#ProjectZen #Day9 #GratitudeProject
Here we are! Day 9 of my gratitude project! Yay!
Memories of my mom don’t just include her wonderful cooking, baking, and canning. Nor the pots of hot tea over games of Chinese checkers. Nor the million of other thing she did, or what we did together. They also include all the wonderful sweaters she made for us kids, and the afghans and throws, hats and scarves. I don’t think I even had a store-bought sweater until I was well into my teens. My dad and all my brothers and me, we all had afghans of our very own. Mom could crochet and knit like no tomorrow….with incredible skill and amazing speed….and not just basic stuff either…..she could put twists and turns and patterns into an afghan with practiced ease.
I still have mine. It’s very long. It’s red, orange, green and white. It’s very beat up, bedraggled, and fuzzy now…..after 45 years of being dragged around everywhere I’ve ever lived……being washed and dried frequently……stretched out and misshapen. A few stitches here and there have been pulled out, so a few strings of yarn dangle from it. I’m managed to not put any holes in it yet, thankfully. It’s been to Germany, Texas, Georgia, and Illinois. It’s been on planes and in cars. I drag it back and forth from my bed to my chair. My cats like it too, and I often have to compete with them for personal possession of it.
Oh, the colors! Wild huh? Well, I was five when she made this for me. Those of you that remember color schematics and home decorating, you know! Popular color choices in the early 1970’s. We had plush green carpeting in our living room, pale green walls, a pumpkin colored sectional sofa. A big green couch. The wallpaper in my bedroom was festooned with huge, bright red and orange poppies. My windows were covered with cheery bright yellow curtains. So, I suspect my that mom mom selected the colors for my afghan, because of how my bedroom was decorated at the time.
My mom passed away in 2007. I miss her. But, she left me this gift of an afghan and I can wrap up in it and feel her hugs. My beat up afghan comforts me now at 50 years old, just as much as it did when I was 5 years old. It warms me when I’m cold and comforts me through lots of worry and sadness. In fact, I’m wrapped up in it right now because it’s chilly in the house. Thanks, Mom, I am grateful for your afghan!