"Knotted by Love"

In November, 1981, my Grandmother Lazenby asked what I wanted for my birthday. I wanted her to teach me tatting, that beautiful fading art of making knotted lace. There had been so many times when I would watch her make beautiful little pieces with a tatting shuttle and white cotton thread. I can still picture her hands as she went about her tatting (my hands are looking more and more like hers as I age). In 1981, Grandmommy was diagnosed with cancer and more than anything, I didn't want her days (nor mine) to slip by without this teaching moment between a grandmother and granddaughter.

That evening, she tried and tried and tried to teach me … to give me the birthday gift of my choosing. I couldn't grasp it. I couldn't figure out the movements or the rhythm with the shuttle to create this special knotted lace. I went home that night in tears, knowing that I would never learn this art from her. I kept working into the wee hours of the morning, with shuttle in hand and tears in my eyes and feeling helpless in so many ways. And then it happened. At 2:30am the next morning, I knotted one little rosette! My one and only piece of tatting but I did it! It was a long and emotional process to get to that point. Perhaps, even more than the desire to learn tatting and even more than the tiny accomplishment itself was the need and the desire to pray and cry out in those early morning hours for my grandmother.

It has been said that you can cut a piece of tatting anywhere, but it won’t ravel. Families are much like tatting. You can cut them and it might make a flaw in the piece, but they won’t unravel because they are knotted by love.

I might have to try my hand at tatting again. I still have her shuttle and thread and now I have her hands (and hopefully, her heart).