Never An Idle Hand

Day 38: My maternal grandmother began teaching me to embroider when I was roughly three and a half years old. Yes, really, and it launched me on a journey into a world of needlearts far beyond even her vast range of skills. Somewhere tucked away, I still have a handkerchief with a few clumsy and inappropriately-placed red stitches to remind me of her patient tutoring. "Four over, two back," she would explain, counting the threads for a perfect stem stitch, and when I failed to produce the desired results, she did not criticize but rather encouraged me to continue with my work. She was also fond of saying that idle hands were the devil's playground, and saw to it that I never lacked for something to keep mine busy. As I recall, I was about five when I completed my first pillowcase, having by then mastered lazy daisies and French knots. Although my mother swore that Gma didn't know how to spin, I remember distinctly sitting at her broken wheel with wool picked out of the carders. She turned the wheel manually as I let the fibers twist between my fingers to form a coarse and lumpy thread. When I first sat down at a wheel as an adult, it was almost as if I could hear her telling me how to control the wool. My mother, looking on, remarked, "You always insisted that Gma taught you to spin. I never believed you until now." But Gma didn't weave, or at least not in the truest sense. We made looper-loom potholders together and played with sprang and finger-weaving, but there was no loom, not even an inkle loom in her possession. Weaving is one of my favourite occupations now, and with several different types of loom to keep me amused, my hands are never idle and complex patterns keep my mind agile and entertained.