Drive-by knitting.
They had no idea. None. The timing! That the last few nights I’d considered packing a hospital bag, didn’t pack one, but I did go hunting through my stash till I found the second ball of that yarn I needed to finish the project on my needles–knowing that Richard wouldn’t have a chance of finding it. (Yeah, like if he were to tell me to go grab the particular ham radio that… Not a chance.) Just in case. My Crohn’s and my dysautonomia both had started to flare recently, and I can manage as long as I don’t start barfing, which my low blood pressure can’t handle, and I don’t know what meds are left to try now if my permanent chemo stops holding off the Crohn’s, and I’m trying not to get overly worried about it, yeah, I’ll be fine, and and and…
And feeling not as fine as I’d like.
So. Last night I went to my monthly knitting group, which had been moved forward a week because of Stitches being next week. My friend Nancy had called to make sure I’d be going, and had picked me up so that a ride wouldn’t be an issue; Los Gatos is a bit of a hike, and last month my husband was answering a Red Cross call and I had had to miss half of it.
We did the usual go-around-the-room and show off, and when it got to Nancy’s turn, she stood up and said, ‘Scuse me a minute.
She disappeared into the back room. She reappeared with a box, gorgeously wrapped.
I have been a party to some of Nancy’s shenanigans in the past, but I never ever thought I’d… My stars!!
Finally someone said, Well, OPEN it! I looked up at last at that, my jaw still on the ground, and said plaintively, My hands forgot how!
Open it. I opened it. And out came this: a congratulations from my local knitting friends on the June 11 publication of my book. Nancy had put all the squares together and had attached a tag naming the creator to each block. Nancy’s is wool she’d handspun–she’s the one who’d dragged me kicking and screaming to Karen’s shop to learn how to spin, back when my kids were in elementary school. Pam’s is handdyed cashmere/silk–Pam was one of the test knitters for my book, giving me feedback on how I’d written the patterns out and reassuring me I’d done okay with them. Llama, wool, mohair, smooth, boucle, chenille, sock handpaint: every square is done in a yarn and pattern that reflects the knitter. And every one is a huge burst of love. I was. Stunned. Speechless.
How could I not be well, with all that love and goodwill buoying me up? I went home, showed off to my husband and my youngest, and then fell into bed and slept for ten solid hours.
And woke up much better.
