About thirty years ago I was offered an assignment at church: to be the Compassionate Service leader.

I was young and had no experience and got no answers when I asked what that meant I was supposed to do. The Relief Society leader, for whatever reason, never once included me in a meeting, never talked to me about what she wanted done except for one single item two years in, and waved me away any time I brought any questions or ideas up. She would get back to me.

She never did.

I still have no idea why nor why she chose me in the first place. Maybe she felt just as inexperienced as I did, even if she was a generation older.

Well, alright then, but I still felt I had that responsibility even if I had to be the one who decided what it meant.

We had just moved into a house whose previous owner had loved roses. I knew nothing about roses other than that they look great in a vase.

And so: I kept an eye out at church for whoever looked like they might be having a rough time of it, and then one day I showed up on the doorsteps of a bunch of people with a rose in hand to tell them simply that I was thinking about them and have a nice day and there’s a whole ‘nother story about that part that I’ve probably told here before.

But I kept thinking, y’know, it’s the teenagers who most need to know that an adult is looking out for them–someone who doesn’t have to, someone who’s not family and under no obligation but just does simply because they exist so they matter to them. I wanted to make a second round of deliveries.

The problem was, I didn’t know the teenagers at church. And there were none in our neighborhood, either: in a square block there were old folks and our little kids.

So I called up the one at church that I had at least interacted with enough to feel I could make the request: could he come up with the names of his peers who could use a rose and a moment’s cheering-on like that?

Robert was not only happy to, he loved the idea and offered to show me how to get to each of their houses.

And so we spent not a lot of time, not a lot of roses, but we did that run that fine afternoon.

One girl, her parents were in the middle of a divorce. Definitely the right call.

One, I came away quietly smiling to myself thinking, oh, I hadn’t realized you were sweet on her. Best stealth flower ever with the best excuse–blame it on me. Happy to help.

I don’t remember who the others were, just that we did, but in that hour or so we discovered a mutual admiration that has stayed with us ever since. He was a nice kid.

Last night I finished the one-repeat self-quota of the day on the afghan project and had time to do a bit more.

I looked at the clock. I looked at the mostly-done hat from last week’s return flight: it needed five more rows and then the decreasing, which doesn’t sound like much but would probably take about an hour.

Ever-tightening stitches of thick yarn on small needles to keep out any gaps between decreases is the not-fun part of hat knitting and I didn’t particularly want to do it. But I found myself saying a prayer, asking which would be the best use of my time right this very minute.

That hat leaped straight into my hands and fifty minutes later it was bedtime and done. I even got the ends run in. I really liked how it had come out, that bright royal blue soft Mecha. Such a pretty color.

Then came the prayer: okay, then, if this is supposed to be for someone please help me get it to the right person who needs it most. Please make it obvious so I don’t mess this up; help me get it right.

We happened to be parking the car at church a little early just as an older guy and his son (where did his hair go?) visiting from out of state walked past, with the son looking in that moment as if… Like, man, he could sure use a hug about now.

It was Robert.

He was inside by the time we got out of the car and I didn’t see him, which gave me time to say a little prayer again–am I just thinking what I want to think, should I look for someone else?

Robert.

Okay, then.

I didn’t see him. Church let out and I wondered if he’d gone off to his folks’ house.

But it being Christmas Eve Eve, there was a Linger Longer afterwards, with food and chairs set out for people to sit around and munch and chat with no time pressure, and I found him after all.

A mutual, So good to see you again! How ya doin’!?

“Do you…” I started to ask. “If this isn’t your color I could make it in a different one,” and with that I pulled the little ziplock out of my purse that the hat was tucked away in.

His eyes went big as he exclaimed, “I LOVE that color! It’s my favorite!” He exclaimed over it, he loved it, he tried it on, it was just right, it so made his day.

Y’know? I probably could have/should have knit and mailed him one ages ago.

But today it was ready, today was when he needed it, and today was the day.

It wasn’t getting done–okay, it’s December and everything else has to be done, but still–it was driving me nuts.

Usually, when I buy Colourmart yarn mill ends I pre-scour it to get the oils out, but I had two 900g cones of the stuff to knit doubled from and there was just no way I was going to deal with all that–just scour afterwards, it was superwash, the swatch had already shown it wasn’t going to shrink appreciably.

