I spent some time with my Mum in Geelong, Victoria last weekend which was lovely.
We talked and laughed and cried.
We do that, although the tears are relatively new.
There is not a lot of time for talking left.
We went through one of her knitting / crochet bags - trust me there are MANY- and talked about crochet. In her time she has been brilliant at it. Anything from hankys to tablecloths, she has crocheted the lot. So many teeny tiny stitches in teeny tiny cotton to produce such delicate pieces that have been given to family as gifts or made on request.
Mum has tried to teach me crochet before. My tangled, awkward fingers and shonky stitches made us both laugh.
So on the weekend we tried again.
As she rested in bed we talked a little about stitches and fingers. Her frail hands showed me how to hold the wool the way she does and she did a few chain before her body said it was too tired for crochet.
Now I'm back in Perth with one of Mum's hooks.
With some help from Ravelry and some clever ladies on youtube I'm slowly learning.
Learning the stitches.
Learning the language.
Learning the hard way that I should have made time for these lessons years ago with someone very special who is an expert.