Forty minutes away is nothing
Saturday May 24th 2014, 10:06 pm
Filed under: Family,Friends,Knit,Life

I mentioned last month my cousin admitting to secretly fervently wishing for a purple hat and scarf from me and I’ve been keeping an eye out ever since for just the right yarn.

And not finding it. Nope, not in my stash. Not that variegated. Purlescence had one that was tempting but was split into two dye lots, no–but I had these other projects that had to get done first anyway and that silk still has easily another week on it, so, no hurry.

But having finished a hat for someone else I no longer had a carry-around project. Just the silk. I was driving friends to San Francisco Airport this afternoon, and just before we got there I finally mused out loud to them that Cottage Yarns in South San Francisco was a whole lot closer right now than it would ever be from home and they carry the Malabrigo that would likely include exactly what I wanted that purple to be: the shade, the superwash, the softness; the wow factor, basically.

(Making that link it just finally dawned on me after all these years that the background is pale orange because they’re on Orange Avenue. My, I’m quick.)

Would the owner recognize you? Lee wondered out loud. (I guess because of the distance from home.)

Phyllis and I guffawed at her husband and I told him, Even Kathryn’s husband knows me!

And so. The Borraja. When I said no, that Rios Purpuras was just a little too gray, Kathryn pulled out exactly the right purple in the Arroyo–and thank you, Malabrigo, too, it’s perfect.

At the wheel again, I tossed various pattern thoughts around as to what I would do next with my time.

One stooped, elderly man stood alone with his memories at the foot of the Army-built Golden Gate Cemetery, a world away from the seven lanes of cars streaming past on the other side of the fence. The light turned and he didn’t see me stopped alongside him, wishing suddenly I could get out of my car so that he wouldn’t have to stay alone. I turned onto a quieter street and up the hill running alongside the place as I continued towards the freeway.  A small American flag had been planted at each grave marker, with large flags flapping vigorously in the Bay breeze around the small steep hill overlooking them all. Families were getting out of their cars near the entryway for the the Memorial Day weekend, and I silently wished the old man way down the hill company and camaraderie, too.

And I wanted to ask them, too, to tell me their stories. To see their loved ones come back to life in their eyes.

But I did not interrupt what was so intensely personal but continued on to my own place, knowing I would never forget the sight.

4 Comments so far
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I’m glad you found THE purple, and thank you for sharing that very poignant Memorial Day weekend moment.

Comment by Channon 05.25.14 @ 9:12 am

My father never stated what he did in the army in WWII. It was one of “those” jobs, he said. I have items he sent his mother including a tea set stamped made in occupied japan and a compact that were from Aleutian Islands.

I wonder, I wonder. I’m so appreciative of what all the military has given us but I wonder,

Comment by Afton 05.25.14 @ 10:03 am

So glad your purple found you. Thankful today and every day for those who went out knowing they might not return….the sacrifices they made mean much to me. I am blessed as all my immediate family who have served have all come home to tell, or not, their stories.

Comment by Ruth 05.25.14 @ 9:14 pm

ooh, I like the English Rose. And Reflecting Pool. and lots of pretty ones. Pretty, pretty soft stuff.

Comment by Marian 05.25.14 @ 11:14 pm

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