| I grew up in a small town in Indiana where | | | | grandfather on that very same porch. And when |
| entire families, aunts, uncles, cousins and | | | | it was too cold to sit outside, we wiled away |
| grandparents, lived within blocks of one | | | | the hours playing cards and doing crafts. It |
| another or sometimes, as was the case in my | | | | was at my grandmother's side that I learned |
| family, within houses. It was a close knit | | | | the joy of macramé. |
| community where the neighbors enjoyed telling | | | | |
| stories of your parents and grandparents | | | | I didn't know at the time where macramé |
| exploits as young people and every house, no | | | | originated nor that it had been around since |
| matter who lived there, was a safe place. | | | | the 13th century. It didn't matter whether it |
| | | | was born at the hands of bored sailors |
| My grandmother, a teacher, lived just two | | | | occupying their time on long journeys or, as |
| houses away so I spent almost as much time | | | | might be the case, Arabian weavers creating |
| with her as I did my parents. Together when | | | | ornamental veils. To me, it was yet one more |
| it rained, we sat on the front porch | | | | example of my grandmother's many and |
| listening to the pitter patter of raindrops | | | | surprising talents. |
| just as my grandmother had done with her | | | | |