(Four for four on the sideways-Iphone goof–sorry about that.)
The doorbell rang and I put the project down mid-double decrease, the tip of the needle still in the stitch, hoping briefly the silk wouldn’t jump. Michelle and I got to the door together and opened it, *so* not expecting what we saw that it took us a moment to realize it really was who it was.
He used to be married into our family. He lives on the other coast, where he teaches at a small college.
We had put some large tubs out for the recycler to pick up today, doubling our doubletake: wait, what?
The mutual friend’s husband left her, emotionally, a long time ago, recently, officially. And so she, too, is divorced.
He had flown out to help her in her move. Her house should get a good price, but still it’s so much work at such a difficult time. There were some reminders of her ex she wanted out and Goodwill seemed just too meager; she wanted them to go to someone who would use them and appreciate what they were, but who?
Then, ALISON! Surely, she thought, my network of fiber artists could…
Handwoven. Handspun. Handknit. From her and her ex’s big trip to Nepal, much of it still in the packaging. More than pictured here. Pretty, thin wrap skirts that would make a great beach half-coverup. Woven vests. More sweaters. The wools are scratchy, as I expect from that part of the world, but hey.
Wow. And yes, I could definitely find appreciative homes for these, starting right here–there were two of thoseÂ cotton sun jackets and the small one fits me.
I had not seen him since his own divorce.Â Richard and I had asked no questions, just tried our best to be supportive. Caring is not a matter of legal decrees–we love him, period. We had not known if he had known that.
So when it finally got through my thick skull who that somehow actually was on my front porch, I threw my arms around him and he, me.Â (I hugged her, too.) And did again when they were leaving. We held each other in our eyes and knew: the caring was still there, would always be there. I was so glad they’d taken the chance I would be home.
I do not know how or when or if I might ever see him again. But the message was received and the message was mutual.Â It was such a comfort.
(Ed. to add, I’ll be at Purlescence’s Knit Night tomorrow. Just sayin’.)
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