THERE, I thought as I laid the blanket out on a wide PLANK. I was making progress and felt pretty good about it. Pleased with myself, in fact, as a large project is nothing to SCOFF at, after all. I like how the yarn feels, how the repetitive motions of crocheting soothe my nervous system. Crocheting or sewing both put me in mind of the history of such activities, things that were once done out of necessity rather than as a hobby. I like thinking of the lineage of women in my family, from my sisters and their embroidery, to my mother’s sewing and quilting, back to my Italian grandmother’s crocheting and tatting. I can feel a cultural link back even further, to a time when the woman of the house was called GOODY as an honorific, shadows of the past hovering behind me as I gather the half finished blanket back up and settle down for another pleasant hour of restful, productive activity.

Georg’ann

Running that FIRST time,
barely got around the BLOCK.
AGONY, leaden legs became GOOEY,
everything about me GOOPY.
Collapsed in a chair, panting.
Skin dried, breath slowed.
Ready for a GOODY,
ate half a pint of ice cream
right out of the container.
One delicious spoonful after another.

Heather