Gracie has had in her mind for weeks now that I should learn to crochet. Every time I see her, she asks, “Have you gotten your needle yet?” The answer is always, “Not yet!”

I honestly have had no interest in it. In fact, I really just hoped that she would eventually stop asking and leave me pleasantly in the dark as to how to make cute little trivets and baby-doll sweaters. I enjoy looking at other people’s creations in the craft tent at the county fair. But I’ve never once entertained the thought of making my own.

Well, she cornered me on Wednesday. Although Gracie is the most gentle, loving woman you may ever meet, she also has a feisty spark in her that I’ve seen come out from time to time.

Gracie is as determined as she is sweet. And she was not going to let me go home on Wednesday before I learned a thing or two about crocheting.

So we sat down together on her little couch, with the light over my left shoulder so as not to cast a shadow. And Gracie demonstrated remarkable patience as she walked me through four rows of crochet. At the end of every row, she would praise my progress and throw in a few extra pointers.

After the first ten minutes of pure frustration, I really started to get in the groove. And I loved it. I think that I could have sat there all night, shoulder to shoulder with Gracie on the couch, if my kids hadn’t been running in circles around her little apartment. It was so peaceful, just chatting and stitching, chatting and stitching.

I could envision our foremothers sitting around the fire in the evenings after dinner, sewing in the candlelight and sharing the latest town gossip. What a relaxing way to end the day.

My initial reluctance to learn to crochet was really just my lack of imagination. I could not envision just sitting around doing something so seemingly unproductive. Sure, I would be making something. But I could be doing so many other things — and even several tasks at once. To sit and be completely focused on a needle and yarn. Truly unthinkable.

But on my second row of crochet, I realized that this was what I – and so many other women I know – probably need most of all. A quiet, rhythmic task that is also a craft. You can talk and maybe listen to a television program, but you can’t do much else when you’re crocheting (or knitting or sewing). It is what it is.

We had to leave. The kids were climbing the walls. But I left there a woman with a changed mind. Maybe I’ll hit up the sewing store, after all, to get my own #1 needle.

Before I know it, I may be selling trivets at the local church fair. You just never know.