Dannette stopped by today, one of my old Purlescence friends. That shop’s been gone about ten years now.

An Anya apricot seedling got us to finally reconnect in person. I had two up for grabs: a 42″ one in a big pot that was going to be a handful to transport and a 24″ one in a one gallon pot. Both were started last year and I’m sure the one will catch up quickly to the other once its roots have some space.

The big one had clearly sounded good beforehand because it’s a nice-sized tree but in person, the small one was so much easier to just pick up and put in her car that it was an easy call.

We caught up a bit. The cute baby that Stephanie Pearl-McPhee bounced in her arms after a book signing that we carpooled for to San Francisco is somehow 12 now, with her oldest in high school.

I reminisced about being at knit night at Purlescence when I excused myself and walked outside to take a call and then walked back in and announced to the crowd, This is my son. He’s calling to say he’s engaged! The whole room roared congratulations and huzzahs as I held the phone out for him to be able to hear.

His oldest is in high school too, now.

Times change around us, we get older, but with friends you just pick up right where we left off.

She’s finally going to have her apricot tree!

I made myself take a good hard look at it. It wasn’t doing it for me, and spending more time on it was just going to make me avoid wasting more time on it in an endless loop of not getting it done. Out!

Doing that much had clarified what I didn’t want and what I did.

Thus the new baby afghan is 3″ long and I’m really happy with it this time. And just in time: next thing you know, I got a text.

There is another new baby on the way.

My father had an aunt who married late and had time for one pregnancy and got identical twins whom I still couldn’t tell apart when they were in their 80’s, but in this case it will just be the one. Long longed for and at long last, and she’ll have the best parents one could possibly hope for. I can’t begin to tell you how thrilled I am for them.

I had an OB years ago who had a poster in his office with a caption that read, A baby is G_d’s opinion that the world should go on.

Our daughter’s flying home tonight. She picked up a bug on the incoming and spent the week wearing a mask to avoid infecting us and a lot of time asleep, but started to pick up again yesterday.

The baby blanket is at long last done and I found the yarn in the stash that I think the next one will probably be made out of. Let me do some more sketches first. Starfish in gansey stitches, what other tidal creatures would work with that idea.

If you’re going to be bewildered, at least have it be by something that doesn’t matter in the slightest, right?

I wanted silver. I settled for gold because I finally had my new post-op prescription in hand and I wanted my new, clearer eyesight and I wanted it now.

Oh Costco. Rose gold? With pink temples? That is not what I saw in the store. How did that happen.

I picked them up Wednesday night and waited till Thursday morning to start wearing them because the lenses were so different; I could have New Year’s Day to get used to them.

Today I saw more. Wait.

Who–seriously, who???–thought that a pair of women’s bifocals needed the joints where the temples meet the frame to be covered by–

I mean seriously–

metal teddy bear faces??? (I held them out to Richard and said, Please tell me at least those aren’t cats, no aspersion on cats but on stereotypes.)

No, those are teddy bears, you’re right.

I am dying to know who thought that that was the best possible idea to do to sell their product. It feels like a UC Berkeley prank in Stanford country: Go bears! Go Tree!

So, (whistling innocently) what are their cat’s-eye frames doing for their side hustle?

How’s the weather up there?

Do you play basketball?

How tall ARE you?

I get that people try to strike up conversations with those around them while stuck in lines, etc, but those same three questions across a lifetime, over and over and over and over and over…

I pulled out my phone and typed, Seven people in line in front of me.

Ouch, he texted back, I’m sorry.

I figured everybody was trying to pick up their prescriptions before the next week-long atmospheric river hits tomorrow.

A fairly tall guy was just in front of me. A taller one came up behind. They chatted a moment over my head. The one behind kindly offered to let me go sit down on that chair way over there and he would hold my place for me; I thanked him for the offer but was fine being where I was. We all went back to quietly waiting and reading our phones. I debated the ribbing of a hat but settled for the New York Times.

The one behind looked away from his screen for a few moments with a little bored sigh in his shoulders.

So I looked him in the eye and said with a grin, When we remodeled we put in extra-tall doorframes so my husband and son wouldn’t have to duck.

Instantly I was in the in group: I clearly knew what it was like even if I wasn’t tall at all. He laughed as *he* asked *me*, How tall are they?

