Before Uncle Joe swept into her life to rescue her from spinsterhood, my Aunt Fannie lived with us. It is always a great blessing for a little girl to have the undivided attention of a doting aunt. In her eyes, I could do no wrong.
Aunt Fannie was a master knitter. She turned out sweaters with stitches that were absolute perfection. I watched in fascination as her skillful fingers plied the needles and the yarn. When I was four years old, she began to teach me to knit. Mom preserved my efforts on film, as I sat in the little white chair that was once hers (which I have sitting in the guest bathroom now) beside the wringer washing machine, trying to master that art.
The little piece I produced looked a bit more like swiss cheese than a baby blanket, but it was the beginning of a life-long love affair with needles and yarn. There is something about the needles slipping in and out of the yarn that brings me great peace and comfort. I enjoy the finished product, giving gifts that I've made with my own hands, but it is the process that I really love. Whenever I set my knitting aside to work on something else, I find that before long I feel a pull back to it.
It brings me joy.