Here is a picture of me and my two grandmothers, Gammy (l) & Meme (r). I'm holding Stephen, which was a not too subtle hint to my parents to produce a son, a gift from Gammy. Both of my grandmothers knit, but I observed my maternal grandmother, Meme, knitting more often. However, it was Gammy who produced knitted gifts for my sister and I; mittens, helmet hats, cabled skater girl headbands, sweaters for the two dolls (I only ever had) and an afghan blanket. Gammy was a record-keeper, book-keeper, archiver, not unlike her eldest grand-daughter. It's in her hand-writing that I find patterns for the afghan she knit me when I was sixteen and not particuliarly grateful for her time and colour choices. As a typist, she transcribed detailed patterns, the type that fascinated and scared me when I was approaching knitting for the first time. This was before grids, when all three hundred stitches of a row were painstakingly transcribed. She, naturally, kept a knitting notebook, with some of her more basic patterns. Gammy would have thought the current stash of Italian merinos and cashmere yarns in today's stores a complete waste of money. She was frugal. It was probably her mother that knit that plain little jumper/vest for John (below). In an era when the girls of the household were expected to move those needles and produce, I don't think that I could convince her to buy anything other than Paton's beehive, or the renewing effects of contemplative knitting (with cashmere!). She would have, however, gotten a kick out of the stitch'n bitch evenings that you find in public places these days, if you were to replace the coffee or tea with sherry straight up.