Darn Me a Yarn

“Can you show me how you do this because I don’t remember,” my grandmother said as she pointed to the knitting needles and yarn in the basket.

I had never knitted in my life. I hated everything domestic. “You’ve got the wrong grand-daughter,” I said.

“I only have one,” she said.

“Grandma, what about Ruth?”

“Who’s Ruth?”

Oh oh. Was my grandmother showing signs of dementia?

“Ruth is your other grand-daughter. You know, the one who cooks and bakes and sews and knits and cleans the house and takes care of the garden all in one day,” I said.

“That woman doesn’t exist,” my grandmother said. “You must be reading about the super woman in Proverbs 31. She doesn’t exist either.”

“So I’m not so strange after all if I don’t do all this homemaker stuff?” I said.

“No, honey. I hated it myself. That’s why I hired Ruth,” my grandmother said.

Calvin says, “Oy vey. And to think I’m part of this family. Somebody watch what I say.”