My memory and crocheting

My memory at times can be a little iffy. Especially when I am trying to remember things from years ago. Like everyone I have my days where I get up, walk into a room and then forget why I am there. What scares me though is that sometimes it is the important stuff that I forget even when the conversation is recent.

I can look at old photos from my childhood and not remember when they were taken or who I am with, but I recognise the faces. They seem familiar and I never know if it is because of the photo or a memory. Through photos I know that I did gymnastics but I don't recall it at all. There are many such moments that I have no recollection of. It bothers me when I go to places and they seem familiar but I just can't place why they are so.

With this in mind it did however come as a surprise that I recalled learning to crochet as a child. Granted I don't remember if I was any good at it, but I remembered it so that was a starting point. Recently I decided to get a refresher on it and see if I could relearn it. Turns out that even though I remember nothing, but the fact that I used to know it, even after what I assume to be over 15yrs since I attempted it, I still have the skill.

It was a Friday night and while I was having some mother daughter time I asked mum to show me again. Now in the past I have been told that I used to try and learn it left handed. This time around I didn't care which way I learnt as my dexterity had improved in my opinion. Mum started me of and did a few rows before slowing it down for me. That was all that it tookfor me to pick it back up again. I can't describe what a rush that was. To realise that even though I can't remember some things about growing up, I still,  somewhere in my head, know them.

It was an even better thing to be on the train back home from a friend's place and be crocheting during the 45 minute trip. The best part was when a young girl asked me what I was doing and her grandmother explained it for me to her.

Sure I look like a nanna, but I don't care. At the end of it I am going to be the one who has a handmade blanket to keep me warm. Made by me with my blood (well that might be an exaggeration), sweat (it is hot in the Perth summer), tears (in frustration at the wool slipping off of the hook) and numb fingers. It will be worth it though!