These aren’t just hats…

The variety and number of hats took me by surprise.  Mostly soft yellows, greens, blues and pinks. There were also bright neon colors and dark blues and grays.  There were a few adult hats but mostly hats meant to fit tiny newborn heads.

The consistency of the stitches soothed me visually and the softness of the yarn was tender to my somewhat dry hands.

When a friend saw the stack she commented that it was quite a project and how diligent of me to keep at it.

There was no project, there was no diligence. They came to being quite by accident with no true end in mind.

About 14 years ago I was visiting a friend in Minnesota in February. It was bitterly cold one afternoon and she offered me a beautiful warm fuzzy afghan to wrap up in and keep warm. It was so divine I told her it might go missing if I could fit it in my suitcase. Her mother made it just for her so I reluctantly left it there but I loved it so much I vowed to go home, rekindle my crocheting skills and make myself one which I did.

Then I made one for my Mom. I let her pick out the yarn.  She loved the color green and to be honest I was skeptical at how it would turn out.  Mom had impeccable taste and sure enough it ended up being a gorgeous jewel of variegated greens with a touch of blue and brown.  It was just her size (at her request) and brought her much joy and warmth. It now brings the same to me.

I ended up making several more afghans for the grandkids and my own children.

Everyone loved them but the hats, the hats were something else.

It started as something small and portable that I could grab at a moments notice but over almost a five year stretch they came to be my solace during trying times.

The simplicity of the pattern, the sense of completion, the visual rhythm of the stitches completed.  All of it soothed me.  It kept me busy and distracted and yet I could easily put it down and pick it right back up again without once engaging my exhausted brain or tender heart.

I crocheted in the Emergency Room and hospital rooms and Memory care where my mother often slept waking occasionally to engage in a short conversations.

The stack of hats grew and I smiled at how they provided a calm and rhythm to my life when there was anything but calm around me.

When we cleaned out my parents house I found a small box with yarn, knitting needles and a pattern book.  My mother evidently knew how to knit but quit after her first baby, my brother, was born.  I wished she had taught me and I wondered if knitting brought her the same solace crochet brought me.

These are the last of the hats. For now. They have all been gifted or donated.

On this Valentines Day it makes me smile to see something that I love to do and gave me such peace go bless others.

They were never just hats but only I knew that. They were an accidental blessing. And aren’t accidental blessings just the best?

As always keep triing and may you be blessed today ( accidentally or on purpose ) 🙂







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