Today, the surprise box was for Richard.  It looked to me at first like something maybe from the Monterey Bay Aquarium?  From Sam again, this time trying to replenish her father’s brain cell supply.  (Well, dear, see what happens when you tell your wife to blog it? Heh.)

Meantime, I reluctantly admitted to a friend who asked me that, yes, we could indeed use some help; Michelle’s on crutches and can’t stand for very long, and Richard had minor surgery two days before mine and it was botched–they accidentally punctured the wrong spot and gave him an unexpected spinal tap. That leaked.  Last Friday, he came to visit me, called his doctor five minutes later, and spent the rest of the day in the ER. We’re a cheerful if rather sorry bunch.

Said Andrea, say no more. And so AlisonF and Julia of the Julia’s Shawl fame came over today, with Michelle telling me to lie down and take it easy (while not doing so herself) and them all cleaning away on the house. I can’t tell you how much better it feels–thank you!

I wanted to go pick them tomatoes as a thank you. I started towards the sliding door–and–most of them were gone. They were there yesterday, nice and big and bright and red and ripe.  But… But!!!

That does it. I am not knitting those raccoons any sweaters. So there.

Alison is too out of it to post tonight. As one of the children said, “Another part bit the dust” I just left her side and she is pretty beat up. Believe it or not but she is frowning while she drifting in and out of it. The anesthesia knocked out her already bad hearing, but that seems to be improving slowly. They are trying to get her pain under control. She does not remember much of the day. They were happy with how it went. Maybe in a few days she will be, but not right now. Don’t expect much for a few days as she needs to recover. I will show her comments tomorrow if she is up to it.

Yesterday we celebrated Phyllis’s birthday. She and her husband like to scuba dive and have gone to Bali and Indonesia several times, and so we went to to a restaurant that specializes in the cuisines of both. (We didn’t manage to pull off something like this, because we’re not Phyll, but she understands.)

And if you remember this you’ll see why I thought an elephant fingerpuppet was perfect in that context for the toddler at the next table who was very well behaved for a very long time but was just starting to get a little bit bored.

What was fun was watching how much fun her parents had playing with it with her and how completely it lit up their day.  That was absolutely why I do this. It was delightful.

And to the friend who was also at Nina’s Seder (the story’s in here), who planned and helped put on my kids’ wedding receptions, (Wendy of the yellow roses helped too), the person to turn to when you need anything anytime because you know she’ll do anything for you–happy birthday, Phyllis!

My friend Wendy stopped by today, surprising me with roses to make next week come easier.  She was my daughters’ girls’ camp director back in the day (and I was always grateful she did the volunteering for that so I didn’t have to.  Brave soul.)  Thank you, Wendy!

Then the mail came.  Two boxes.  One from Germany. The other–Rookies HQ Games and Cards? What IS this?

You ordered it, Mom!

I did not!

Open it!

It was from Sam.  The tag proclaims, “1,000,000+ x actual size!” A teddy-bear leukocyte: a snuggleable white blood cell, complete with bug eyes and a stitched-in smile to make me laugh.

I gave it a monocle from the other box to help it squint better at those pathology slides.

I had a favorite pair of Holz and Stein knitting needles that disappeared in Santa Rosa last year, the 5.5mm ones I’d used to knit every shawl in my book that was done in that size needle.  Lisa Souza recently sent me this Ruby baby alpaca laceweight, and a large part of me wanted to again have dedicated Holz and Steins just for it and then to use forever after for size 3.5mm projects.  (This particular wood was a special edition that didn’t come in the larger size.) I’ve spent several weeks in anticipation of being able to put the two together and to work, while my needles were being custom made and shipped, and now I can!

But in the meantime, in the occasional contest for most unusual use of a knitting needle, I’d say using the cable part as a monocle for a stuffed leukocyte…yeah, that’s getting up there, wouldn’t you say?

I saw my old friend KT today, and she threw her arms around me.  Boy, she had something she wanted to tell me!

She’d been out and about, and someone she didn’t know at all had come up to her, pointed at the shawl she was wearing, and proclaimed, “That’s an Alison!”

