A couple of days ago, I followed a link to a link to a link when I was trying to rest my hands from knitting for a bit but avoiding picking up a book because then I’d never put it down, and I stumbled across a blog that spoke to me. The writer was a nurse whose house was falling apart and it felt to her like everything else was too. That day’s post was a cri de coeur. The blog was private, and I felt like an intruder for reading it.

Now, nurses hold a close spot in my heart to begin with. I owe a lot to quite a few of them. I could tell you story after story after story of moments they’ve made all the difference in the world to this patient. And so I did what I do, wishing I could help–I went through my stash, thinking, what do you knit for a total stranger you’ve never laid eyes on before? If she’ll let me? White’s pretty safe. Boring to knit after awhile, perhaps, but safe. And I had the best white yarn I know of, that Blue Sky stuff, leftover from the Wanda’s Shawl I knitted my sister for Christmas. (I always buy more than I need, even on my own pattern. You can always use leftovers. You can never replace the hours you spent knitting a project that turned out not to have enough yarn to finish. It’s almost a religion for me. Buy extra.)

I have had just a few times when I’ve been motivated to knit something and then circumstances became such that the person who sparked it (who never knew) never got it; someone else needed it more. I plan, but in the end I just go with the flow of what feels right.

So I sat down and knitted that scarf through the day till it was done. I know who I definitely want it to go to. I posted it yesterday in the context of Louisiana memories, thinking that if that nurse reads it, she’ll understand why. I put a comment on her blog, and if she wants to follow it, she’ll find this, and she’ll have my email address (I think–if not, it’s in my sidebar here.) If not, then, into the FO stash it goes, waiting its turn for serendipity to show up.

But I’m really hoping she reads this. I read her post with memories of when we remodelled 11 years ago, when our previously old-but-sound roof now had 17 buckets and bowls under it after the contractor left. Rain coming through an electric socket over here and a light socket over there–fried that overhead light, too–that was scary, and the contractor did, at least, take responsibility for and fix those. In the end, we had to replace our roof, and since the water, gas, and electrical lines ran across the roof now (the house was built with them under the concrete slab–bad idea in earthquake country), we had to rip them out and have a do-over. At least we could. We were lucky, financially, and we knew it.

A scarf isn’t going to hold the rain off her head–it’s kind of laughable. But…it’s what I know how to do from here. It’s a gesture of we’re all in this life thing together.

And maybe I’ll hear from her so I can send it. I hope so. More importantly, maybe she’ll know that others are pulling for her, whether she lets me know who she is or not.