Susan Bass

“Click, click, click.” Nonnie, my beloved maternal grandmother, was never far away from her knitting bag. She carried it with her to the beauty parlor where, sitting under the dryer, she could knit uninterrupted for 20 minutes. She carried it to doctor’s appointments and movies—she could actually knit in the dark—turning out sweaters, scarves, and afghans. My senior year of high school, Nonnie went into knitting overdrive, turning out sweaters (so I shouldn’t get cold) and afghans (in school colors). Somewhere along the way, she also began to cross-stitch. In addition to the knitted goods, there was now a steady stream of tablecloths—with matching napkins—adorning our dining room table on “special” evenings.