Somewhere in the deep recesses of my diminishing memory, I recall peaceful moments as a small child sitting beside my mother as she was knitting... perhaps some socks for my dad or mittens for me. The mere recall of the pleasantly muted, soft clicks of her knitting needles brings comfort even now. My mother creating; my mother providing; my mother’s presence beside me – all captured in the auditory memory of needle striking needle as she knitted round upon round.
Mom turned 90 the other day. Unfortunately, the will and desire to feed her creativity and productivity seems to have left her in spite of a body and mind that remain quite capable. As I sat on her couch working on my own “Saucy Socks”, I could see in Mom's eyes that her spark for knitting is still there, although I learned that her desire to concentrate on pattern variations is gone. We soon found ourselves buying new knitting needles and plenty of cotton yarn to get her started anew and what followed was a virtual production line of hand-knit dishcloths. And there was joy – the pure joy that knitting brings. Mother and daughter sitting together, sharing feelings of triumph over a FO (finished object) and the ability to speak our minds without the intrusion of television. I wish moments like this for all women, of all ages.