The hood every story has a beginning as does every knitting project. The hood is my beginning so I think the last part of it should be about the two people who with out a beginning I would not exist. My Da said he fell in love with our Mam at first site. He walked into a pub and she was at a table with family and he was gobsmacked. This son from the Aran Islands , this son of Ireland who was the third generation fighting for the rights of the people saw a high society girl and lost his heart in her smile. I asked him once how he knew he was in love with her and said he couldn't breathe with out her. He walked over to the table when she was by herself and told her he was going to marry her. She blushed and laughed and she had him then and there for the rest of their lives. They married less than 6 months later and Mam was promptly disowned. I asked her once if she ever regretted leaving her life for the one she started with and she said not for one moment. The back of this hood is them, two hearts entwined for life so connected , that my Da died one year to the day after my Mam of a broken heart. The hearts don't work , sure it is kitchy and everyone will get it but tis not them, they are my angels so that is what they shall be........

Little Boxes

There should be two ways to make the hood, one the typical little red riding hood style and one more fitted. They should each be classic on their own , But what story do I tell? Little boxes.... Mam... I have to tell about our boxes, the silly little pressies she put under our plate. I still don't know how she found half of the things. How did you do that Mam? How did you find the one little pressie that fit you child's personality? And the countless other little things. The Pez container, I know Aunt Kay must have shipped it from the states. I remember it so well, and I was the only one with one. I wonder if you know how special that made me feel. I write this like you are reading it. You probably are. So one hood will have boxes for you. The other will be plain with a special band in the back. Thanks Mam , you have inspired me again.

I have to begin, before I lose the courage to tell the story. I guess the first part should be about the half of me that is gone. I was born a twin. Her name was Micheala, she was feminine , giggly, she could burn water, and she died too young. We were two halves of a whole. Where she was feminine, I was a tomboy, where she was designer's favourite customer, my designer was L.L.Bean, Some may have thought her shallow, they should have gotten to know her. When they did they saw a woman whose children were her reason for being. Motherhood was so natural for her. She had such hidden dignity. The first thing I design has to be about her or us. The fact that I can still hear her laugh. The fact that even though we were polar opposites, I could finish her sentences and we had twin speak till the very end. I am raising her children now, I am not sure I am doing it the same way she would , I am doing my best. I look at Moira and I see Micheala, the giggle , the love of pink. I wonder if she is watching and what she thinks. Ok Mickey the first part will be about you , about our hearts even when separated by death are part of each other. And Mickey, I still have not figured out which comes first the chicken or the egg.

What can one do to to leave their story for future generations? What if your story involves the freedom of a country? How does one tell this in a manner that people will understand that these are not just mere words, this is my life, the most personal parts of me. The fact that many of your family would and was considered terrorists because they fought for Ireland's freedom. I think I just tell my story through stitches. This will start the journey of a Celtic cape. By the time I am finished, my soul will be bare to the world. But my story will be told and perhaps in hearing my words others will tell theirs. And when I have finished the cape my children will know their heritage, their mothers homeland and most of all their legacy. I can hear you Da, "Take the hill less travelled". I think this may be a mountain. Here's a pint to you Da, Give Mam a hug for me, I miss you both so much. The pain has not got any less. I will tell your story too. The story of a love so great that none of us could settle for less.