(The new bag in the background: tomorrow’s post.)
At Purlescence last night, people were swooning–moaning, quite honestly–over this skein.  One person shopping the store whom I didn’t know, oblivious to the conversation in the group, stepped close enough to get pounced on: Here, I told her, feel this!
Her expression went from, yeah, okay, 
Maybe six or seven years ago, I was at Stitches West, talking to a woman who was selling qiviut fiber combed from her herd of Alaskan musk oxen. She and her husband had devised a holding chute to keep each animal still (and, I imagine, from goring them) while they combed out the undercoat it was ready to shed across the tundra. They would then pick out the guard hairs by hand to avoid damaging that precious fiber.
Small wonder, then, that her little one-ounce ziploc bags cost $30.
But then she had me touch it.
Qiviut was then the softest, finest legally available and humanely collected animal fiber on the planet.  And given where the animals live, very, very warm. The musk ox had only recently been taken off the endangered list, and hers was, if memory serves, the first non-Inuit-owned private herd on the continent.
There was a moment of surprised delight last year when my first surgeon mentioned she’d bought a qiviut smoke ring in Alaska on a trip and I asked her, At the Oomingmak cooperative?
How did you know?!
My surgeon owned and treasured Eskimo-handknit lace qiviut, of all things. I knew I was in good hands.
Back to the scene at Stitches. The woman had a big black plastic garbage bag full of the stuff, ready to weigh out to order, and I laughed and asked her, just out of curiosity, how much the whole thing would cost. She eyed me with a grin and shot back, “With or without the divorce lawyer?” (Ouch!) “About six thousand dollars.”
So. I bought one ounce–a year later, at the next Stitches, after having thought about it long enough. I was going to spin it, I was going to ply it with mere cashmere to get twice the yardage, oh, I had plans.
And then I actually tried to spin it. It was almost like dryer lint. It needed to be spun very fine, which one would want to do anyway, but I have almost no feeling in my fingertips and the job would be purely visual. Pass the microscope. And that gets old and very difficult very fast.
It sat in the closet. I know, I know.
I finally, talking to my friend Rachel one day, told her that it was criminal to have qiviut, of all things, going to waste and that since she liked to spin finely anyway, I was giving it to her. She was under firm orders not to give it back. This was for her.
Yeah well. Do your friends like to be ordered around? Neither do mine.
And so it was that I got a text message yesterday incoming: “Will you be at knitting?”
I still have yet to manually enter most of my contacts into my new phone; I had no idea who was asking. So I typed back, simply, “Yes.” Kind of a no-brainer: it’s Knit Night? I go!
I walked in, sat down, and Sandi casually tossed a bag on my lap as she walked by. ?!??!! Yes. And the message sent with it was, You’ll know whom to knit this for.
I instantly did. Oh, I did. I told them, I’ll have to think more about it and pray about it, but–
–And you know, I did all that, too, but, I knew immediately and that was that. I can’t tell Rachel how grateful I am for her gift of those 186 yards. It’s for someone whom I’ve needed to knit something for for several months, someone going through worse than ever I did all of last year, someone I would give anything to make her family’s sudden severe burden easier, if only somehow I could.
Someone for whom I’ve gone through my stash again and again and again, looking for just THE right thing, and somehow nothing felt good enough. I couldn’t figure out why. Now I know.
Maybe, the fact that a total stranger did all that work spinning it for the sake of goodwill towards whomever the right person might be, added in with my own goodwill knowing whom it cries out to be knitted for, maybe, it might ease her burden. Maybe just a little.
A little basic human warmth and kindness.
A little bit of fluff. But it can go a long way.