The Tale of Two Blankets

 I have 2 crafty grandmothers. My Gramma Jean, who passed in 2001 could sew, knit, crochet and could probably embroider. I would watch my Nana crochet and knit with the skill and speed of a professional fiber artist. When I was very small, they each took me under their wing and taught me what they knew about what I was interested in learning. They had learned from their own mothers and they joyfully taught me skills I still use to this day. And let me say, these two weren’t in competition with each other, nothing was bitter. It’s always been loving and supportive on both sides. They knew and respected each other, and they each knew/know how special they are to my brother and I. I don’t think that’s something a lot of people can say. And I’m full of gratitude for both of them. Not only did they each teach me - but I have something from each of them.

I can’t recall whether it was a birthday or Christmas, but when I was six I finally got the afghan my Nana had been working on for months that she’d made for me, and between my brother, cousin and I we dubbed our afghans as Nana-made-its. When I would spend the weekends with her, I’d watch her work on it or my brother’s. She also made one for my cousin Ryan, and I’m positive he still has his. It was almost always folded at the end of my bed in case I was cold at night. I always wanted its weight and comfort when I was sick. I brought it with me when I got married because I wanted a piece of home, even though it’s clearly made for a little girl. And now my kids like to sleep with it. They all ask for the Nana-made-it. I’ve only had to fix it one time in 30 years of use. And probably the most important part of it for me is here at the bottom, the year she made it and her own initials, one of which I share with her. So whoever inherits it after me and mine will know whose hand lovingly made it. 

I remember my Gramma’s house to be a magical place when I was a kid. There were nooks and cubbies to hide away in, places to sit and think, places to be creative, to read, to learn, and a big table to eat at. One of my favorite not-so-secret hidey holes was her “sewing room”, which was effectively a closet outfitted with a light, shelves and a table for her to sew in. There were always push pins stuck in the carpet, puff t-shirt paint and paint for when we wanted to paint rocks. There was also a box full of quilting scraps she’d “inherited” from her mother. They’d been scraps from things she’d made for the family or from hemming my grampa’s pants. 

I was at her house a lot, both because we wanted to be there and because my brother was sick often when we were younger. She and Nana and my aunts would take turns caring for me when that happened, so I was always safe and looked after. One weekend, we decided it was time for me to learn how to sew. She took some of her mother’s quilting scraps and showed me how to assemble a little quilt for my dolls. She loving watched and instructed as we pieced it together by hand. When we sewed on the back she showed me how to use her sewing machine to finish it off. She asked, “If you want, we can stop here and this can be a little quilt, or we can stuff it with badding and make it a pillow for your bed.” I decided that I wanted it to be a “comforter” for my dolls - so we stuffed it with  just a little badding so my dolls would be extra cozy. 

Both of these blankets, heirlooms in their own rights, have been enjoyed by all my kids. Their great-grandkids know the Tale of the Two Blankets. And so they both will live on with us, always.