My fingernails are dipped in a color called “Les Champs Elysees,” a good neutral for my fair, peachy-pink skin tone. They click against the crochet hook as my hands and fingers dance, pulling soft yarn into loopy knots. Patterns and textures emerge. Some require thought and counting, others allow my mind to wander. I often think of the person that will hopefully find comfort and warmth under the blanket that these knots will become. I pour good vibes and thoughts and prayers into the work, attempting to infuse love and care into the yarn itself. Some look at these blankets and see an innate, utilitarian object. And, of course, they are that. Blankets are indeed useful. But I believe, truly truly believe, that these are so much more.
My babies were lucky to be wrapped in the warmth of blankets made by loving hands. We have a grand, heavy, hundred-colored Afghan made with yarn and love by Chris’ grandmother. Our three children grew to know it as “the colorful blanket” and they have always understood that it is something very special. It’s the blanket that envelopes you in care and warmth. It is comfort for body and heart and soul. The Colorful Blanket was offered, if not requested, in all times of illness or distress. I can vividly recall moments with each of the kids snuggled up in those multi-colored stripes, sleeping, watching a movie, reading a book. Fevers, sore throats, bad days, the colorful blanket has been there for all of us. I know Grandma Davis poured her love and care and prayers into each stitch of that blanket.
Long before I understood the quiet yet magical power of the Colorful Blanket, I held my first crochet hook, a gift from two college friends, who taught me how to make my hands and fingers pull and loop yarn into something more. My first project was a way-too-big afghan for my mom. Years later, after having 3 kiddos, and becoming a very crafty mom, I needed a quiet, relaxing, project. I fell for a soft, warm, chunky yarn in colors of the Earth and that yarn became a soft, warm, chunky, zig zag afghan for our family room. I quickly realized how much I loved seeing it wrapped around a reading Elaina, covering a couch-sleeping Creighton, or snuggling a puppy-holding Caed. It became important to me that my kiddos all took a Mom-made Afghan with them when they left for college. I don’t know… I guess I felt like they could wrap up in it and feel my hugs when I was just too far away. I hope they still do. I thought of each of them as I chose the colors & patterns and I prayed for them and infused their yarn with my love.
I choose simple patterns and my projects always have little flaws. I’m okay with that. I actually believe all-things-real have imperfections.
Crochet has also become a meditative, calming, soothing activity for me. The repetitive, continuous movement of my hands calms my thoughts.
Some damage on my spinal column has resulted in numbness and pain in my hands and I do not take for granted that they will always work as I wish them too. For now, I love the process of crochet and I’ll continue infusing love and my many good wishes, my good vibes, into these knots. How nice to think that maybe years from now, somebody might find comfort wrapped up in them.
I recently repaired a treasured afghan belonging to a friend. I wholeheartedly believe, and therefore explained, that homemade afghans lose their magic if they’re not used and loved. They were made with love, they must be loved in return. The repair doesn’t look perfect. But I know that afghan was made with love and care and I’m happy to say that it was repaired with more of the same. Keep the magic alive, feel the love in stitches.
