Weekends With My Grandmother

I would spend hours beside my grandmother (“Welita” – my abbreviated kid version of “Abuelita”) while she crocheted. We lived next door to her when I was growing up and every weekend I would pack my bag, wave goodbye to Mom and Dad, and skip over to her house. We would watch telenovelas while eating sweet bread with coffee. (I’ve been drinking coffee since I was about 7 thanks to Welita, which explains a lot).

She taught me to crochet a long chain of single stitches. I didn’t get further than that but I felt like a grown-up sitting with her while we each worked our crochet hooks and talked about the evening news and whether our favorite characters on the telenovela would end up together. Years later, I learned to knit but missed the rhythm of my hands weaving the yarn with that single hook. So, I picked up a pattern book and taught myself to crochet.

I made this afghan for my son. I wanted something blue, but not baby blue. This rich cobalt blue and the deep brown offset by the white seemed to work.

They say that smells can stir up long-buried memories. For me, crocheting evokes hot afternoons, the smell of coffee brewing, and the buzz of the television at Welita’s house, and it makes me smile.

4 thoughts on “Weekends With My Grandmother

  1. My grandmother taught me an array of traditional Norwegian handarts. Now that I’m a grandmother myself, I am thrilled to have a granddaughter with whom to continue the tradition!

  2. Those colors look great together. My mom crocheted and she learned from her mom. My.mom taught me as a child, but I forgot. I picked up a hook and yarn last spring, watched YouTube videos, and asked my mom for help as needed. Something about crochet and knitting is so soothing to me.

    I’m really enjoying browsing your blog. So glad you came by mine so I could find you.

    1. Thanks for your wonderful comments. I also find knitting and crocheting to be soothing, plus you get something beautiful in the end! And it means so much to me that it’s a craft that is passed on through the generations.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s