A Grandma's Comfort

These are weird, scary days.  I know that the holiday seasons are upon us, but it seems more likely that the Mayans were perhaps right after all.  I was shopping yesterday and the holiday atmosphere was muted with the tragedy that has overwhelmed us all.  It seems wrong to be anticipating joy and happiness at this time of year when so many others are devastated.  I find myself at times with an overflowing heart and tears spilling over. The endless cycles of "why?" and "what now?" play themselves out again and again in my brain with no ready answers or even suggestions for a way forward in this messed up world.

I am at a loss.  What is a person to do against such reckless hate? The problems are complex and the answers will likely be even more so. But thanks to my husband and some mite-infested straw, I at least found some comfort, a quiet anchor in a violent sea.....my grandmother's afghan.

I have a few afghans that were knitted and crocheted by my grandmothers.  Both of them crocheted one during the second World War using bits and pieces of yarn that they had around so they are hodge-podge collections of different colored yarns.  They did it to keep themselves busy while they worried about loved ones overseas and in harm's way.  My maternal grandma once told me that as long as she kept working on that blanket, then she felt like everyone was going to be okay.  This blanket chanced to come out of the closet the other night because Keith had happened to sit in the straw with our little pigs and only later realized that he was extremely itchy. With a little deductive reasoning, he determined that it must have been from the straw that was with the pigs.  Unfortunately, he had happened to sit on our bed while wearing those pants and the itching issue spread, thus necessitating the entire removal of all sheets and blankets to the wash.

Old farmhouses in winter can get pretty chilly at night when the fire goes out, so I needed a warm blanket or two and Grandma's was on top.  It is a little long and rather narrow, but it would work to keep our feet warm, I thought.  However, as I threw that afghan out onto the bed and felt the weight and heft of it, I was instantly reminded of Grandma.  She put all her love and released all her anxieties into that blanket and it still continues to provide comfort and warmth. I crawled under it and pulled it up over me and for the first time in days, felt safe.

So what does one do in the face of such reckless hate and constant worry?...small things, apparently...small kindnesses, small steps - and one stitch at a time we attempt to create, either metaphorically or literally, a warm, comforting blanket that one day perhaps, our own descendants can climb under and feel safe - if only until they too can find their own small steps forward.

My steps forward? I contemplated them at length while curled under Grandma's blanket - I will write and speak, as often and as much as necessary to help move the dialogue in this country forward to a more civil one, if possible.  The alternative is to simply do nothing, and clearly that has not worked out well for any of us ...especially those families in Connecticut.  I think it is time to make changes, find common ground, and work toward mending the moral fabric of our age.  I know that I look back on the time that my grandparents had to struggle through and I respect them for what they had to do....for what they had to survive.  I can only hope that, some day, my own grandchildren will be able to sit awhile with their thoughts of me and feel comforted that I had the determination to make a difference and the belief that, if I only keep working on it, we will all be alright.