I often go to visit my Boy Toy’s fraternal grandparents. Two very nice old people who don’t smell like month balls, always has their candy dish filled with yummy goodies and puts a tablespoon full of opium in their ice tea. (Okay, maybe its more like a teaspoon of opium, but I swear their ice tea is dangerously addictive). Needless to say, I like spending time with them.
During visits, I often bring my knitting with me. After dinner is done and the plates are cleared we usually sit around the table listening to great stories about growing up in the South and the family and friends that have long passed away. It’s at this time that I would pull out my knitting and immerse myself in the history, stories and culture of a way of life that most people of my generation don’t have a clue about.
On a recent visit, after a lip smacking meal of grilled steaks, corn on the cob and buttermilk biscuits, we were once again sitting around the table listening to stories of the ‘good old days’. I pulled out my knitting and looked down to check where I was at in my work. My hands jerked in fear when dear grandma V called my name in that stern southern voice.
“Child, you are so rude. Every time you come here, you just sit and knit and don’t want to listen in. I told grandpa B that the next time you come here and pull out your knitting that I was going to take it away from you. If you don’t want to be here, then just don’t come.”
It took a moment to gather my words as my mind was still in shock over what was just said. Thankfully, my Boy Toy stepped in on my behalf.
“Grandma, she’s not trying to be rude. You know how crafty she is and it’s hard for her to be without something in her hands. She is always doing something.”
“Well, she can go without knitting for the time that she’s her. I just think its rude. You can’t be paying attention to what people are saying if you’re too busy counting stitches.”
“Grandma V, I don’t count stitches”, I said. “When I’m knitting I can hear everything that you say. I don’t even look down when I’m knitting. I keep my head up looking at whomever is talking. When I knit, it makes me focus more on the conversation.”
“I don’t believe that. You can’t tell me that you can sit here doing stitches and know everything we talking about.”
“But I do. I always know what you’re saying because I respond to questions and I laugh at the jokes. I’m listening to everything that’s going on.”
“It’s true grandma”, my Boy Toy admitted. “I can have full detailed conversations with her where we are both going back and forth with our ideas and she can still knit without missing a beat. Besides, didn’t you always tell me that idle hands are the devil’s work?’
” Well, I’d just like to see her stop knitting and just sit and talk like everyone else. No one can possibly have something to knit all the time.”
Grandpa B stepped in and changed the conversation. I tucked my knitting back into my purse, spending a little too much time trying to move things around in my purse while I tried to keep my tears at bay.
I spent the rest of the evening with my hands in my lap, listening to the conversations, but not really ‘being there’ mentally.
When it was time to go home I got in the car with my Boy Toy and sulked in my seat. He placed his hand on my lap.
“So, I guess I’m banned from knitting at their house anymore.”
“No. You keep knitting. I know how you were before you started knitting and I understand how much knitting has helped you. I’d rather have you knitting and happy then to see you like this. Don’t worry about grandma. She’s just jealous because she could never knit as good as you.”
Did I mention to you how much I love my Boy Toy?