Sixty years ago my fingers were straight. My hands were strong; absent brown freckles and blue veins. In 1957 I was a sophomore at Madison, living in Lakota House just off State Street behind the library and next to iconic Rennebohm’s back door. Bill was in the Army and I missed him, so my roommate, Lynette, taught me how to knit as she had been taught, holding the yarn left handed in the European way. So I knit big, heavy sweaters for him through college while watching Gunsmoke, Dragnet, Lucy and the Packers.

Including a cardigan with one of my best finds – buttons made from Remington shotgun shells.

Now, I make frequent summer trips to Kathy’s Hidden Talents in Minocqua – her shop the size of a large closet, is filled with the most beautiful yarns. Because my grandkids outgrew some of my sweaters before I finished them, I’ve resorted to knitting scarves that are hand friendlier – small needles; finer yarn.

I intended to finish this one for Molly for Christmas, but with a week left, it will more likely be a birthday present in April – much like the one I started for Emily’s January birthday that I wrapped up for her graduation in June. Seems it’s just so easy to get sidetracked these days.

Some things change; some remain the same. The good thing is, we don’t just stop the doing. Somehow, we adapt.