Years ago, I was doing Stitches West via wheelchair.

I had inherited a wheelchair pressure cushion (something like this only I think heavier duty) from a late friend and it was so comfortable that I ended up commandeering it for my knitting perch. I’ve had it about 25 years now. It has lasted.

So. Friends drove, we carpooled, and at the end of the day putting all that back into their car I heard something.

What. Is. That. Sound.

Oh, we heard that ever since this morning, they said, we just didn’t know what or where it was.

Turns out the nozzle had somehow come slightly open: the entire joyous day of running into old knitting friends and fondling new yarns, my seat had been playing whoopee cushion.

It flattened out about a month ago and Richard could use it right now so a friend came by with a bicycle pump today and we got it nice and full and it seems to be holding just fine and I guess I just knocked it loose again while rummaging around for something. Yay. But it takes me straight back to that bemused, feigned-nonchalance answer from my friend. Just before my disbelief and then our all cracking up.

But my story has been completely outdone.

Richard’s first night in the hospital, they looked at this 6’8″ guy with the operated-on foot in this normal-person bed and went, nope, and moved him down the hall to a bigger one. Still a tad short but better.

Friday, someone decided this just wouldn’t do when they did in fact have one longer than that, so while he was walking the hall with the nurse they moved that one into his room. Great.

Except.

By the next morning, after I’d started timing the (insert definitive expletive of one’s choice) thing, he’d figured it out: it was an air mattress. There had to be some small leak somewhere. That steady jackhammer-loud blast that went off for 50 seconds out of every five minutes round the clock?

So. Loud.

That was the sound of its compressor helpfully pumping it back up.

A week of driving to the hospital in stormy weather: yesterday I walked out to my car just in time to see a mom and teenage boy at theirs next to mine taking photos of the large limb a eucalyptus had dropped on their car. Not sure if the branch on the other side had been part of the first or not as he pulled it out of the way.

Today, blue sky and new snow on the nearby mountains.

I did not park under the trees.

This afternoon we watched a video and then with Richard and a nurse watching I practiced sanitizing edges and connecting examples of IV meds and saline syringes and how to do which dose how fast and how often. You set everything out in order on the sanitized tray and then you work your way across according to specific time intervals. (Write it out, I said. Yes they will.)

And then they kept him there.

The tall balding absolute beanpole of a nurse who loves his patients and looks and has a ready smile like Alex Pretti got assigned to him this evening and I didn’t say anything to the guy because I’m sure he’s heard it a lot and how can it not break your heart all over again.

Friends came to visit.

Turns out that from church this week, G had a pulmonary embolism, J had a burst appendix, L had a stroke, Richard of course…

And someone had a baby a few days ago.

I remember the wild thoughts with our first of, They’re sending ME home with this tiny thing? They think we know anything about being parents? Don’t they know we’ve never done this before? Don’t they know we have no idea what on earth we’re doing?

And then, day by single long day, you find out you can, in fact, do this, that you do learn as you go and it’s the wanting to do your best by others that makes it all somehow, inexplicably work out.

It’s all about learning to trust the life that is in us.

The slightly taller/broader RN was the guy who leaned his head in Richard’s door briefly yesterday morning after he’d seen me go by before I had any idea who he was and said something I didn’t catch, ending with, Thank you, with a big smile, and disappeared as fast as he’d come.

So I missed most of the words, but the joy! It was palpable. His whole being absolutely radiated love and my first thought was, he must have confused us with someone else, someone he loved.

Later we got the rest of the story.

The other outcome was that my husband decided there had to be a better captions app than the two I’ve tried and went searching till he found the one the others should have been like all along–one that actually works in a conversation in a room with background noise and with people at various distances away.

I cannot begin to tell you how life-changing that is going to be. It already is.

Thank Stanford for fighting insurers over billing, clearly, because of how it got us bumped to that other hospital. Not a sentence I’d thought I’d be writing.

When I said that podiatrist customer had changed lives? I had no idea.

