stitch by stitch
it was frozen in time
I watched it grow
and dreamed it was mine
soft and warm
like an autumn sky
an afghan brings memories
of days gone by
My mom recently and asked me if there was anything in particular that I would like to have that belonged to my Granny. Oddly enough, something immediately came to my mind- an afghan. Not just any afghan- it was one my mom had made for my Pawpaw nearly 30 years ago.
So I said to my mom- “Do you remember that old afghan you made for Pawpaw? I would love to have it if it’s still at the house!” She remembered it right away, and said she’d try to find it that weekend.
As a kid, I remember sitting beside my mom on the couch each night as she crocheted it. I wanted that blanket! It was soo soft, and I remember thinking about how much my mom must love her daddy to spend all that time making it for him! I believe she gave it to him for Christmas that year.
And every time we went to visit Granny and Pawpaw, I saw that blanket folded neatly on top of his recliner. I secretly wanted to sit in his chair so I could spread it across my lap and pretend it was mine!
Year after year, Every time I saw the afghan, the memories of those special evenings I spent sitting beside my mom, watching her crochet… those memories would come right back to me.
As I was sitting in church the following Sunday, I saw a text from mom. They looked everywhere for the afghan, and mom went out to the garage to put something in the freezer- and there it was, in perfect condition tucked beside the freezer.
I was able to pick it up later that next week. The afghan was a little stiff, and slightly musty from old age, so I carefully washed and dried it. Now it’s as good as new!
Its not the afghan itself that’s special- it’s the precious memories it brings back to me…of being a little girl, sitting beside my Mommy on the couch…just simply being together.
“After all,” Anne had said to Marilla once, “I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.”
― L.M. Montgomery,