Sunday, February 21, 2010


About twenty years ago my dad crochet an afghan. No one could believe it, least of all my mom, which is how the whole thing got started in the first place.

We had been over to my dad's sister's house, and my mom asked my aunt if she would crochet her an afghan if she bought the yarn.

"I could do that. I'll crochet you an afghan," my dad piped in, to which my mom fell into hysterical laughter. A lot of things my dad is - mechanic, wood-worker, hunter, at once hilarious and grumpy - but a crocheter he is not.

Except when you tell him he can't do something and laugh in his face while you're saying it. Then he's the most stubborn man on the planet and I'll-be-damned if he won't prove you wrong or go to his grave trying to. So, an afghan it was. People would come over to the house stunned to find my dad, who is usually found in his garage sawing something, in the recliner crocheting.

Whenever he'd get stuck, he'd call my aunt and she'd help him around corners and through changing balls of yarn. It was something. It took him about 80 hours (he kept track, of course) and in the end he crocheted my mom this big ol' blanket that gets brought out every winter still.

I believe when he gave it to her it went something like, "Here's your damn afghan. And I'm not making anymore either."

Except now, he is.

My mom and I were chatting today for our Sunday catch-up, and when I asked what dad was doing she said, "He's crocheting. He can't hunt right now, so he's been crocheting."

Now there's a contrast for you. He's traded in his rifle in the off-season for crocheting needles. His response to this was a flat but funny, "A real man can do any damn thing he wants."

My mom is all about this because when he crochets he doesn't watch tv.

"Gina, I think I am going to ask him to crochet an afghan for everyone I know," she said. "It's so quiet without the tv blaring all the time, I just love it!"

I don't know about everyone she knows, but I put in dibs on this most recent afghan. I'll be excited to go home again and see how it's turned out.

In other news from the Daugherty Farm today, my mom, who so rarely swears and is so sweet it makes you laugh when she does, said to me, "I have jury duty and I am pissed!"

In my life I'm certain I've never heard my mom say the word "pissed," and I totally cracked up when she did.

She actually loves regular jury duty, but this is federal jury duty, which is about 45 minutes away from her, in a much bigger city compared to Marion, and it totally terrifies her to go there by herself because she's afraid of getting lost. So she wrote the judge a letter saying she was too old and scared to drive by herself.

I told her it totally won't work. You practically have to kill someone in the courtroom to get out of jury duty these days, but she swore her letter was "awfully pitiful sounding," so maybe.

Anyway, good stuff from home today.

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