With feet up, fid in hand and foil in lap, I can sit and do this for hours… and just let my mind wander to wherever it wants to go. Now I understand why my mother liked to sit and knit for hours on end. I imagine she thought about the wool, where the wool came from, the people who made it, imagined the finished product she was making and all the people who would use and enjoy it. I imagine that she got satisfaction from the repetitive movement of winding the yarn around her fingers and slipping the needles through the loops. I imagine she also enjoyed the gradual development of her piece, lifting her spirits with every row of stitches she added.
I get that. I enjoy the same things about doing stained glass. It’s good therapy.