Turns out there were two kids running the ski department of that outdoors outfitter. The customer helped the one get into podiatry school.

The two good friends who’d been working side by side there never saw each other again.

I came around the corner this morning and standing at the nurse’s station with his back to me was a middle-aged man with the same general build, the same haircut, the same touch of gray at the ear–but he seemed too tall and a smidgen too broad to be our doctor.

Richard’s hospitalization had brought them to the same floor.

Our doctor’s friend had gone to nursing school and was now the senior RN on the floor. There each other was. For the first time in all these years.

I had questions.

Who designs a new hospital such that there’s a big window in the room but the patient in the bed cannot see out it? His view was entirely blocked by the curving wall of the bathroom on the side of the room where the head of the bed goes. Maybe to entice the patient to start to be ambulatory? Okay, but when they most need to see the sky, anything at all beyond the whirrs and the beeps and the medical gear? They can’t. Only the light reflected off the wall over on that side. The mind boggles.

Maybe they were trying to protect from shattering glass in an earthquake? That’s the only thing that made sense. But Stanford is more seismic-safe in their new building and they didn’t do that. (The new seismic code went into effect a few years ago and a lot of hospital buildings got replaced.)

My view at home with the coming storm putting an exclamation point on the colors.

I had another question I wasn’t ever about to ask: how does one aspire to, I mean, cut off toes when one grows up? What would pull someone to that?

The podiatrist came in and, having a little time today, out of the blue chatted a bit about himself.

He’d thought of going to medical school but being a pilot sounded pretty cool, too, and he was leaning that way. Meantime he was working at one of those big outdoor outfitters, fitting people to their new ski boots–and he was good at it. Really good at it.

A podiatrist came in with his son and complimented his skills. That led to the doctor saying, You know–you really should be a podiatrist. Podiatry needs you.

He believed in the young guy, his enthusiasm rubbed off on him, he (the good now-doctor reminiscing chuckled) pulled some strings and got him in. And so the kid did go to medical school so that he could become a podiatrist, too, and here he was.

And I thought gratefully, one random stranger taking the personal interest and the time for someone else’s child changed so many lives.

He took off the bandaging a nurse had changed not an hour before to inspect how it had done overnight. It frankly looked a lot better than I thought it would: how does one make sense of half a big toe and the missing one next to it? How does the mind look at that and think yes, yes, that makes sense.

It doesn’t but in those skilled hands it had become okay, and I understood now how Richard had so trusted the guy to make the right decision and then to do the thing right. That foot looked the healthiest I’d seen it since August by far. It was such a relief to have all that infection we’d fought and fought against in a slowly losing agonizing battle for half an hour every night month after month simply–gone.

Two canceled trips to see grandkids last year.

There will be healing, and then we can start to plan our life the way we envision it again. It’s been awhile.

Have you ever seen this before? I marveled.

My mechanic said nothing but kind of laughed, looking at that sunken switch. He walked across the long length of his garage to pick up the right tool, but he did so slowly and looking as if he might be in pain. He’s about my age. I’d never seen that before in him. My heart went out to him.

I wondered if he would be retiring soon, or rather, how soon: the whole neighborhood was one mass of construction and tear-downs with a recent zoning change housing housing housing, trucks in the way workers parked all over the place narrowing his street nearly down to a one-way. The land his business has been sitting on for so many decades could help that retirement a lot.

Selfishly, I will greatly regret when he does. He has experience, skills, and a deep sense of integrity.

And just like that he was done.

Could I pay him anything for his time and expertise? He smiled, No.

It’s an old car, he said. Be gentle with it.

I wasn’t entirely sure he was just talking about cars.

So our car has PG’s eyes now, I told him.

A friend of PG’s had had cataract surgery and had had the lens implants deliberately not match: one was set for seeing near, one for far. He told PG it was great. PG told his doctor that’s what he wanted to do, too.

We are designed with two eyes for a reason. Sabotaging binaural vision because you don’t want to wear glasses seemed a really bad idea to the doctor, who tried hard to talk him out of it. But failed.

