If I’d counted right when I started my project, I wouldn’t have learned how to make the first lace pattern flow so beautifully into the unexpected new one nor would I be planning what comes after these two.

I should stumble more often. I am really really really pleased with how this is coming out–it was hard to put down.

As the afternoon wore on, to give my hands a break I was reading and then grumping over some news: Arizona’s House approved a bill that went below and beyond to actually allowing employers to demote or fire any employee who uses birth control even if it was paid for out of their own pocket. This sentence was removed from the old law: “A religious employer shall not discriminate against an employee who independently chooses to obtain insurance coverage or prescriptions for contraceptives from another source.”

Their Senate looks ready to pass it.

Wow.  Anyone who’s ever had a bad boss (I certainly have), raise your hand… I wonder how fast the Supreme Court would take that one on.

And so I turned on the stereo, looking for relief from all that.

Alison Kraus began singing a cappella.

A young dove flew in and settled in on the patio. Watching me. Learning a new song. Tilting her head up to pay particular attention when I sang too. She relaxed into her spot on the concrete and stayed there as long as the album played, the very model of being still within the world.

Acknowledging the gift, I turned back to that beautiful, radiant yarn and knit in increasingly happy anticipation of its arrival home.

You can’t divide 16 into 58 and 26 doesn’t play well with it either.

I did goofball math three months ago when I started this shawl, in trying to transcribe my scattered notes at the time.  I only caught it after working all day on it, all the while admiring the way the light catches and dances off the silk in the yarn.  It was seriously pretty and seriously soft.

It still is. No way was I going to rip it out.

It took some grumbling and a “what’s wrong?” from my sweetie and finally realizing there simply was no way and giving up. Redesign time!

And now the rest of it is going to be beautiful, too. Totally different from what I’d envisioned, but hey.

I promise not to say to the recipient, Oh, but it was really supposed to look like…

I wondered last night what was going to pop up next as I glazed the latest tortes.

And so, knowing none of that…

She sent me a note. She and her husband were throwing a party for their old friends to meet their daughter’s fiance, and I had just rsvp’d that we were looking forward to it.

My chocolate torte was such an institution in the ward, she pleaded, and her daughter and beloved both love chocolate; could she possibly persuade me to… She would cover the ingredients…

I wish I could have seen her face when she saw the reply: I already made it last night. It’s yours. Her how did you…!?? came across the electrons loud and clear.

When her husband dropped by for it, I apologized that I had glazed it on a paper plate rather than a more formal one; I hadn’t known. He just looked amazed.

And then, with so much success with that silk shawl yesterday, another abandoned one jumped into my hands tonight. White is beautiful, but it is boring to work with and this was laceweight (albeit on the heavy side) to boot, and so this one had been put aside for Christmas knitting deadlines and then forgotten.

I went to count stitches and to see where I’d left off. My hands exclaimed, Oh! THIS is why I bought this at Cottage Yarns!

I got several rows into it before it dawned on my slow brain that it was white and there was about to be a bride. Ding ding ding.

Let’s see if I can pull this one off.

With a half gallon of ultra-heavy cream to use up, chocolate tortes numbers five and six were baked, cooled, and glazed tonight.

I think the last of it will simply become chocolate sauce. Chop, dunk, heat, stir. Done. (You have to submerge every part of every piece of chocolate in the liquid before adding heat or it can seize into a hard lump that will never melt. Chocolate has the most interesting molecular properties.)

And I finished the silk shawl project that had dragged out for so long; it is nearly dry now. If I had had any idea–I know, I know, but if I really had, this would have been finished two years ago.

I love it when a project feels like it’s just the most beautiful thing you’ve ever knitted while you’re knitting it.

Afterwards will have to do for this time. Wow, though, it really is. And I love that two days after I picked up this long-abandoned project, I have a beautiful lace silk shawl ready to show off for it.

What’s your most promising UFO?

The shawl is almost finished, but I’ve decided to make the edging longer: not because I have to, but at long last because I want to. It’s going to be gorgeous.

The friend who has shown up at my door several times when I’ve been sick with a quart of mango juice from Trader Joe’s just because it’s my favorite, knowing it would cheer me up, sent out a note today: did anyone have crutches for her height?