KT didn’t remember the name of the person but thought I’d enjoy hearing about it.  The woman had told her she was a former yarn store owner.  I’m guessing who that was, but if you’re reading this, give me a holler, wouldja? It totally made her day and mine today.  What were the chances?!

KT knew about my lupus, but that was it.  She didn’t expect the reaction she got when she mentioned that she’d had a hard time lately; she’d been diagnosed with Crohn’s in January.  She didn’t know if I’d heard of that one?

Oh wow.  Ten years ahead of you, friend, call me any time whatsoever with any question, and let me reassure you that chemo meds sound scary but mine worked for me for years with no real side effects.

I’ve had a lupus support group all these years. I’ve never found one for the Crohn’s. And now I get to be one.  And  we started it off with a sense of celebration–I’ve already knit her the baby alpaca shawl!

I’ve tried to keep it at arm’s length, but it hogs the air around here and keeps finding its way out in bits and pieces on the blog.

I so dearly want to go to Sock Summit. I particularly wish I could thank Barbara Walker in person for her generosity in letting me use some of her lace patterns within the shawls in my book.

I can’t.

I want to go to Warren’s shop in San Rafael, just north of San Francisco, for one last time before he closes his doors the end of this month, to wish a good man well with whatever comes next.

At least I’ll get to see him at Stitches West next year.

I keep thinking of fun day trips to do with Michelle, and she just looks at me and goes, Are you up to that?

Oh. Right. Well, hey, brownie points for positive thinking.

I made it to Knit Night at Purlescence last night; face time with friends won out, and here’s Jasmin trying on the Monterey, to my great delight at her enthusiasm over it.

I talked to pathology today and arranged to pick up my slides to take to my new surgeon (my old one having left) at Stanford.  There is one more test to run first that might delay what seems surely inevitable at this point.  I’ve been bleeding at least ten times a day, no meds are working, (I know–same old, same old), it could easily fistulize and cause an emergency, and that 10″ stump has to go.

When so many of you were praying for the Humira to work last January, and it seemed not to?  But: the rectum healed up enough after those doses that they were able to staple it off rather than creating another stoma with it. Given what the thing has done since then, I am grateful in the extreme for that–it has made this situation far, far easier.

Right now all we can do is wait while I try not to waste my breath wishing the operation  were weeks in the past already.  That day will come. I’m holding my blankets close for comfort: Robert’s, (skip about halfway down the post), the one Elizabeth‘s group made, the two Anniebee‘s group made, and the one from the South Bay Knitters I’ve had for several years now that they made as a congratulations on getting “Wrapped in Comfort” accepted for publication. I still have the nametags on their squares telling who knit which.

I have a new pattern I wanted to rework in a laceweight with more detail than the fingering yarn I first knitted it up in, and what shows up on my doorstep today from Lisa?… Baby alpaca laceweight, my favorite, gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous and dyed and gifted on the spot as soon as she knew.  Wow.  I can’t wait to dive into it. There is such a joy in creating something that’s never been in the world before and then sharing it.

As so many of you did for me.  Thank you, Lisa. Thank you, every square knitter and afghan put-er-together-er and every person who has prayed, read, Thought Good Thoughts.  It all helps, and I wrap it around me gratefully.  Thank you.  This is just a blip, and we’ll get through it just like the last time.

I noticed this morning that the birdfeeder, which had been a bit low last night, was down to the bottom portholes; time to refill.  Got my measuring cup for scooping, filled it and put it down on the picnic bench, moved a chair under the feeder, and got up to untwist the feeder top.  Picked up the cup, poured the seed/minced peanut mixture in…

…And before I could finish twisting the thing back together, there was a tiny finch perched on the twig right next to my face: canIcanIhuhhuhisbreakfastreadyyet?

Chirp thing, friend.

Later, I went back to Purlescence with the smallest scrap of Manos, pulling it out of my pocket saying, “You know that yarn Kevin wound up for me yesterday? It’s” (sniffing ever so woefully) “all *gonnnne*…”

They cracked up. Okay, show us!  I did. I’d decided the scarf was long enough as it was.

