Clickety-click, clickety-click.
I watch my grandma’s needles knit.
She arrived on a Tuesday with baggage galore,
Planning to stay for a month or more.
Her cases were full. In fact overflowing,
With colourful yarns. Some of them glowing.
There was neon and glitter and cotton and chunky
And two balls for making a single sock monkey.
Clickety-click, clickety-click.
I watch my grandma’s needles knit.
Mittens and scarves and mufflers and toques
and several pairs of baby boots.
A red sweater for me, blue for my brother.
A green one for father and yellow for mother.
We all try them on, and we squirm and we itch
As grandma admires every colourful stitch.
A vest for the dog. A sweater for the cat.
A scarf for the budgie and the neighbour’s white rat.
Socks and slippers and leggings and more.
We are all dressed in woolens from our heads to the floor.
Dishcloths, and book marks, and clothes for my teddy.
A miniature plaid blanket for my turtle named Eddie.
Afghans to cover our legs and feet.
Cushions to place on every seat
The house becomes colourful, warm and full
from the piles of things grandma knits with her wool.
Everything is bulky. Dresser drawers will not close.
Pieces of fluff keep tickling my nose.
One morning I woke to no clickety-click.
The yarn was all gone. There was nothing to knit.
It’s time, said my grandma, for me to depart
Over staying my welcome would not be so smart.
So she picked up her needles, her scissors and scraps,
And gave me the monkey with four extra caps.
When she stood at the door with her bags packed to fly,
Grandma, I whispered, as I hugged her good-bye,
Please come next February, instead of July.
My late mother-in-law, Joan Tunney, used to fly in once or twice a year for a couple of weeks. The very next day we would go yarn shopping because Grandma knit constantly. She learned to knit at the age of four and was still knitting into her late eighties. She taught me to knit on these visits. I was awkward, and it did not come easy; and although I don’t knit anymore, I did make a few sweaters, hats and scarves. And we did make a lot of wonderful memories. The first draft of this was written in 2007, right after one of her visits. It has been edited several times since but never found a home. Now it seems like the perfect blog post for a cold February day.
Thank you for reading.
Photo: Pinterest
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I love it! My grandma taught me how to knit, but it never took flight with me. I do have one of those sock monkeys which I now passed on to my grandchild.
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I am sure you will come up with a lot of wonderful ways to create memories for your grandchild. She was more like a grandma to me than a mom-in-law. Quite special.
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You are very lucky!
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Brilliant poem – really made me smile. My mother probably taught me how to knit and I didn’t keep it up that long. I prefer crocheting to knitting as you can’t drop stitches and it grows a lot faster. It’s no good for ribs though for cuffs etc.
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I was awkward at best when I knit but I tried it and the results were usually slow but good.
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it just seems to take ages for a garment to grow when knitting
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I love this poem and it would make a brilliant children’s book. even as an adult, I love sock monkeys but have no needlework skills )
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I have visions of how I would like it illustrated but no drawing skills, and no publisher was interested in taking it on. It has been idle on my computer for years.
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it just seems like such a natural, maybe find someone to do simple drawings, and self-publish
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I like this poem a lot. It’s endearing.
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Thank you. My mother-in-law was very endearing.
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I love your poem! I never learned to knit or crochet and I regret it… but I don’t need another hobby at this point. I agree with Beth; I think it would make a fun children’s book. I wish I could draw…
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Yes! Wouldn’t that be nice.
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Lol!
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I love this, my mom was like that. She knit constantly. She taught me and I knit a few things, maybe I’ll take it up again someday. Maggie
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It is one of those things that you would like to go back in time to see who figured it all out. That magic of two sticks.
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No kidding!!
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Thanks for sharing this. I like hearing the rhythm of knitting needles as they’re used to create. This is a lovely remembrance.
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The grandma in is my mother-in-law. She did inspire some humorous memories.
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Brilliantly funny, and very relatable.
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Thank you. My mother-in-law was very enjoyable whenever she visited and not just because of her knitting. She was quirky and funny and so unlike her husband and children who tended to be more reserved and much less outspoken. I loved her visits.
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There’s nothing quite like enjoying someone quirky who doesn’t fit the “normal” square box.
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