By ANN HOODI HAVE been knitting a lot lately — as I do whenever the New England weather turns colder. Baby hats and fingerless gloves. Blankets and dishrags. I’ve returned to a scarf I once grew bored with, a sweater I never finished.
I learned to knit in 2002, six months after my 5-year-old daughter, Grace, died suddenly from a virulent form of strep. I was unable to read or write, and friends suggested I take up knitting; almost immediately I fell under its spell.//////////