Crochet by Moonlight

My Legacy Crochet Project — Part Two

When I began crocheting again after my long hospital stay, I had no idea that one afghan would lead to another, and another, and another.

Some were made for family, some for friends, and a few seemed to appear simply because I enjoyed making them.

But as I worked, I found myself thinking about people and places I hadn’t visited in years, at least not in person.

And some of my happiest memories took me straight back to Ma and Grandad’s house in Excello, Missouri.

Ma and Grandad’s Excello Attic

My cousin Greg is my only male cousin, and I thought long and hard about how to make an afghan for a man.

Then I began thinking about Greg himself.

My memories of Greg have always been associated with laughter and fun. He has a kind heart and a lovely, melodic voice.

For years, Greg was a radio announcer, and it was always such fun to hear my cousin on the radio. He was my celebrity connection!

He’s done other things with the rest of his life, but I still remember the pleasure of hearing that familiar voice coming across the airwaves.

And then I thought about the attic.

Oh, that attic!

Upstairs in Ma and Grandad’s house was a treasure trove of wonderful things left behind by our parents and grandparents.

There were carom boards and checkerboards, Lionel trains, old magazines, Christmas ornaments, Sunday school booklets, hymnals, Bibles, and just about anything else you could imagine.

And we loved playing up there.

I began thinking of the colors of those old games and toys, the checkerboard patterns, and the rich, comfortable colors I associate with Ralph Lauren.

And so Ma and Grandad’s Excello Attic was born.

This past weekend, Greg received his afghan, hand-delivered by Paula and Susan, and he made a special phone call to thank me.

That made my day.

There’s another little memory of Greg that I treasure.

Years ago, at a family gathering, Greg came over to tell me how much he’d enjoyed talking with my son, who was 16 at the time.

“He’s quite a character,” Greg said.

Well, I already knew that!

Greg told me he’d asked my son what he was doing for fun these days.

My son lowered his head, laughed, and said, “Driving.”

Greg laughed, too, and told me how well he remembered that feeling. At 16, just getting behind the wheel and being able to drive was enough to make his day.

For a moment, he said, he felt 16 again himself.

I’ve never forgotten that little exchange.

Greg and my son didn’t have many opportunities to visit, but for that brief moment, they shared something that crossed the years between them.

Greg has a pretty wife and a sweet family, and they live a little distance from me. I was so glad Paula and Susan could deliver his afghan, and even happier to hear his voice when he called.

Millie Vanillie

I took another little sideline from the family legacy to make an all-white afghan.

I named her Millie Vanillie.

She went to Margie, the mother of my wonderful college roommate.

Margie is a wonder of a woman. After years of operating a daycare in her home, she continued caring for grandchildren for many, many years.

She has a wonderful sense of humor and a spirit filled with joy and laughter.

Recently, Margie suffered a terrible fall that left her with two broken elbows and a great deal of pain.

I decided that Millie Vanillie might be just the thing to drape over a chair or across her lap while she spent some days recovering.

Sometimes an afghan doesn’t need a complicated story. Sometimes it just needs to bring a little comfort.

Midnight in the Garden

Then came Midnight in the Garden.

She’s dark and beautiful, at least in my opinion, with quiet flowers that seem to bloom against a deep, velvety purple midnight sky.

I haven’t given her to anyone yet.

She needs a home, and I’m sure the right one will come along.

Sometimes I make an afghan with a particular person in mind. Other times, I just make one because the colors speak to me.

Midnight is one of those girls who will have to wait for her person.

Jane Doe

And then there’s Jane Doe.

I made this afghan while watching the television series Crossing Jordan.

She’s a light-colored girl, with pastels and an assortment of soft, pretty strands.

Usually, an afghan tells me her name somewhere along the way.

Not this one.

She wouldn’t speak to me about that. She wouldn’t give me the slightest hint of who she was supposed to be.

So I named her Jane Doe.

I suppose that’s what happens when you watch too much Crossing Jordan!

Someday, when she finds a home, I may give her a different name.

But she’ll always be Jane Doe to me.

Ma’s Lily Pond

My final family legacy afghan was made for my cousin Susan.

Susan is just a tiny bit younger than I am. Well, perhaps a little more than a tiny bit!

We spent many happy childhood days together at Ma and Grandad’s house, and one particular afternoon has stayed in both our memories.

Ma and Grandad had created a beautiful, round goldfish pond in their side yard.

There were water lilies growing in tubs, with goldfish darting in and out among their stems. Rocks surrounded the pond, and nearby stood an enormous green frog statue.

One day, a neighbor girl talked Susan and me into wading in that pond.

We knew better.

But children sometimes do what children do.

We stepped into the water, our toes finding the squishy, mud-filled tubs where the lilies were rooted. We laughed and watched the fish dart around us, and I’m sure we shrieked a little more than necessary.

And suddenly, there was Ma.

She seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Susan and I looked at each other, and then we looked at her.

We knew.

We knew perfectly well that we were in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing, and that we deserved whatever was coming.

Ma could have yelled. She could have given us a good bawling out, and we certainly would have deserved it.

But she didn’t.

She just looked at us with a little sad smile and said softly, “Oh girls, I hope you don’t kill my fish.”

That was it.

We were out of that water lickety-split!

We never played with that neighbor girl again, and I believe we learned a lesson that day more powerful than any scolding could have taught us.

The Bible tells us that a soft answer turns away wrath.

I’ve always thought that a soft answer can turn away bad behavior, too.

I named Susan’s afghan Ma’s Lily Pond. I gave her an extra ruffle of lilies in the middle and little schools of goldfish here and there throughout the sparkly water. I somehow felt those goldfish might have forgiven us.

To accompany it, I created a memory picture recreating that beautiful corner of our childhood. I used Ma’s actual house, adding the long, fragrant grapevines, mock orange and lilac bushes, the rocks around the goldfish pond, and, of course, that enormous green frog.

Susan has a lovely voice and comes to visit me often. I can remember so many Christmas Eve nights playing with Susan on Ma and Grandad‘s back porch. We would read books and tell stories and somehow pass that excruciatingly long duration of time between eating the meal and opening the gifts. It seemed as if our moms were just too crawly-slow working down that mountain of dishes, but Susan helped me make it through.

I hope that when she looks at her afghan, she remembers the two little girls we once were, the goldfish darting among the lilies, and the gentle grandmother who taught us so much with so few words.

Gypsy Ramble

And finally, there is one more little girl.

She’s smaller than the others and rather purple in nature.

I created her from the leftover skeins and yarn remnants of the afghans that came before her.

Little bits of this one, a half-round of that one, colors and stitches that had already been part of something made for someone I love.

I named her Gypsy Ramble.

And she’s staying with me.

She’s my own little remnant memory of the Legacy Crochet Project.

One Stitch at a Time

So there you have it.

Eleven afghans, made during the winter, summer, and early fall since my return from 93 days in the hospital.

Some went to family, some to friends, and a couple are still waiting for the right homes.

One little purple girl is staying with me.  So... these afghans are more than pretty yarn and stitches. I found an Ozark sunrise, a garden filled with pansies, a beloved old attic, and two misguided little girls wading in a goldfish pond.

I treasured friends, neighbors, family, and people whose kindness has meant more to me than they may ever know.

And I stitched memories that I hope will live on long after my Gramma Minnie’s size H crochet hook has been put away. With every piece, I remember sitting by Gramma on her navy blue couch, learning how to manipulate a straight thread into something almost magical. 

Thank you for listening to my ramble, my Gypsy Ramble, about how I’ve spent these months since coming home from the hospital.

And right now, there’s a new girl on my hook.

But I’m not ready to talk about her yet.