Who has the songs to sing to me when I am blue?

Who has the tenderness of a mother?
Who has the wisdom of a schoolteacher?
Who has the tricks of the magician?
Who has the ability to see the world through a child’s eye?
Who has the stories about Mum and Dad?
Who has always loved me no matter what I do?
Who has the songs to sing to me when I am blue?
Of course, it is my Grandma,
And I love you and you blessed my life!
(Catherine Pulsifer)

I’m constantly being called a granny because I crochet. But if all granny’s warm hearts like my granny sure did, I don’t mind being called a granny at all.

My great gran was the most exceptional lady I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.
Her warm heartfelt hugs as I snuggled into lap as she read me poems, story’s and sang the most enchanting Irish songs, in her sweet Irish accent, there was no place I would rather have been.
Her sweetie pot filled with humbugs next to her comfy armchair always filled so that her grandchildren could have that sweet treat that our parents would only allow on pocket-money day.
She would sit and listen to every word we spoke no matter the rubbish that would pour out as mouths.
She truly listened and even though she was a Victorian child at heart and the world had changed in front of her eyes, she would do her up most to try to understand the modern world and help to put life’s troubles into prospective, she would put the world to rights just by being her and opening her arm to give us the hug that protected us from the monsters under our beds.
She loved with her whole heart, her time was solely ours, her love unconditional.
There is truly no one like a granny.
She was my first ever heartbreak and I miss her terribly, her smile, her wisdom, her voice, her hugs.

While people take the piss that I make crochet blankets, hats or what ever they ask for, I do it out of love, friendship and respect for the person I’m gifting it to. With every piece I create, a sense of pride fills my soul and I feel as though I have actually achieved something.
Since life grow extremely hard, I feel I really don’t have a purpose, I have this humongous hole in my life, that can only be filled by the love of my life, with that emptiness eating away at me I have to try to do anything to give myself a little peace, a little sense of achievement, a little pride. Creating a keepsake, an heirloom that I call, a hug in a box, I feel I’m giving out a little love, that in person, I struggle to give. So even though people tease me, call me granny, I really don’t mind because granny’s give the best hugs.👵🏻

A hug in a box 🎁

Quite simply, crochet feeds the human need for balance in our lives. Making something with our hands reflects something basic about ourselves. We want to work hard without losing touch with our creative selves; we want to earn money without losing our souls; and we want to be part of a larger picture of human progression while still maintaining our individuality.” – Vickie Howell

I hate the word crochet or is it just the mental picture of what the word represents.
People assume that crochet is for old people, sitting in a rocking chair wasting their time making Christmas jumpers, the same is said for knitters.
I find that to be rather sad and very untrue.
Ok I’m as small/short as a granny and I’m getting on a bit, safely sat in the 30’s 😩 but I’m far from claiming my pension.
I try to pick up my hook at least everyday if not I don’t like to leave it for more than two.
Sadly lately I haven’t been able to and I find that very hard.
Crochet to me is therapeutic, it calms my soul and gives me a purpose. It also helps my hands from seizing up.
It let’s my imagination run ride, it lets me create an individual piece of art, that will warp someone in love and warmth. To me that pretty special.
Crochet challenges me daily and keeps my brain in some kind of functioning order, which right now I need.
Most importantly though, it let’s me give a little something extra special to my family and friends.
Every stitch, every loop, every knot has been hooked with love especially for the person I am making it for.
To see their eyes alight when they pull open the wrapping and lift the lid of the specially picked box, peel back the handmade tissue paper and reveal the blanket that is a hug in a box. That moment melts you.

The only trouble is there is so many beautiful designs, patterns, masterpieces out there, how do you pick your next project, your next hug. And then when you finally decide on the perfect pattern, what yarn to use, and what colours?
I’m a self-confessed yarn addict, I have more than enough to keep me going for at least two life times 😝, but still I never seem to have the perfect yarn in the right shades so of course I have to buy more.
Every gift I make is unique in that way, hours of thought and love has been spent, planning that very individual special gift, then hours upon hours, days, weeks even months of hooking to make it.
No shop brought give can match that in my eyes,👀 well unless it’s been given as much love and attention as what a home-made gift has. I’ll admit I’ve brought a few gifts that I’ve spent weeks researching and tracking down so I give the gift that I believed that person wanted.

So do you still feel crochet or knitting as something that only old people do or can you see it for the precious, heartfelt, caring, loving hug it really is?

👵🏻👵🏻👵🏻👵🏻👵🏻