GENEALOGY CHALLENGE 2021Art & Craft II: Hooked - January 28th entry of a 31-day challenge to post a document, photo or artifact on social media every day in January.
by Nancy Gilbride Casey
It all began with sleepovers at my Aunt Margaret's house.
Margaret Gilbride Firestone (1947-2004) was my Dad's funny, irreverent younger sister. When my older brother Tim and I were in our teens, we would occasionally be invited to stay over on a Saturday night at Aunt Margaret's house in nearby Eastlake, Ohio. This was such an incredible treat, and I'm sure a nice break for my Mom, who was raising four kids on her own.
For me, I got spoiled by getting to try on makeup, stay up late, and of course, eat all the wrong snacks. I got special attention from my aunt, who was also my godmother. It was heaven.
One visit, she decided to teach me how to crochet. Although I can't recall all the exact details of the lessons, I must have at least learned the basics. And, I know she taught me how to crochet Granny Squares, which looked complicated, but which at their core are a clever combination of a few simple stitches.
Aunt Margaret likely sent me home with a crochet hook and a little bit of yarn. The next time I recall doing an actual project, I attempted to make a crocheted vest. This was in the 70s and I remember it was summer. I recall the yarn I picked out—an ombre red, white and blue number—which was one of a few choices I likely had at the neighborhood Uncle Bills store in Willowick, Ohio, where we lived.
The vest was made up of individual Granny Squares laced together. At the time, I knew nothing about appropriate yarn choices, proportions, or any of those concepts. The garment came out huge, and was scratchy to wear—basically, a disaster. Yet, I had been bitten by the crochet bug.
Over the years, I taught myself more about crocheting, and after our kids were grown, I had more time to devote to fine-tuning my skills. (The "circle-in-a-square" Granny Square (above), and the mitred Granny Square afghan (left) are two examples.) I love to peruse patterns, stroll down the yarn aisles in stores, and dream of my next project. The act of crocheting itself is calming and often accompanied by listening to music or podcasts, or sometimes even watching TV.
And often as I stitch, I think about my Aunt Margaret, and those long-ago sleepovers, where she had the patience to teach me a skill which has lasted a lifetime—bringing color, warmth and a sense of accomplishment to me with every afghan or scarf completed.
NEXT UP: A Total Surprise.
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