A Knitting Orphan

Along with my late night musings on capital K, I realized something... I have become a knitting orphan.

Every year, especially at Christmas, I knew that my Nan would be sending something handmade. All manner of quilted and crocheted things would arrive via Canada Post... and whenever I'd open the box, I swear I could smell the ocean! Now, Nan's choice of colours was always, shall I say... interesting. She had a penchant for peach and mint green... cotton candy pink variegated with flecks of baby blue... You'd never know exactly what awaited in one of Nan's parcels, but I do know that in ten years of marriage, I've hardly ever had to buy pillow-slips, tea towels, dish cloths or bubble bath. In mom's parcels, there would be lotion from Avon, Jackie's would have a little money to buy herself a treat, for me, a bookmark with a prayer on it. In the end though, it was never predictable, never the perfect colour... and never so missed.

When she died this summer, I didn't expect to feel her absence in so many little ways.

Her bibs and bobs for around the house weren't my favourite things to receive, and they were usually stored at the back of the cupboard for the day when everything else was in the laundry and they were the only ones left... However, in her absence, I find myself pulling them out, so that as I dry my hands or wash the dishes, I feel as if she is with me... or at least, I allow myself a moment of reverie. I miss her so much. (sniff)

But not all that she made was religated to the corners of the house... her vamps (knitted socks) were worn throughout the winter. They were always warm and comfortable, simple in their construction and colour. As much as I liked them, Mark loved them even more... and Nan was glad to have another person to knit for. Her "double-ball mitts" were amazing. Never knit from a pattern, never charted out, yet beautiful designs would emerge in alternating colours. The body of the mitten was a split-finger design, to allow for better dexterity, but I have a hard time imagining any Newfoundlander explaining it in such a way. It's just the way to make mitts. Period.

Christmas came and went.and no parcel arrived. No bibs and bobs. No vamps. No double-ball mitts. And then I realized... I'm a knitting orphan.