Memoir of a Memory

It seems like I have been knitting forever. I don't really stop to think about it until someone asks me how long I have been knitting. A short while ago I was traipsing through The Bay on my way to an errand on the mall when I was stopped short by a familiar fragrance. Shalimar. I swore I could smell my Grandma's perfume. I was transported to another time and another place. Suddenly I remembered being in the big green chair with my grandma in the living room of her farmhouse learning to knit. I remember the bright red wool that felt rough and smelled a little bit like the sheep in the field. The tiny wooden knitting needles, that seemed so large at the time, were difficult to work. My grandma had her rough worn hands over mine guiding the wool and the needles to create the small stitches. Sitting in the big chair with her arms circling me I felt safe and loved. As I struggled to wrap the wool, sticky from my sweaty little hands, around the needle and pull it through the loop, I hear her encouragement."That's the way girlie." She always called me "girlie" with her Scot's accent. The same way she pronounced calm like "cam". And embedded in this memory is the smell of Shalimar that signalled comfort and safety and Grandma.  There were probably only a few stitches on that needle but by the time I had completed my first row I felt triumph. Truth to tell, I still feel triumphant at the end of a row. And now I remember the first time I had that feeling of accomplishment. I remember learning to knit with Grandma.