We have some, but they’re my son’s and he’s 19″ taller than she is, so I couldn’t help her on that one. But anyone who’s sprained both ankles needs a little something to cheer her up.

What I really wanted to do was help watch her little kids who were running in and out of the house, but that whole sun thing…

I put the chocolate torte in her fridge so she wouldn’t have to get up.

And it was enough.

p.s. Happy Birthday to my daughter-in-law, Kim! And to my son John yesterday.

I needed accomplishment. I needed to finish something. And so I pulled it out and tried again, almost in spite of myself.

About two years ago, I started knitting a shawl out of hand-dyed raspberry ice (scroll down) laceweight silk, 100g 1100 yards–fine, slippery stuff and on size 4 needles. I’d been eyeing it for ages at Purlescence and at last it was mine.

But. I found it hard to see the stitches. I found it hard to hold onto the stitches. I found it easy to poke a stitch wrong blindly and find myself suddenly looking at two or three of them running down down down, (well not really that far, it just felt like it), wondering how on earth I managed to pull off that little stunt–I’m supposed to be good at this. It humbled me.

The other problem was, I found myself wishing I had used a different lace pattern here, or up here. But I was too into it to rip it–it was not particularly fun knitting and I didn’t want to have to do it twice.

I made another stab at it about a year ago. It’s shimmery and soft and beautiful, and it begged to be finished. I even got new eyeglasses.

It got set aside again.

I had a doctor’s appointment today. I knew that taking something that was that slippery and droppable with 457 stitches for waiting-room knitting was nuts. But I grabbed that ziploc out of its banishment anyway, and to my surprise the nurse exclaimed over it and then started reminiscing warmly over what I’d been working on the last time she’d seen me; it was a blanket, right?

(Darned if I remember, but I smiled in thanks.)

Yes, I did have to repair some stitches from my row being interrupted when she called me in. But she was so excited over it that how could I not be too?

I’m finally into the (just decided on) edging and I can count the rows to go. It’s going to be glorious in real actual life, it’s going to be done!

Suddenly the knitting isn’t boring anymore. Suddenly it’s hard to put down. That one compliment made all the difference–I’m so glad I took it along.

I can’t wait!

It was an odd little thing. I fairly often wear black skirts to church: not for any particular reason other than the laziness of knowing they go with everything and I can choose any top and shawl or scarf I feel like without stressing over it. They let the knitting stand out.

After all the intense color overload of the last two days, something in me rebelled. I pulled out a crazy-busy paisley that I’d bought on sale on impulse in vibrant, autumny reds and golds. The loudest skirt I own. I rarely wear it.

I had a shawl knitted in Malabrigo’s Botticelli Red tucked away, unworn, waiting for me to finally declare that long-suffering second book project done. Just sitting in a bag. Well now come on. I’d been wishing I’d stuffed it in my tote and shown it off to the folks at Malabrigo, so today I wore it to church to quietly show it off there, at least.

And then here’s the killer: the other knitter in our ward sat down next to me and was exclaiming over this shawl she hadn’t seen before. I said something about Stitches–

–and she went, What’s that?

Oh. My. Goodness. Knitters, I have failed. I am so sorry. She knows now, and we are looking forward together to next year’s. Let the impatient anticipation commence.

(For those coming here for the first time, Purlescence has copies of my book at the cover price, plus I assume shipping and tax; you’d have to ask them the details. I come in Thursdays if you want yours signed.)

I was coming down Highway 101 just past NASA Ames on my way to Stitches when I saw it: kiting on the wind, unusually close to the ground and to the road so that I was able to make out actual details in that brief moment–an adult peregrine falcon. I tell you. The day would go well.

And overall yes it most definitely did.

I had several people who had offered to lift the scooter out of the car when I got there–but down is easy, right? I just went ahead and did it.

That got me my comeuppance: I had found what was as far as I saw the last spot and it was on level B at Santa Clara Convention Center, not far from the elevator.  I thought, score! I found one without having to ride a long way in in the sun from the Great America lot!

There was a step of goodly height surrounding that elevator. No curb cutouts. Nada. A flight of stairs was the other option (yeah that works, uh huh). Had I ridden around the garage to the next level, I knew there would be cars coming at me going from bright sun to dark shadows and possibly being unable to see something they would never expect down in the roadway. Not an option.

