The Nostalgia of Macram�� by Kristy Pass - ArticleCity. com
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I grew up in a small town in Indiana where entire families, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents, lived within blocks of one another or sometimes, as was the case in my family, within houses. It was a close knit community where the neighbors enjoyed telling stories of your parents and grandparents exploits as young people and every house, no matter who lived there, was a safe place.
My grandmother, a teacher,
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I didn't know at the time where macram�� originated nor that it had been around since the 13th century. It didn't matter whether it was born at the hands of bored sailors occupying their time on long journeys or, as might be the case,
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As I sat working with the twine, I didn't know what I was creating. I listened. I followed. I learned. It was such an enjoyable past time that each moment I was free, I could be found at my grandmother's making tiny little twists and even small knots. Little by little those knots grew. From what started as a ball of nothing, a piece of art was being born. And when my grandmother and I finished, what we had was not just a beautifully decorative plant holder,
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