My mom is amazingly talented with a crochet hook. She can whip things up like they were nothing. All of my life she has had a project of one sort or another nearby; and she never ceases to amaze me with what she can make, and in how short of a time that she can make it. Last year she decided that she wanted to make all of her daughters crocheted tablecloths. So last year my sister, Molly, was the lucky recipient. My mom told me that I would be the next one in line. She asked me which pattern I liked, and what measurements my table were. But this last summer she told me she didn't think she would be able to finish it by Christmas, as she suffers terribly from arthritis and rheumatism, and it just really hurt her hands to do much crocheting. I told her that was fine, as obviously I didn't want her to be in pain while making me a gift. Just the thought that she wanted to make something for me counted the most. But on Christmas Eve, I opened a gift from my mom. And yes, it was the tablecloth. It is absolutely beautiful, and what makes it so special is that she obviously forged on ahead with the work even though it caused her pain. A good example of a labor of love, and what a mother will endure for a child. Thanks mom -- it will always be very special to me. I love you.
Ponderings on Slower is Better
13 hours ago