Today is Grandma’s 90th birthday.
As my partner and I are living in Switzerland we will not be attending the fete. But there will be a gathering of family, friends and food. Grandma has sighed over the fact that she would rather nothing at all “but her kids won’t listen.”
My grandparents—on this side of the family—emigrated from Switzerland many moons ago so the Swiss-things we could perhaps send aren’t that interesting. I grew up with a constant stream of Swiss chocolates and Swiss pocket knives. Switzerland is still home but my grandparents also dedicated all their efforts to create a home, a family and a farm in Canada.
By 90 years on this blue marble Grandma has also cultivated much of her needs and wants. My gift list continues to shrink as I look at her varied, bold and wonderful life.
Here’s my last excuse: as one of the most skilled women I have the pleasure of loving and being loved by, much of what I could (perhaps) make for Grandma she could do better, has done better or is already in her pantry.
But there is something I like to do, that Grandma does too (of course) but not a lot. I like to knit. My first handknitted goods were a pair of soft, green-black yarn socks that Grandma made because someone left yarn at her house. It may have even been unspun wool which meant she spun it first and whipped up some socks. That afternoon. The bag of wool had been dropped off to be composted but instead had a change of fate thanks to her.
I remember Grandma telling me about when she and my grandfather were dating and she knit him a sweater (boyfriend sweater curse begone?). However, she went a little further and added a zipper to this sweater and while my grandfather was in the army the other fellows were impressed with this handknitted sweater and zipper. He felt very proud of his new sweater and his fiancé as did Grandma of her handiwork.
I am not at Sweater Level—forget Zipper Zone—yet. But I can knit a simple shawl, and so I did. Two years into knitting I think I am “good” at estimating how long a project matched with my experience will take, so I casted on in January. There was a little Valentine’s Day hat snuck in-between but otherwise I have been ruminating on Grandma garter stitch by garter stitch for about three months. (I think that was the unbeknownst gift to me as loop by loop I found myself thinking about her and her life so far, and the struggles and triumphs and great losses and great progress and wisdom and spirit and…and…and)…
This Simple Shawl went in the mail the first week of April and took a plane (I guess?) to Canada.
It arrived before the Big Birthday—as that’s today. I wrote to Grandma and said there is a birthday goody in the mail and whether she saves it or opens it is up to her. She wrote back and said she was having a “low day” when the package arrived, she “gave herself permission” to open it. This happened after meeting my aunt for a morning coffee, because yes, she still drives her blue pickup truck everywhere.
She told me she treasured it. That it’s beautiful. She could not believe that it was handmade.
Grandma has a sister in Switzerland, and they exchange daily emails. I imagine she wears it on her shoulders or lap, when typing away on her tablet. She also has a large garden, mows her own lawn, and raises rabbits so maybe its worn then, but I doubt it.
Her written pleasure at receiving the shawl made the simple garter and odd slip stitch (I learned a new skill) feel like the most intricate project. It stoked that warm embers in my heart of why I love to make with my hands.
Since “her kids won’t listen” I am sure she is headed into a day of pomp and parade and an overflowing table with party goers bumping elbows and a boisterous off-key “happy birthday” before cake. So in the dark of the early morning, I will offer my own, knitterly, compliment:
Grandma: you are Knit-Worthy. Thank you for stitching the beautiful life that you have and wrapping us in your warmth and wisdom. I love you.
P.S
And happy birthday!
Sew, until next week, I knit.
See you then.
Kaitlyn
From the swiss camera roll: tulips in our window on a wintery afternoon