Emily presents me with a skein of pink yarn. It's not new: an end is discolored. It smells like my late great aunt G (for Ginny, Virginia). It is, in fact, yarn from her kit, but then, G smelled like yarn. Emily hands me her five-millimeter hook. I'm not very good at crocheting (I'm making a single line out of the entire thing), but the motion is
(
Read more... )