(I meant to write this yesterday, March 30, which was my Mama Shockley’s birthday, but yesterday was a long, long day.  Today will have to do.)

You may remember that I lost my maternal grandmother, Mama Shockley, this January.  March 31 was her birthday, and I wanted to spend a few moments remembering her.  I grew up far away from my grandparents, but we visited at least once a year, and I think one of the things I am most grateful to both my mother and my grandmothers for is seeing people use their hands to work for the people they loved.  My mother made most of our meals from scratch, and did a lot of crafting over the years – sewing, weaving, spinning, calligraphy.

(cross-stitch by Mama)

Mama Shockley sewed, crocheted, cross-stitched, and embroidered – I’m sure she did things I’ll never even know about.  In her last year, she was taking requests for sets of embroidered napkins, because that was something she could still work on without getting too tired.  In the photo of us above, she sewed the skirt and kitty applique on my shirt.

(table runner woven by my mother)

I think what I mean to say is that I can still feel the love from these women in the objects they created – they sing and hum with life and love in a way that nothing bought in a store could, no matter how beautiful.  I am eternally grateful to these women, and the women before them, not only for the creations they handed down, but mostly for the knowledge and the power to create.

(two from a set of dish towels embroidered by my great-grandmother)

As a young person, I enjoyed crafts and art, but when I became a mother I understood the urge to make by hand, no matter how slowly or imperfectly, items for my family.  Mama seemed pretty delighted that I was knitting (”Oh yes, I used to knit, but one day the baby pulled out a whole red sweater and I never knit again, just crochet . .  .”).  Now, I also use more of what was handed down to me – a little afraid to see it get worn, but mostly, joyous to get to see it, and confident that it was made to be used, not stashed in a closet. I may not be able to scientifically measure the warmth of the biscuit quilt my great-grandmother made, but I will swear to you, it’s the warmest I’ve ever slept under.

(my mother and I, 2005)