I crocheted this rug for my dog, Blackie, a black Cocker Spaniel who came into my family around 1954. For some reason my Mom saved it. I couldn't read a pattern, didn't know the names of any stitches, I just knew what my Mom taught me about using a hook and yarn. This is heavy rug yarn. I remember trying to figure out how to make the checkered pattern I wanted. In the close up you can see that I carried the different color yarn across, which gave the rug extra thickness. Blackie loved it. This is the only crocheted item I have from my childhood. I treasure it, even with its now frayed edges, stretched out surface and a holes here and there. In 1957 I put down my hook and didn't pick it up again until about 1997. But, as I tell my students, my fingers remembered what to do even tho I didn't. It's called muscle memory. I can always tell when a new student who hasn't crocheted since childhood comes to me to learn -- their fingers automatically know their way around a hook and yarn.
I crocheted this rug for my dog, Blackie, a black Cocker Spaniel who came into my family around 1954. For some reason my Mom saved it. I couldn't read a pattern, didn't know the names of any stitches, I just knew what my Mom taught me about using a hook and yarn. This is heavy rug yarn. I remember trying to figure out how to make the checkered pattern I wanted. In the close up you can see that I carried the different color yarn across, which gave the rug extra thickness. Blackie loved it. This is the only crocheted item I have from my childhood. I treasure it, even with its now frayed edges, stretched out surface and a holes here and there. In 1957 I put down my hook and didn't pick it up again until about 1997. But, as I tell my students, my fingers remembered what to do even tho I didn't. It's called muscle memory. I can always tell when a new student who hasn't crocheted since childhood comes to me to learn -- their fingers automatically know their way around a hook and yarn. 
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment