scenery. I suspect it will be something large and one piece instead, a simple pattern that isn’t stop and go.  I’ll be sure to feature it here. 

What projects are you working on?

Merri

 

 

 

 

What To Do About The Granny Squares

I did not crochet these granny squares.

Two years ago, a friend’s mom offered me a bag of wool when she was relocating. Turns out that one bag was really two large storage bins and two industrial garbage bags filled with beautiful skeins of wool in assorted colors. I was pleasantly shocked by the bounty of it.

“Hang on. There’s more,” she said, heading back to the car while I stood there with my mouth open.

She reappeared, this time with four garbage bags she refused to let me carry. They teemed with granny squares, all made by a friend who was also downsizing. Together they decided I’d figure out what to do with them.

The wool was a boon. I’ve transformed most of it into afghans, baby blankets, and hats, and my friend’s mom gets nachas from the photos I send her of my handiwork. The nearly 1,000 granny squares are another story.

Though I devised all sorts of plans for them, I followed through on none. When our basement flooded last year, the bags came untied and the squares floated like lily pads on the rising water. I gathered them up after havdalah, washed them, and restashed them in bags with a better seal.

Yesterday I decided to reclaim the space they take up in the basement while giving the squares a purpose in the world. I was going to start the first project I have in mind last night, then thought better of it, figuring I might feel compelled to complete it, which would distract me from Shabbos preparations today. I’ll begin tomorrow night or on Sunday instead. Watch this space for all the things I come up with.

But as I prepare for Shabbos, I keep thinking how freeing it is to put away our pens and brushes, cameras and crochet hooks, to power down our laptops and phones, and to tell the voice in our heads, the one driving us to always produce and create, “Hey! It’s time for your Shabbos nap!”

Because it is in the Shabbos rest we take from creating that we nurture our creativity most – by connecting with the source of it, with the Crafter of Crafters who endowed us with it in the first place.

Wishing everyone a Gut Shabbos! May we treasure the separation between the sacred and the everyday that enables us to rest now and make beautiful, productive, lasting things in the week ahead.

Gut Shabbos!  Shabbat Shalom!

Merri

 

For the Love of Making Things with Our Hands

This is my latest afghan, a wedding gift. It comes at a moment when I’m in need of distraction, and I’m glad to find it in these colors and patterns that vary from row to row. It’s taking me a long time to finish, though that’s neither here nor there.

While sneaking in a row early  yesterday morning, I was thinking that I wish I were the type to crochet an occasional sweater. But the undertaking involves too much counting and measuring for my non-math brain. All previous attempts have been crochet disasters, which is why I spend a lot of time making afghans instead. 

Anyway, while I was thinking about sweaters, I had an idea. The last handmade sweater I owned, made by my grandmother, was ruined when our basement flooded during Hurricane Irene years ago. I thought I might ask our cleaning lady, a talented knitter, to make me a new one. 

She had been with us for more than two decades when she retired recently – not by choice but by kidney failure. She’s now packing to return to Europe, to spend her years with the family she left behind when she emigrated. I’ve been checking in with her regularly and we have plans to visit next week.

All this time she was like a great aunt to me. She taught me to prepare proper Turkish coffee and also helped take care of me, especially when I was on bed rest with our youngest and later after my surgeries. She loved us, and felt it was her place to chide me for never ironing because I was, after all, one of her own.

When we spoke yesterday, I asked her if she’d make me one of her signature cardigans, and said I would bring the wool along with some vintage buttons when we visit. I told her I want it as a remembrance of her and her time with our family after she leaves.

She cried, and said she would like nothing more than to knit for me, and to fill the hours that now unfold endlessly since she can no longer work. Sadly, she’s in too much discomfort from dialysis to knit anymore, adding that she has unfinished projects for her grandchildren in her knitting basket.

I picked up my afghan-in-progress, feeling the blessings in the work, in my fingers and the hook and the wool. Yet I also couldn’t help but add this to the many indignities of illness and of our bodies aging and coming undone. We must grab the chance to create whenever we can, to never squander the opportunity to make beautiful or impactful things with our hands with whatever time we are given. And with that I forgot about the laundry and the dishes in the sink and worked six more rows instead.