Article: A Special Kind Of Love
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A Special Kind Of Love
My grandmother taught me to crochet the moment my clumsy, chubby fingers could hold a crochet hook. By the time that I was six, she handed me her sewing needles to thread for her because her eyes could no longer see the needle's eye. When I was eight, my mother spent all of her precious off-work night-time hours making me a spring wardrobe that I can still describe in minute detail, right down to the rick-rack that trimmed the red kerchief that matched the tulip sprigged sleeveless dress. I can recall precisely the colors and patterns of the nightgowns my grandmother sewed for me. My brothers will tell you that they've never worn anything so warm and comfortable as Nana's knitted socks. I even remember the weight of the stocking cap my mother knit to match the checkerboard cardigan - that ...
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