I will not be knitting my way out of lockdown blues. There will be no pots thrown nor will there be macramé potholders. No creations in crochet, embroidery, tapestry or tatting. Craft-wise I am challenged. As a child I was both very left-handed and rather clumsy. Dyspraxic might be the term used now. My mother gave up on me in frustration.
Two years after my mother died, I taught myself to knit plain squares. I was twenty-three. My first baby had a blanket made of knitted squares and a couple of little jackets…also made of knitted squares. All in red, white and blue. That was my first and last foray into knitting.
My daughter’s mother-in-law is a keen and skilled knitter. My mother was too. This poem was partly about her knitting but more about her fierce loyalty, her protectiveness towards family.
Today the walk almost didn’t happen, but the spaniel initiated it, leading the way and smiling. His movement was laboured, but the tail wagged. It was gain above pain. We were remembering the oak and ash saying:
Oak before ash – you’re in for a splash. Ash before oak – you’re in for a soak.
Oak leaves are out earlier in the hedges, but does it mean anything? Or is the delay something to do with ash die-back? It’s hard to pinpoint why I feel so positive this evening. It just feels like somehow there’s a little coherence through and around the chaos. Or acceptance anyway.