a stitch in time

This is a story, woven together by one common thread... my grandmother.

Earlier this summer my mom traveled to Illinois to visit her sister and other members of our family. There is a long line of family, from my mom and my dad (my husband too), from the Chicago area. On this particular visit, this summer, she went to the neighborhood where the house that her parents lived in through their retirement years is at. It is the home we always stayed in when we went for family Christmas celebrations. It sits on a street called Homewood Ave. We have lots of memories, pictures and classic 35 mm home movies of aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents from those Christmas gatherings. Since we were the cousins who lived far away, we were the ones that got to stay in the upstairs bedrooms at grandmas house. I can remember some pretty classic moments in that house, as so do my sisters. In fact, they probably have more great moments since they were part of the cool group.

I was the fourth child in our family and I was one of the younger cousins. There were a few younger than me, a few a year or two older, and then the cool teens and even the college set. Of course, I always wanted to be with the cool teens. The ones that were probably always getting into trouble. But they were the cool ones. Yes, my older sisters were part of that group. That's right, I'm saying you were cool.

The basement in my Grandma's house was where all the holiday festivities took place. Rows of tables would be set up and there was always enough room for the kids to run around and play. The Christmas tree would be lit up in the corner, perfectly decorated, twinkling and sparkling, with all the presents piled underneath. They had a small kitchen area to make it very convenient for cooking extra food for the big family. There was also an area that was draped off with curtains that was "off limits" to the kids. Under no circumstances were we allowed to enter that area. A mystery area to me. The big, great wall of curtains. The area that kept me shaking in my shoes. Scared of what was behind the curtain that was so awful we were never allowed to see it. But I was even more scared to take the risk of entering and getting caught. My grandma, of German decent, had a presence about her that always made you do what she said. Or else. So, I never went behind that curtain. No.not.ever. Well ok, maybe once.

It was during the summer. I had finally reached an age where I could hang with the cousins that were a couple of years older than me, rather than the ones a year or two younger. And I was feeling special. Cool. So I followed two of my cousins to the basement. (Dark and not so festive in the summertime.) And before I knew it we were standing right up next to the "curtain". As Steve pulled back a corner, he and Tina had a knowing look on their faces. I could feel the butterflies fighting to rise up out of my stomach. Part of me saying "don't you do it". The other part saying..."you want to go back with the little kids?" So, I took the first step and followed them in. There were shelves and boxes stacked to the ceiling. We were weaving around the darkness with very little light guiding our way. Muffled sounds of adult feet and voices on the floorboards above us kept my heart pounding. In and around we went, looking for the holy grail of everything in my imagination that had been hiding behind those curtains. One more turn and the cousins stopped dead in their tracks in front of me. I looked up and there, in the corner, was the perfectly decorated, not so lit up, not so sparkly Christmas tree. The cord for the lights laying limply on the floor. I was so devastated. I had discovered the magic of Christmas... in July. Not so magic anymore. All because I followed the big kids where I wasn't suppose to. I couldn't believe that Grandma just pulled that tree out from behind the curtain, ornaments, tinsel and all, and just plugged it in. And then, when December was past, back behind the curtain it went. I was ready to go play with the "little kids" again. I didn't even have to be caught by Grandma for going behind the curtain. Every year after that, staring at that tree, staring at the curtain next to it, was punishment enough.

Not only was Grandma industrious, she was handy too. She sewed most of her kids clothing when they were young. She made quilts, aprons and dresses for herself. She crocheted, tatted, embroidered, stitched and I think even probably knit a little. She cut old clothes into small squares to make quilts. Handy and crafty. She always had a little stitching project in her hands while watching t.v. in the evenings. We kids would sit on the long couch, she in her chair, the t.v. turned to Bonanza. Little Joe was cute and all, but sometimes we would get tired of Bonanza over and over again. She insisted on watching it though and we were not allowed to change the channel. But grandma had a little problem. Even though she had her stitching in her lap to keep her hands busy, she would fall asleep. And she would snore. So here we were, Hoss, Little Joe and Grandma snoring in her chair. Sometimes, when one of my older sisters would get brave, they would quietly sneak over and change the channel. Yes, we had to actually get up, walk over, and turn the dial on the t.v to change the channel. She would wake up. Every. Single. Time. We had to turn it back to Bonanza. Sit back down and wait. She would take a few stitches on her handiwork and pretty soon she would fall back to sleep. And we would try it again.

Now, I just want to say here. Some things are hereditary. Mom, I know you are reading. You don't watch Bonanza, but you do like to do your knitting while watching t.v. in the evenings. And you have been known to fall asleep. It's probably that hereditary thing I mentioned.

So to my kids I say...

...I'm taking up stitching. And I am staying awake in front of the t.v!!! It is coming along nicely, thank you very much.
As I have been taking each little stitch on this cloth, I have been thinking of my Grandma lately. Probably, because while my Mom was back in Chicago visiting , she and her sister drove by that old house with the basement. They were surprised to discover that the current homeowners have completely torn the house down and are rebuilding a new one. They were able to walk around the construction site and talk to the people building the home. Although it has been over 30 years since that home was in our family, it is a little sad to know it is now gone for good. The narrow stairs that led up to the bedrooms our family slept in. The slate tiles that our boots sat on leaving puddles of melted snow. The accordion folding door in the living room. The basement. All gone. But I have the memories. And as I was thinking about my Grandma's house and my grandma, I realized that the crafty things that she liked to make are all things that my mom likes to do and are things that I like to do too.

So, I can thank my Grandma for passing down those handy crafty things. And now I can thank her for handing down the desire to take up stitching, while sitting in the chair in front of the t.v. in the evenings, to her daughter and now to me.

Minus the snoring.