Out of sheer curiosity I asked my own cataract surgeon about it and his take was basically you’d have the whole rest of your life to regret that in.

So. The Prius.

There’s the window switch and there’s the set of them for setting the outside mirrors. I got the left hand mirror where I wanted it, went to change the one on the right–

–and the thing fell down inside the door. Visible, at least, but useless.

One eyeball view for me, one for Richard. Good thing we have shoulders we can look over.

Tomorrow when the mechanic sees my note I can find out if that’s a new one on him.

Blueberry flowers always remind me of the ruffly petticoats and jumpsuits of early childhood.

As usual, the August Pride has the earliest peach flowers. (It did not get the second round of copper spray yesterday with the others since it is no longer dormant.)

I took a box of lemons to church labeled “Meyers: Take one.”

After texting and getting delighted responses I delivered some to my neighbors to either side. There is nothing like pulling one off a tree and inhaling that immediate rich perfume in the air.

Eagerly waiting for more things to wake up out there.

I knew nothing of his background when we first met, and I’m glad of that; I got to know him a little with no preconceptions. His Scottish last name matched my great-grandmother’s and we figured we were cousins way back there somewhere.

Gradually, some of his stories seemed farfetched enough that I wasn’t sure I believed them.

Today I found out how true the one I questioned the most was. I was not expecting that.

His close friend from high school played a flamenco tune that James had taught him to play on his guitar all those years ago, and talked about James’s stage name and how he’d come by it and the travels and lessons and performances.

So that was real. That wasn’t the imaginings of a hard-core homeless man who once threw a major tantrum at me when I emailed him of an apartment opening for those who wanted to come off the street. I’m sure he saw it as me looking down on him, but it was pure naivet’e. He was where he felt comfortable being. In the end, just before his kidneys finished giving out, he did in fact accept moving into a place built to help people like him. That was his offer of comfort to the rest of us.

James was a gifted artist of a gardener. He was hired by someone I vaguely knew who was building a mansion up in the hills who described James as working on his own time and in his own way and you can’t rush him; all you can do is know that it will be glorious when he’s done. Glorious is a direct quote.

During a slow patch for him, I tried to hire him to come copper-spray my peaches against leaf curl disease.

I thought of him this morning as I did that task myself.

I walked into the church this afternoon; I’d met his mom, but surely this was his sister next to her. It was.

While their mom was talking to someone else, I told his sister–who made sure afterwards that Mom heard it, too–that James had refused to allow me to pay him that day when he was done. Said it was his gift to G_d today, that he likes to pick someone to just serve the Lord to and that was that.

Knowing his strong faith, I said, But the Bible says wo to those who oppress the hireling in their wages!

Didn’t budge him. He had done it for love. Always would. Please let him know next year when to come. (I confess I did not. I like to pay people for their work.)

And so I had knit him a soft wool blue cabled hat in thanks. James gasped at it: “I will treasure it the rest of my life!”

His sister said, “Oh, THAT’s where…” and trailed off. She’d wondered…

I did not dare ask how rare it was for her late brother to own and to keep something nice.

There have been two visiting nurses since last summer (plus two substitutes we never saw again) making sure Richard’s bone infection in his foot doesn’t get worse.

The one who comes most often got a hat last week.

The other, the head honcho, comes much less frequently so I was delighted today when it was her. She’s the one who read one of his doctors the riot act over the phone from our kitchen when he was refusing to acknowledge that the infection was still there and still needing to be treated–when in fact it was spreading.

Got that tamped back down just in time. Let’s not do the sepsis thing, okay?

While she worked, I was in the other room going through the the finished-hat stash, wondering why I hadn’t run in the ends on that blue one, and so that got done.

But the one in the Indiecita colorway: that was the one. I was so sure of it. I moved it to the top of the stack and then admired all those pretty colors in the sunlight, both the brights and the quiets in those hats, before getting back to the afghan at hand.

She finished up and the front door opened.