6’8″ and 6.9″.

More laughter, then, I’m not that tall, I’m only 6’6″!

How often does he get to state his height with the word ‘only.’ Non-ironically, no less. He was having a good time.

The CVS clerk motioned me over, we got that done, I turned, and the man caught my eye and said warmly, Have a wonderful holiday!

You, too!

Michelle’s home, Michelle’s home!

Do you remember how, at the very end of high school, everybody felt so close to each other because we saw now how much even our more casual friendships meant to us and knew that we would never see some of those friends again, maybe even the closer ones, we just couldn’t yet know who those would turn out to be across the future?

Like that.

Post-Christmas gifting I looked at my boxes of apricot slabs, did the math on how fast I go through those, and knew they wouldn’t hold me till Andy’s Orchard opens again in May. And nobody sells apricots like his dried-while-dead-ripe slabs. Plus I wanted to pick up something someone else wanted who was going to have a hard time getting there.

Three years ago there was a cherry orchard next to Andy’s. The new houses are big. They kept the name of that farmer on the development but I don’t think they left a single fruit tree in place.

On the other side of his farm, driving down that newly widened and piped road, the open field to the right was rapidly turning into apartment buildings and closely spaced houses. So much change in a month. I turned the corner to the left around the end of Andy’s towards his store and thought, That cannot be good. That’s too many gone.

Stumps…

As I filled up my basket, the guy on duty laughed when I said, These are for my cousin-in-law’s mother-in-law… I laughed too and said, But she’s a really nice person, I love her! She’s flying today from Germany to her son’s house an hour away and is hoping to be able to get here before you close next week. I’m not sure she’ll make it in time, so I’m making sure she’ll be able to get what she wants.

One of I believe Andy’s crew had come into the little store in the middle of the conversation; the two men clearly meant the world to each other, and in those moments they included me in that palpable love, too.

Together they told me.

The closing isn’t just next week.

Andy will do one more season.

And then that’s it. The land is in the process of being sold. The neighbors who complained about being next to a farm, well…

But they bought houses next to a farm! I exclaimed.

They appreciated that I appreciated the absurdity of that. I mean, fruit trees! How intrusive is that!

I had had a feeling this entire year that this was coming, and soon.

I just didn’t want it to be ‘soon’ as in ‘it’s actually happening now’.

I’m just grateful we get to have one last year.

Before I get to what I’d planned to write about, Barbara Walker, author of all the knitting stitch treasuries that together are the knitters’ bible and inventor of the SSK stitch, passed away Sunday at 90 with her son by her side. She gave our world so much.

And on a different tangent.

It’s a little big (let’s be real: it’s huge) but I liked it. The style is a down-to-earth classic. The strap is wide enough not to dig into your shoulder, and, as it turns out it doesn’t grab and pull my hair like my current purse does. The organization, the softness they claimed (rightfully so–yay), its full grain…

I measured and checked sizes again and again. I was glad they said family-owned, not a big corporation, so I could order it in good conscience during the Black Friday sales. Because protests.

The zipper went across the whole freaking top, not just the middle third section like my Kate Spade. Finally! No spilling! And there’s a mesh holder for a water bottle, along with all the other little details inside.

But: Christmas morning I told him I’d bought that bag for him. I explained why.

I carry a purse everywhere. I want one stuff doesn’t fall out of, not just to have my wallet be protected but my knitting. (Which got dumped in the muddy driveway last winter when I pulled my purse across the steering wheel getting out of the car.)

A bag with its strap over your shoulder is the last thing he ever thinks of because that’s just not his life.

And that is why he has twice now left his travel cpap machine behind while flying. Both times we’ve gotten it back but that last time especially was a near thing.

It fits into my humongous new leather zipped tote. So still does enough of the stuff that I would need to carry on board a flight that it will definitely do. I will never ever leave my purse behind. We’re good here.

We mostly pick out our own gifts at this stage and tease each other that it’s from them, but, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my husband so grateful that I bought myself a present.

You could buy four of those and a fanny pack for one CPAP replacement.

She was fairly confident the x-ray would show a hairline fracture, but it proved a 404: Not Found. Swelling only.

She exclaimed over my green Mecha hat on the needles, and I thought with a grin, now I have motivation to finish it.