But Kathy of yesterday’s comment had come too and she still insisted on handing me the three beautiful Manos balls she was coming to my rescue with.  I promised her I would put them to good use–I have some serious lace-scarf knitting to do.

Something compelled me to drop everything and go off to Purlescence this afternoon, even though I was there last night and had other plans for just then.  I did, and there were three friends in the store who’d walked in just ahead of me whom I hadn’t seen in ages–the timing was exactly right.  Serendipity!

Not a major event to anybody else, and it probably doesn’t make for much of a blog post except that it just so much felt like I should go; I did; and I’m so glad I did!

And on that note, one small ball of Manos silk blend followed me home. I don’t know why; the orange and sage green mixed in with the raspberry are not my colors; I don’t know who it’s for; but it needed to be knitted up on my needles, so here it is. It elbowed its way past all the pretty blues and greens and yelled, Me, me!

Okay, yarn. You and the needles you’re in cahoots with: now tell me the rest of your story.

The trajectory of a simple act of kindness goes beyond what its giver can ever know.

I was debating leaving the cast-off row here as a bit of mindless work to do at Purlescence’s Knit Night tonight, and laid the project out a moment to look at it and decide.

And laughed at the tune from my childhood that instantly popped into my head as I noticed the outline I hadn’t been trying to set up but did: M-I-C, K-E-Y, M-O-U-S-E. Mouse ears, dimples, and a goofy smile via the cast-on row!

It’s all Robin’s fault. Remember when she surprised me with those dishcloths in cream and gradations of earthy reds?  Knowing that I love such things but hate to knit cotton, myself? Those extra bits of unexpected friendly color in my day helped propel Karin’s shawl into getting finished, and then, with that not feeling like quite enough, now this one in Lisa Souza’s baby alpaca/silk in Ruby.  The blue I’d planned to work with next suddenly wasn’t doing it for me; it had to be this yarn for this shawl after Karin’s.  Something in me needed to respond to Robin’s gift with colors in kind in celebration.

I wonder what the rest of its story will come to be.

A side note–welcome home, Don! And a huge thank you to Robin, an old friend who surprised me today when my mail came with a box from my Bethesda hometown: with lanolin-based soap and four handknit dishcloths.  Wow.  Cool.  My kitchen just got greener–no more paper towels wiping the counters off.  Thank you, Robin!

I stepped outside this morning to water my tomato plants and, coming back across the porch, suddenly caught movement next to me. I peered carefully around the birdfeeder just as the chickadee peered around from the other side to make sure the coast was clear–and there we were, eye to eye, standing still, about a foot away from each other.  Wow.  And then it zipped away.

As Michelle put it, “Now you have pets! And you don’t even have to clean up after them!”

Meantime, after dinner last night, I drove back down to San Jose and met up with the garage band; there was a goodly crowd and introductions were made all around and names put to emails.  I gave Eric first choice of Margo Lynn’s fingerless gloves, and he allowed as how they would be just the thing, that his hands do indeed get cold during some of his wildlife photo shoots. Noro for him, Margo Lynn, and in the pair he picked out for Craig, who wasn’t there but usually is–I didn’t know if I’d be able to get back down there, and Eric offered to pass them along for me. He told me to mail Glenn’s to Santa Cruz, that Glenn was caring for the lone survivor of the San Francisco nest and it had a broken clavicle.  It seemed to be healing nicely, but it did tend to tie Glenn down there.

Eric showed me one of his photos of two falcons midair, one with prey, the other facing the camera and squawking. I looked at it and laughed, “Aak! Don’t look at me! I’m having a bad feather day!”

A few minutes later (maybe I missed hearing something the first time? Certainly not a rare thing to have happen) Eric showed me another large picture.  There’s a more cropped version of it here. He said the hummingbird was actually defending its nest Clara had gotten a bit too close to.

I loved both Clara’s calmness and the spunk of the little thing, not to mention the photography. Then when I tried to give the picture back, Eric said, “No–this one’s for you.”

