Knitting and memories

    I was thinking about my grandmother a little while ago. The one who taught me to knit when I was 10, whom I lovingly refer to as The Knitting Nazi. I was washing dishes, and she frequently enters my thoughts during that particular activity. Maybe she is the reason I hate doing it so much. She was a particularly unpleasant person when she got old, and I remember telling her I hated her when she made me wash dishes when I had a friend over to play.


    That train of thought reminded me that when I was a kid,  I hated that all the silverware was in the bottom of the sink. Do you know that as soon as I moved out on my own, I found a large plastic tumbler to be kept by the sink, that I put all the dirty silverware in. I put a few drops of dish detergent in there, and fill it with hot water. That way, the silverware isn't all in the bottom of the sink, and if I need a spoon I can wash just that one spoon. I have one there to this day.


    I managed to get some knitting on the legwarmers yesterday. I don't know if I'll be able to today, as Hubs and I are spending the day together, culminating in dinner out tonight. I'm looking forward to that.

Scent and Memory

    Believe it or not, scent is a very strong memory trigger. I read this years ago, and totally believe it. A roommate of mine was going to college and having a hard time. I told her to pick a perfume, cologne, or any pleasant smell and put it on a handkerchief.


    I told her to keep it nearby while studying, so she could smell it. Then when having an exam at school, use that same scent again. It will help you remember what you studied! She didn't believe me, so ended up not doing very well.


    I know it works, for a fact. When I was growing up, my dad would buy chunks of Pecorino Romano cheese and grate it himself. The smell would permeate the whole house. For those not familiar with this cheese, us kids called it Stink Cheese.


     Years later, I was standing at the Deli in our local supermarket, and I had picked up a container of the cheese, already grated. As I was waiting my turn, I opened the container and took a sniff. The memories of my dad flooded back, and the tears started rolling down my cheeks.


     For me, the smell of Ivory soap brings back memories too. When I smell it, I can see my brother and I in these big, rough textured tub/sinks that our Italian grandmother had in a room off her kitchen. She used to give us baths in these tubs, and scrub us with Ivory soap until we very nearly bled. (I used to swear that she used steel wool on us too, but I don't think that's true)


    The memories come back, so very strong. I'm sure you all have your own stories, and memories.

Sara Found Some Old Photos!

    I know I promised you guys a good photo of my dad, well I didn't have one. But it looks like my daughter Sara did! She posted a bunch of photos on facebook last night, so I put some in my computer's photo files.


   Here is an early one, my parent's wedding photo! January 22, 1955!

And another wedding photo, this one is Sara and grandpa at the wedding of my friends, Beth and Tim. September, 1978:

At least that's what I think. If I'm wrong, I'll let you know! This next one is my favorite of Sara, she was so freaking cute!

 

 

The only other photo of her I liked this much, she was running down the hall in a dorm at Potsdam State, with a beer in her hand!

The Tale of the Sock Fairy

    When I was a young girl, I noticed that every year for Christmas, my maternal Grandmother sent socks as gifts to everyone in the family. Well, she also usually made us kids knitted mittens that were waaaay too big, and I always got a bag of Hazelnuts. I loved them, and still do.


    By the time I was a smart-ass teenager, I was referring to her as The Sock Fairy. Which was fine with my family, until the one Christmas Grandma stayed with us. She heard us refer to her as such, and was mortally offended. She got all huffy, and said that if we felt that way, she would never get socks for us again. And she didn't.


    It kind of became the family joke, who the sock fairy would be each year. Mom took over for a while, and after I got married, my mother-in-law became the sock fairy. I must say, she wore the title with pride. Each and every year, along with our other gifts, we always got socks.


    Well, before Christmas came in 2010, my mother-in-law passed away. And that year is when I became the family sock fairy. I have taken to it with enthusiasm. I get socks for everyone, even my son-in-law.


    And yes, this is the Grandmother who taught me to knit, whom I lovingly (not) call the Knitting Nazi.