The way I came, the way I go, and after that

This is the 100th post on this blog, according to Blogger Dashboard.

Thank you, my friends, to give me your time reading this and commenting on this. I love you.

To celebrate a milestone (sort of), I'll post about this;

These boxes were on top of a cabinet in Mom's house. A 10-ball box and three new ball of 90% wool (70% angora), 10% nylon yarn and a mini-stole in progress. Apparently, there were 15 balls and one and a half turned to this cleverly designed piece. The pattern used was in the box, too, but it is modified to simplify and show off the beauty of this yarn.

In a sense, I was well bribed with this to adopt her whole stash.

Mom started this project for her mother (my grandma) more than 20 years ago, without telling her about it. It was an expensive yarn. She was on it really really careful not to make ANY mistakes. She doesn't remember why it was put away high up there, but something, a series of everyday and non-everyday events, must have happened to keep her too busy for this delicate project.

It never left from her mind, but she was just too occupied. My grandpa passed away, my father diagnosed with liver cancer and passed away one and a half year after that. I went to college between those. My sister and brother had been married, and they had babies. I started working, got married. Mom herself had been diagnosed with diabetes and her blood pressure was dangerously high all the way. Her eyesight was not good as before. My brother had to change his job because of his health problem. I went to the USA, had a baby.

And, last year, my grandma passed away.

When we started to tackle the piles of stuff in my mom's house, she disclosed the existence of "an angora yarn". I found it on the top of the cabinet exactly as she described. The yarn is a little discolored where the bamboo needles were touching, and there were a few dead bugs but the yarn looks fine.

I didn't think a nano-second to decide finishing the stole for Mom. When I told her so, she didn't get overly impressed nor cry, just said "Oh, yeah, I don't care a bit about the discoloration." I love you, mom.

She is still a knitter, of course. And a knitter knows a knitter. She knows too well that I just can't let the opportunity to get free angora yarn go. And thank goodness, my sister is not a knitter. Peace between sisters is safe here.

Thinking of that, there was always only one knitter in our family. My sister knows how to knit, period. Mom taught me how to knit, but I got serious about knitting after "her era". My grandma didn't knit. Mom learned knitting from her aunt, and from classes. I'm not sure about my aunts' knitting ability, but I never received a knitted present from them.

I don't know how my grandaunt learned knitting. She was a kind of professional knitter who makes garments for customers at a yarn store. They make purchase of a yarn, leave it with some money and something about how they like their garment would be, and takes it when it's done.

The other day, I got a very interesting piece of information from Mom; My grandfather on my fathers side was a knitter. She heard from sibling-in-laws that my father was raised "on his dad's lap" because his mom passed away when he was still very young and his dad felt so sorry about it. His dad, my grandfater, was knitting with my dad on his lap, they say. Even my mom never met my paternal grandfather. He had passed away long before my parents got married. There's no way to know what he was knitting. "But," my mom says, "I heard he was a good knitter."

Japan doesn't have a knitting tradition. Like other stuffs, the art of knitting (and crocheting) was imported from Europe or America only 100 years or so ago. But, in my family, we have at least three generations of Knitters. My niece knits. My daughter knits. Fourth generation here.