These events would one day become more (or less) meaningful to me, but at the time, I was blissfully unaware of them . . . except of course the Jesus thing. My sisters and I were shocked. We loved Jesus. Didn't John Lennon? Didn't the Beatles rush straight from church to the Ed Sullivan Theater on Sunday nights . . . like we did?
My Granny Norman (Miss Nonie to her friends) was the only one wanting to hold my hand that summer. Her veined, graceful and gentle hands guided my little nail-bitten ones over each stitch to teach me the ubiquitous stockinette pattern.
After many insignificant afternoon hours on the front porch's metal glider, the scratchy red ball of wool was gone and the thing finally (sort of) resembled a scarf. Of course, it curled in on itself almost like an I-cord and so even then I wasn't too satisfied with the results, but I had learned to knit! I was a knitter! Thanks, Granny!
GRANNY AND ME, LAKE ARROWHEAD, 1966