She very much approved my Birkenstock clogs (she has the same ones.) Nice and solid bottom to them, good for this. But even better, this boot would keep me from flexing my foot while walking around and yes I should wear it to speed up the healing quite a bit. She diplomatically did not say I should have come in two weeks ago.

So I’m wearing it. My gift to Near-Future Me. It looks like a mini black snow shovel with straps.

Happy Birthday to our Maddie, and a Merry Christmas to all!

My childhood self is feeling as gleeful as those little kids with their bells yesterday: look what I found! No Christmas is complete without a dose of Snoopy and the Red Baron. I bet one of my siblings can tell me which one of us officially owned that record but we all played it over and over.

A grandson’s 15th, my mom’s 95th, my cousin’s (who was named after my mom) 67th: Happy Birthday!

We just hung up and I walked away feeling incredibly privileged. How many people get to spend an hour on the phone wishing their mom a Happy 95th?

It was a quiet day spent keeping my foot up a lot. I got up this morning thinking, Oh, that’s a lot better than I thought that was going to be. Yay.

And thank you all for the kind words and thoughts.

Meantime, it’s been 36F the last three mornings. I really need to get out there and replace the eleven year old incandescent strand on my low-growing mango tree. Removing it from the tangle of limbs and placing the new such that it doesn’t constrict its growth–I’ve been avoiding it.

To be honest, I think for a semi-irrational fear of getting ticks on my head. It’s not been quite, quite cold enough to kill them off.

See, this is why nearly-white hair is a good thing: you can see them, or rather, the tall guy will. Right?

Celebrating at Dandelion Chocolate this morning.

A day well spent.

Nighttime San Francisco Airport is always gloriously colorful this time of year as you drive in, from the towering trees to the rendition of the Golden Gate Bridge in holiday LEDs.

A quick hug, a rollaboard being pulled towards the brightly lit waiting doors, and we came home under the orange supermoon to a suddenly quiet house with happily planned leftover pastries for the morning to console ourselves by.

She’d made sure her vegan chocolate carrot cake in its pretty little box was at the top of her backpack. Right there under the zipper. With a grin.

We were on our way home from the airport a week ago at a quite late hour with all three of us utterly exhausted when he realized in horror what he’d left on the plane. He got out his phone and filed a report. We expected never to see it again.

My phone, not his, got a voice mail yesterday–go figure. Maybe because the flight had been booked with my name first? Southwest’s baggage claim had it. Would we like to come pick it up.

YES!

Michelle drove, I came with. She ran in to retrieve it; being able to hear in a noisy airport is a good idea.

And so I got out, walked around the car, and sat in the driver’s seat, expecting to be told at any moment to move along.

If you’ve ever priced portable cpap machines (it was out of pocket) you know why it turned out to have been locked away among the valuables. That required the supervisor, who had stepped away moments before we pulled in and was suddenly nowhere to be found.

I was a ways past the last door out of the building, facing the longterm parking, and it was the least busy I have ever seen that terminal. Nobody would want to pick up their person from where I was if they didn’t have to. And they didn’t.

At long last one of the traffic enforcers walked up to my window. I told him what we were doing, and that if he needed me to circle around the airport awhile I’d be happy to. He nodded, looked down the road behind me to gauge how much in the way I was–ie, not at all–and told me that if arrivals picked up I’d need to move on but for now, *shrug*, and with that he turned and walked back towards where incoming cars would actually want to be.

She came out the door at long last, cpap triumphantly in hand, we switched places again and she drove away as I wondered how much being a white-haired older woman in an old car had played into all that. Maybe the guy wishes his folks would give up the keys: maybe he didn’t want me on the road when I’d had the good sense to let my kid drive me there. Maybe he just saw a chance to be nice when it didn’t hurt anything to.

We were trying to get every minute out of the visit before she flies home tomorrow.

A huge thank you to Southwest for tracking down that machine and getting it back to our airport and us. The writing on the ID tag had rubbed off.

The info is back on it now.

(Edit: he just showed me the covid vaccine card with his name on it in a zip pocket. So it did have that to confirm it for them. Good.)

Late late flight last night.

First things first: Mathias demonstrates how to properly read a book.

Lillian, the proper way to draw after you’re all exuberanced out. But the drawing itself is absolutely imperative and so you must.