A recent conversation with Mum about crochet, which I've started and she now wants to do too (is it bad that I don't like the way she 'copies' me? especially how what she does has to be exactly the same?!?) led me to reminisce, briefly, about the blanket I played with when I was a little girl, which my Grandma Ruth, my father's mother, had crocheted for me.
And of course Mum still had the blanket (NO comment here on her keeping stuff her ex-Mother-in-Law had made!) and yesterday she found it & gave it to me. Here it is:
I don't know what it's made of, it feels too scratchy to be all wool. I don't remember her making it for me, all I remember is playing with it (it was particularly good for Wild West imaginary play!) with a child's total lack of respect for its handmade, crochety fabulousness!
-x-
P.S. I just found these photos of Grandma Ruth, Grandpa & me (& Tessa the dog!) on my pooter:
aren't those glasses awesome?!?
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