My jaw hit the ground.  Gobsmacked.  It was signed and dated, too, on the front, with a description on the back of just which falcon where when–it’s a collector’s item. As a matter of fact, there was a fundraising auction that had just ended that had included a copy of that photo, which with all my recent medical bills I couldn’t afford to consider but had quietly wanted to.

And here this was in my hands.  As a gift.  Wow.  I must say I instantly pictured the biblical King Soloman ripping the photo in half and mailing half to Margo Lynn to be perfectly fair–she’d knitted his gloves, not me.

Saying that I knit those five lace scarves sounds like a rationalization, but I’m really going to enjoy that photo. (Margo Lynn, forgive me?)

A quick note first: I got a call from Don today from the emergency room; he’d broken three bones in his foot.  Ouch!  I’m wishing healing his way.

After I posted yesterday, a new bird showed up. Bonus points to anybody who whistles the song the post title comes from (sorry about the earworming).  I was stunned–in 22 years in California, I have never once seen a chickadee. Anywhere.  Ever.  I assumed they simply didn’t live here.

But there one was, right there on my feeder, testifying to the fact that in life if you want something to happen, sometimes you have to create the opportunities by which it can.

Speaking of which.  Last night my husband was still at work due to deadlines and international time zone issues, while Michelle, who’d planned to take his car, was off having dinner with friends.  Marian and I were about to head out to San Jose City Hall for her to get to see the falcons and meet the folks I’d be giving Margo Lynn’s fingerless gloves to when it suddenly dawned on us that, oh, wait.  What’s wrong with this picture.

And we cracked up at the same moment.  No car!  (Duh…)

While I was typing this, a female ladderback woodpecker looking like this one showed up on my olive tree. It wasn’t interested in the feeder; I guess it simply felt welcomed by the presence of the seven finches and titmice on the feeder.  It was gorgeous and big and I hadn’t seen one of those since we’d had to cut down the ash trees.  Wow.  All I had to do was welcome its neighbors and it felt right at home too.  I wonder what will show up next!

Before Marian’s flight this afternoon, we did get down to San Jose after all, but there were no falcons soaring in sight at that time of day.  We toured the textile museum–and if you can, GO! The Jack’s Falling Water Quilt is worth the trip all by itself.  For anybody who’s ever been to Watkins Glen in upstate New York, picture a rocky waterfall like that one transfigured into a watercolored quilt with cascades of blue dropletted silk falling around the picture, dappled leaves above the falls, the movement of the water in the pool below and a deep green strip that you almost don’t see at first but then notice as it gives depth and life and summer to the water .

I so wish I could create something like that.  And this Friday admission is free. Go!

Meantime, Don, get better! Your homebirds are waiting for you.

A pair of house finches discovered my birdfeeder last week. And now, at last, the birdword is out.  It’s a grand party, with five often on the feeder at a time and one on the branch impatiently waiting its turn.  Squirrels have been on the ground (they seem to have realized that trying to land on the feeder directly is a kamikaze experience) busily playing mop-up crew, taking turns with the jays and the occasional graceful mourning dove that walks in delicate steps among the spilled seeds.

News flash (an hour after typing the above):  I just got my mail, and there was a surprise package.

Marian and I had already decided that for her last evening here tonight, we had to take her to go see the peregrines flying around City Hall in San Jose.

It turns out my friend Margo Lynn had listened to my wishing out loud that I had something other than lace scarves to hand out to the group of falcon watchers–maybe something to keep their hands warm in the cool brisk evening air, something the men too could enjoy.  I was thinking for Eric, who takes and shares so many of his photos, (there are some new ones up) and Craig, who writes up beautiful reports and lately has even showed up at 4:30 am to observe the falcons’ dawn risings.  For Glenn, the biologist at UCSC who has been caring for these birds for thirty years and has played an integral part in bringing them back from near-extinction.

Margo Lynn knitted four pairs of fingerless gloves for me to go share.  (Those three will know better than I who most deserves the fourth pair.)  It was a total surprise. They’re gorgeous. Three pairs are Noro Kureyon or Kureyo Patora, one is a Berocco superfine merino: they’ll all be nice and warm, without getting in the way of one’s fingers nor one’s dexterity while holding a camera. Perfect.

