My grandma never knit

I have two knitted blankets in my house. Both of them remind me of my grandma. Her name was Helen, and she was never a knitter. In her younger days she would add a crocheted lace border to pillowcases that she might have embroidered, but she never knit. My grandma grew up on a farm in Minnesota, and later raised her own family on one. 

My first knitted blanket began on a road trip with sister Christer in 2005. The final destination of this road trip was Dumont, MN, and we were going to visit my grandma. She examined my knitting, decided it was very intricate, and she was impressed with the little bit I had at the time. She probably said something like, "I just don't know how you do that." I had just started the purple section of the blanket. Seven years later, and this blanket gets used every day. Even though she didn't have much to do with it, the blanket reminds me of her.

The second blanket I knit was a year-long process. I bought several skeins of Icelandic wool from my first trip there in April of 2010. I finished the blanket in in the spring of 2011. After I finish knitting something, I often think back to what I was doing while it was knit. Sometimes I think about the places I went with the project, or the story behind buying the yarn. Some of my more massive projects span so much time, that they include many memories. My Iceland blanket went with me to movie theaters, on road trips and was actually started on the plane ride home from Iceland. I was actually knitting the final section of the blanket, the pink section, when I found out that my grandma had passed away. I can't help but think about that every time I see that blanket. For me, it feels like I knit some of those memories into the fibers of the blanket, and it in some strange way, makes me feel happy. It also smells like delicious wool.

And of course, no blog post would be complete without Peanut. 

(PS, she loves the blankets too).

She frequently burrows under and falls asleep.