My sweet mama died last night with Brotherman and me holding her hands. She was in hospital since Sunday and not conscious when I arrived yesterday at noon, and now she's somewhere or something better after a pretty tough run of years. Granted, those same four years correspond with her grandmother time, so there was plenty good to keep her going. We will miss her. And while she did not teach me to knit, she taught me to sew, which I did for decades before taking up paired needles. We made puppets and dolls and doll clothes together, then clothes for ourselves. When I started meeting people from other parts of the country (whose accents differed from mine), I'd talk about how, in our sewing room, I'd have to ask her for a "P-E-N pen" if I wanted to write something down, because we'd pronounce pen and pin the same in that room full of sharp objects. It's been a lonesome space since she was limited to the first floor, and it will be especially so now . . .