I dearly hope they will be as gobsmacked as I am.  Wow.  Thank you, Margo Lynn!

I just put a container of plum sauce in my fridge.  My next-door neighbor knocked on our door earlier today with a large bowl full of plums from her tree. It was aging, she told me, and not producing as many as it used to, but she knew I loved to make jam from it and there was more than they could use.

When we bought this house, Fred had been the gardener here and for her for many years and we were asked if we might keep him on. We couldn’t afford a single extra thing, I told the sellers honestly–but what I didn’t say was, even if we could and did, then it would feel to me like it was more his yard than mine at a time I was trying to adjust my brain to feeling that this really was our place now and that the house we’d built in New Hampshire was not anymore.  Moving is hard enough.

Fred had really gotten into the art of grafting at one point in his life when a client had asked him to help them move part of their favorite fruit tree to one at their new home.  It worked! Cool!  From there, he grafted a few other things–and from what I understand, he didn’t always ask first.  Since he also worked for our next-door neighbors and they had a plum tree, the ornamental plum in our yard could use a little spiffing up.  After all: he needed to trim the one over there, and the elderly Japanese couple living here didn’t need a whole tree’s worth of fruit to worry about, so, hey!  The solution!

I don’t think they knew it was coming.  But that is how the ornamental plum with deep burgundy leaves in what later became our back yard had one large green branch off to the side that was loaded with fruit. Just enough.

I have to tell you, it was one really odd-looking tree.

It’s even odder looking now, the trunk distorted and lumpy; the producing branch, which lasted while our kids were little, died off quite awhile ago.

So my kids planted me my own plum tree for Mother’s Day last year, as I’ve mentioned, and I absolutely love it.

But having A. knock on the door with plums from her tree, the one Fred had lifted a branch from for our house so very many years ago, brought back many pleasant memories of a gentle soul.  I did get to know him over time by his working at her house for our first ten or so years here, while his health held. He loved his work and friends and kept at it into old age.

There’s the memory of the time I waved hi at him when I saw him trimming our olive from across the fence–it had gotten pretty overgrown at top and had gone from being carefully bonsai’d to looking like the branches had mohawks, and it bugged him.  I was grateful; he, though, was embarrassed at being caught and scrambled quickly back down the ladder on the other side, while I was going, no, thank you!  He was a sweetie.

I do miss him.  Maybe someday I’ll learn how to graft in a different variety plum onto my Santa Rosa to extend its season in his honor.  Or an apricot.  Jester trees are the way to go.

Kyle (here and here, I love his story of what he did) and his young family are moving away, and it’s hard to see them go. I gave them my cousin Grant’s name, someone they’ll likely meet at church, to help them feel at home right away in a strange city by being able to make connections right off.

Meantime, today, other old friends who’d moved away four years ago were back again and told us they were now in the area for good: they are a couple who had gone through much to adopt two children internationally while they were here before, with everybody here cheering them on, doing fundraisers to help with the expenses, sharing worries over the medical issues of one of the little ones… Their new children became ours, too.

The younger one, having not seen me since he was a small toddler, took one look at me this morning and threw his arms around me.  I tell you. I could get used to being needed like that.

They just missed the Bay Area too much to stay away.

If only all good friends who fly away could share that migratory pattern and return. (Yes, yes, Karen, I know, you’re still waiting for me to move home to Maryland.  But I do come back to visit!)

Don’s back home again, and I stopped by this afternoon and visited. I hadn’t seen Chipper and Pepper, his birds, since the day 16 or 17 years ago when we were going to remodel and Don’s wife Amalie invited me over to see some of the things they’d had done at their place.

Pepper did not deign to let me too near her, and scooted over to Don if I got too close.  She was so funny–her behaviors reminded me of a cat.  Look at me, adore me, but only do what I demand.

I asked lots of bird questions, and shared back as much of the Scharffenberger as he would allow me to.  It was good to see him back home again, and he allowed as how that was a better place to visit him–he could show off, there.

Thank you, everybody, for looking out for him with me. Much appreciated.