Thursday, December 6, 2012

before the hearth

My grandma knit mittens.
We got a new pair every winter, or maybe two.
When they become sodden with slush or encrusted with balls of snow, we propped them near the wood stove to dry out.
They were as colorful as Joseph's coat.
Grandma was a very thrifty crafter, and it wasn't unusual to have several wide bands of color and contrasting thumbs.
Her grandchildren grew up and a lovely crop of great grandchildren made the pilgrimage to visit her.
She never forgot them at Christmas and tiny mittens warmed the next generation as well.
It is hard to believe that twenty winters have flown by since I saw her last.
She lived to a ripe old age. Such a wise, gentle, charming lady.
I think she would be pleased to see her mittens immortalized; hanging before the hearth.

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