At that point I could have called for help, but I was outside. The sun time I had had to spend yesterday had already caused some lupus flare warnings; my choice was, back or heart. Or autonomic nervous system damage. No contest. I did it, but I paid for it.

Okay, enough of that, on with the Stitches report.

Antonio and the rest of the crew at Malabrigo loved the shawlette made from their Sock, loved the two-colorway lined hat, and I loved that they loved seeing a little of what they create becomes. They are such nice folks, and their yarns are so soft.

Susan and crew at Abstract Fibers loved the shawlette I’d made down to the last two yards of a skein of their Picasso baby alpaca. (I’m the daughter of an art dealer; I had to knit a yarn called Picasso.)

And I got to hug Dianne at Creatively Dyed.  Karen and Barbara at Royale Hare. And so many more.

And… A few years ago, I bought some silk from Lisa Souza in her Earth Birth colorway, (glancing at her site) Max looks like the right one. It was a Friday at Stitches; I took it home, knit straight till bedtime, rinsed it and laid it to dry having used up the whole thing and then I showed it off to her the next day. There you go–done! (There may have been some ego involved. Just a tad.)

So, yesterday I was remembering that story out loud to Lisa and Rod as I pounced on the perfect silk in the perfect color: Blackbewwie, a deep shade maroon with a bit of plum to it. 750 yards.

Today. I roll up to their booth. I reach into my tote bag. I pull out: the  Blackbewwie.

“It’s BEAUTIFUL, Alison!” Lisa exclaimed. (While her face went, Buh buh buh but *how*?!) She loved the pattern, she loved how it had come out, but, (holding this full circular shawl up, looking at it, looking at me)…!

Totally set her up. It was her Sock Merino and I’d bought it last year.

Heh.

I just happened to have someone else I needed to knit that color for now.

DebbieR, Carol, Katrina, Jasmin, and Kevin all offered to help get the scooter back in later; Kevin got to do the honors. We stepped off that elevator at level B–

–he could not believe it. He pointed out where a curb cut should have started from and tried to fathom how the center had been built with such a stupid mistake or how it could have been allowed to have been left that way. No handicapped slots there was not an excuse.

Preach it, brother.

Then he made it look absolutely effortless as he got that scooter down there and then lifted the whole thing back up into my car.

I spent careful, slow time on the treadmill that Ruth gave me, last night and again today; it helped my back more than anything else has. This cheers me greatly. It will be over soon.

Stitches for me was over far too soon. I have a whole collection of super heroes and I love them all.

So. Here was the plan this morning: I ride the scooter out to the car, take it apart, put it in, go to Stitches.

Here’s what happened: rode the scooter out to the car, took it apart, got the seat and the battery pack, which is the heaviest part, into the car. Carefully sized up how to get the base in: bend the knees, correct angle, etc, reached for it–

–and as I lifted it something felt like it snapped in my back. I managed to get the base safely down to the ground without dropping it, so it couldn’t have been too bad–but then it did drop me and I sat there on the sidewalk in intense pain, going, NOW what am I going to do?!

And I had to lift that battery pack back out again in order to get the thing back into the house. I did; I thought that was it, my day was over, I’m done.

Becca to the rescue. “I’m a nurse, I lift patients heavier than that all the time.”

“Are you sure?! I mean, it’s heavy!”

And not only did she do that, she drove me the ten miles to Stitches and she did it all over again to pick me up in the evening and she took me home.

Wow.  Someone definitely needs a chocolate torte.

But here I go again: Richard remembered this evening that he has a commitment tomorrow starting early in the morning till late afternoon. He can get the scooter in my car but not out again at Stitches; he can pick me up in the evening and deal with it going home if I can get there without him.

Um…

But in the meantime, as I waited for Becca at closing time, my old friend Warren happened to come out the same door. We had been looking for each other all day. I had knit him a hat, while second-guessing myself and wondering how much a knitter needed a hat.

He surprised me by saying wow–he’d been needing a hat! He said you’d think he would have one, but he was always giving his knitting away and he didn’t have one and he just never knit for himself.