Wait! I ran to her. Teal Feather, Blue Jean, Volcan, Piedras, and the Indiecita, I held them out: Pick a color.

Oh there was no question that one on top it’s gorgeous! She laughed for surprise and joy and put it on her head and gave me a hug and about skipped down the walkway, so happy! She got to have something I made! She got to have colors she loved! It’s so soft and warm!

I tell you: she’d earned that. She had so much earned that.

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 found myself in the back yard yesterday looking at two Anya apricot seedlings to the right: they were small, but only because the pots they were in weren’t very big. There was a third one in a big pot to the left and it’s twice the height even though the same age. Those littler roots need some space!

Someone would love one if they only knew.

I found myself saying a prayer, going, If there’s someone who would really want one, please help me find them. Please make it so obvious that I won’t second-guess myself over it–because with Andy’s closing there aren’t going to be any do-overs after this year.

The phone rang today. It was Dave. We’ve known him since he was a teenager in our ward in New Hampshire; his kids are teens now. He was thinking he’d like to stop by and catch up a bit? See how we were doing? (He knows about Richard’s foot.)

Absolutely!

He was at one point asking questions about taking care of his young pluot tree.

I asked him if he liked apricots.

Dave, with intensity: I LOVE apricots!

He was certainly not expecting what happened next. To carry home an apricot tree, much less a specialty one–but he was very very glad to. Cool! Given a choice between little and easily carried or big he chose little. It’ll make up the difference quickly once it’s in the ground.

Just like that. Done.

And, selfishly, I’m delighted that I’ll get to see that tree growing up and becoming all that it’s meant to be.

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.

He’s somehow three now. He needed to show me his dinosaur.

I told him, Look! It has a great big smile just like you do!

It’s put your bins at the curb night and I had stepped outside to throw one last thing in there when, it turned out, daddy and toddler were out taking a meander.

So now I know that the baby on the way is a boy. Since I haven’t gone very far with the plain generic white yet, let me think whether that changes anything.

He worked at Trader Joe’s. He’s a little bit shy and yet has the most outgoing heart. He had a kid in college when we had kids in college and we occasionally talked parenting when the store was quiet. He liked connecting with people and asking their stories and went out of his way to make clear he was glad you were there, not some store-policy fixed smile but his genuine own. He might not start a conversation, but he’d be glad you did.

Then I didn’t see John for a long time. When I finally did again he explained and I exclaimed and I was so glad he was back.

His heart had nearly done him in. I’m not sure he’d even hit 50 yet. He’d been out for months. He was moving a little slowly and carefully now but he was back and working again.

Carefully.

There were some slower times when I’d see people huff and get in a different line and I wanted to tell them what they were missing. Their loss.

My times and his have somehow not overlapped for awhile now, which is a shame because he’s the biggest draw for that particular store. I figured his health had finally required retirement.

There were errands to run today and I really wanted to get them done because that rain was promising to get bad. (No flooding yet. Yay.) Pharmacy, grocery… Logically, it made sense to go to the Whole Foods with the underground parking and stay dry.

Something in me strongly urged me not to. Huh. Okay, whatever. I headed to TJ’S instead.

Look who was there!

Been a long time, he nodded with a warm smile as he started to check my stuff out. Old times all over again, man, it was great as we caught up a bit. Where’s your other? he asked.

Working. At home, I said, which answered any question about Richard’s retiring yet for him and his being there answered that question for me about him so we were even.

The next line over went faster but the guy behind me was in no hurry; his wife made a sudden appearance, put something new in his cart, and went off to find something else. He watched her go.

Then, seeing a lull in our conversation, he spoke up and said something to John and made him laugh. Watching them, it was clear they felt a longtime kinship, too, so I said to John, You make friends wherever you go!

He looked a little bashful and as if trying to explain to himself how that could be he smiled and said, in a tone of wonderment, I just show up.

That you do, I told him. Thank you.

And pulled my cart out the door and into the rain that looked a lot sunnier than a few minutes before.