Making as an Act of Love

A baby blanket for my best friend’s first Granddaughter.

When I was a child, my mother’s family’s greatest way to show love to each other was through food. One could say I was shown quite a bit of love because my weight quickly became an issue. We always seemed the happiest when we were gathered for a particularly good meal. I remember Nana and Daddy Charlie, my maternal grandparents buying big bags of raw shrimp from the fish market, carefully cleaning and cooking them and dumping the deliciousness on the kitchen table covered in newspaper. We would play-argue with each other about who had more shrimp, but there always was enough. Those are some of my happiest memories.

A throw for my sister.

I loved spending time with my grandparents. I felt so loved and cared for when I was with them. They weren’t big on lovey words, but their actions never left any doubt in my mind. I remember Nana making this stunning wool coat for my mother that looked like it stepped right out of Vogue Magazine or off of the fashion runways in Milan. Nana was that good of a seamstress. She took such care in the details. I thought my mother looked so glamorous going to work in that coat. Daddy Charlie was an expert tailor as well, but I especially remember him baking. He made Jamaican Bun, Cornpone and porridge for me every morning as a little girl. I especially remember my 3rd (or maybe 4th) birthday cake for me, complete with piped frosting and roses made out of icing sugar. I remember them as being pink but I am not sure. What I do remember was how absolutely special I felt because of that cake. Both of my grandparents would make huge batches of Jamaican patties for all of the family and everyone got excited when they started collecting those danish cookie tins. It meant that they were beginning the process of making Jamaican Black Rum Cake. These cakes were cured for weeks soaking up the rum poured over them in those tins and were given out as gifts to family and friends for Christmas.

A poncho for my best friend.

I learned from them that actions always spoke louder than any words ever could and that spending the time making something for someone else was well worth it.

I started to make things for others pretty early on. I remember the first drawing I ever gave to anyone was to my older sister. I drew a lady with fifteen stick legs in hot pink marker on lined pad paper. I knew there were fifteen legs because my sister counted them out for me (I was around three and she was seven at the time). She, in turn, would let me crawl into her bed at night and tell me stories she would make up about the Amazing Adventures of Katzenjammer Sisters, Ooky, Lookey and Kookey. She would then round out the night with stories about Mr. Pear, a shadow cast by our bedside lamp that lived on our room’s ceiling. She wouldn’t just tell the stories—she acted them out for me as if she was doing a radio show. She even called it The Children’s Hour, after the real radio show that aired in the 30s and 40s.

As I got older, I delved deeper into painting and drawing, always with a person in mind I would give the finished piece to. I even had a short-lived business in the 4th Grade airbrush painting on sweatshirts, mainly names in a graffiti style or tropical birds. I stopped doing it because I didn’t like charging. I also made comic books attempting the Manga style for friends (I was OBSESSED with Voltron and Robotech! I even sat through Dennis the Menace and Garfield, shows that I thought were stupid and a waste of time so I wouldn’t miss a second of my favorite shows.) I also tried to make rock crystals for my father with the chemistry set he gave me (I ended up making Sulphur rocks. No one appreciated those in the house) and a type of Rube Goldberg-like machine in our garage workshop that involved copious amounts of string. It really wasn’t automated, but both my Father and Mother appreciated the attempt.

A shawl for my stepmother.

These days, my first thought when I think about someone is what can I make that they would find useful. Crochet has come to play the greatest role in that. I can’t think of a better way to show someone how much I love them. Also through food, like my grandparents. I’d like to think that they are smiling down on me, glad and proud that I have continued the tradition of Making as an Act of Love.