And there you go. Perfect.

(As for the scooter, we’ve got it worked out to where I just have to lift the pieces out of the car at the event. Okay; down is the easy part.)

I practiced taking the scooter apart. The battery pack is the heaviest piece at 40 lbs–bad, but I can do it. I tested the battery over the last several weeks; it seems to be holding its charge. I zipped around the house again and again and didn’t clip any wall edges.

It made me remember my late friend Lynda Lowe, who once was fumbling for her keys with a grocery bag in her lap, and having forgotten to turn her heavy chair off, suddenly hit the switch she couldn’t see and lurched straight through the frame of her front door, leaving it in splinters.  Oops.

But my scooter is a little thing.

I once knitted her a cream-colored Aran cardigan, with sleeves of slightly different lengths the way she needed, in the same yarn and the same combination of cable stitches as the sweater I’d made my husband. He is 6′8″, a large man. She was, if memory serves, 4′8″, and a hundred pounds was a weight she aspired to. I always wanted a picture of the two of them side-by-side in their matching sweaters so I could say, And THIS is why we do gauge swatches!

Stitches West is this weekend. The kind of event where you want to have finished everything you ever imagined knitting and the once-a-year chance to be with knitting friends you only get to see then. It is wonderful, it is intense, it is exhausting, it utterly fries my sense of balance in the visual overload and I can only do it sitting down.

My chocolate is packed. I’m ready to go.

And on a happier note: Sam’s platelet counts have come up at last and out of the danger zone. My thanks to all who have offered love and prayers her way; the support of others means everything when things are rough.

I put aside the project on my needles (this is rare for me) and dove into some of the softest yarn in my stash in happy celebration today. Suddenly nothing else would do.

Sam’s counts went up slightly. They’ll keep close tabs, but we definitely like the start of that trajectory.

Still, the bills got paid, the house got cleaner: I had to accomplish busy things. I had a hard time sitting myself down to just go calmly knit like I wanted to in anticipation of Stitches West. (Speaking of which, if you’re going, you might want to look at the Rav link here for the market-admission coupon via the folks at Webs, with thanks to them and to Janice Kang for the heads-up.)

Richard wasn’t feeling well today and didn’t go in to work, till about dinnertime, when he really had to run a quick errand to the office but didn’t feel up to driving.

Hey, he’s ferried me enough places when I needed it. So I grabbed a baby hat project that I hadn’t been able to make progress on, just in case it wasn’t quite as fast an in-and-out trip as he was anticipating.

Two hours of having my feet propped up in his office and my yarn on the floor, wondering what I would do should I finish while not having enough yarn to start something new, he made good progress too. It felt good. He made me a romantic mug of instant but not too sweet oatmeal in an official (Company X) logo’d mug with a plastic spoon: warm and soothing and somehow ridiculously perfect.

I didn’t run out of yarn nor project.  The hat just needs the decreasing at the top.

Dinner was ready when we walked back in the door.

Happy almost-Valentine’s, sweetie.

IdiditIdiditIdidit, it’s soft, it’s pretty, it’s blocking, it’s done, I really like how it turned out and now I’m free to go knit something else for someone else. Yay!

If I can’t fix everything, it’s nice to have just this one thing, this knitting thing, that always turns out the way I want if I spend enough time on it. I can make it behave to help let the rest that is life be what it will.

Thank you all for all your messages of love and support.  Each note, each quiet prayer within or Thinking Good Thoughts, each one of you has been greatly appreciated. Wishing you all blessings in return.

The knitting always goes so much faster when you’ve already figured out what the next row should be. Right now mine is on the commuter train that has to stop at every station and pick up more stitches while the conductor tries to hurry everything along.

Started with a doodle, didn’t really care how it turned out till all the sudden I really cared how it turned out, about when I noticed it had suddenly gone off on some unknown side rails all its own–and hey, look, this is really cool!

Okay, for this next part, if I…

And no. I wish I could show it off but I can’t yet.

The Three Billy Goats Gruff have a bridge they’d like to sell me, telling me it’s done. All but the castoff. That would be nice, given that I just spent most of the last nine hours working on that shawl.

But it just might need another two times trip trap trip trapping across those rows. (As I head for the icepacks.)