That fine a merino with that coating on it made for stitches in twins that were constantly jumping off my needles. They were fairly big so I thought it would work up fast but that just wasn’t happening.

I finally found my old worn cheap bamboo pair in the right size, ones I rarely use because they grab and almost snag at the yarn. They were exactly what it had needed.

And just like that, in two days I’ve done two 16-row repeats, the pattern is showing well enough to make me glad I chose it, and it looks like the blanket will beat the baby here after all.

On a day that needed a little semi-instant gratification…

So that’s where my shorter size 7s went. I’d been looking for those.

Forty-five minutes carefully frogging the mistake where it had stopped being diamonds and had just piled up in the same direction like a wreck on the freeway. Then a reknit.

And now those 7s are good to go for carry-around projects again.

Scratching that itch again to get something finished and finally off the needles.

It had needed a dozen rows of seed stitch to top it off. That’s all.

I don’t love knitting seed stitch; I just like how it looks when I do.

There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

(A detail I added this time: on the first round of pines, I started each tree one right-side row later than the one to its left in order to give a sense of the hilly topography. I liked how it came out a lot better than the original flat-across version.)

Sherry asked if my Christmas knitting is done and I wanted to put my hands over my ears and run away yelling, I can’t HEAR you…!

Yeah.

So.

I had this hat I started over a month ago, y’know, the little project stashed in the purse for whenever. Only, instead of the cookie-cutter plain-jane quick-knit stockinette Malabrigo Mecha hat, I thought I’d jazz it up a bit. Besides, I was a little bored with those.

Mistake number one: using, and continuing to use, two longer circular needles–and black ones at that!–to work it on because I couldn’t find my short size 7 bamboos.

Well, not really a mistake, but, two, the choice not to do a plain row every other row, which meant the constant needle switching with decreases and yarn overs running into the changes was a pain twice every single row, and helped make k5 k2tog yo forever and ever not a fun knit. Add in that it was a steep mountain switchback all the way through meant that knitting for an hour had the tape measure claiming I’d knit not one quarter inch at all–the thing was a Slinky that kept compressing downward.

There was only so much yarn in that single ball.

I had other hats I wanted to knit but they couldn’t start till that one was done, because I’m stubborn like that. It didn’t matter anyway because I had those baby afghans to do, right? They were my priority, and still are.

But come on. A month on a hat and it’s not even done? This was ridiculous.

So, and it’s all Sherry’s fault, today I knit a full 16-row repeat on that lavender afghan because I’d promised myself I would, and then I sat down with that hat AND I FINISHED IT. I thought I’d surely be done by nine pm and it took till a little after ten.

You have no idea how huge this feels. The relief, not the hat. I don’t have to do it anymore, it can’t guilt me anymore! (After I work the ends in.)

And then I went over to the mirror and for one last time, no four needle ends in my face this time, tried the little stinker on.

It looked nothing like the surly teenager it had been on my needles. It had gone to college and turned into a lovely adult and you could just see it riding its skateboard down those long, steep, curving lanes all the way down.

I really like it. I’m glad I made it. Believe me, it’s one of a kind.

The afghan is finally in the fun to knit stage, but I wasn’t about to tote those two cones I’m working from to the baby shower tonight–one time of having everything tangle in the bag was enough.

Suddenly gauge swatches have a whole new meaning. That trip all the way through the laundry offered a realistic view of what the finished blanket will feel like and to a lesser extent how it will look.

The mom-to-be held up the swatch with a laugh and I held out my arms: “It’s this wide–and it’s going to be” as I swooped my hand down over my feet. “I figure every baby needs a blanket that keeps the mom’s toes warm on a cold night.”

There were a lot of young moms in that room and there was this resounding “YES!”

After an inextricable (I tried!) tangle for reasons of utter stupidity the lavender afghan got ripped back to nothing this afternoon for the–I think third time. I don’t think that halfway time counts.

So that was fun.

Just. Let. Me. Get. Past. Two. Inches.

The originally planned bottom edging that I’d tossed after changing the stitch count (too wide the first time) and didn’t want to hassle with the math to work it back in is now back in the game and halfway finished.

And then, only then, did it at long last hit me: there is a lace pattern going into this project whose name includes the maiden name of the mom-to-be. THAT’S why my brain had been so insistent that it had to be in there.

I am marveling at just how slow I was on the uptake.

And typing that, I just pulled out the tape measure: 2.25″. Alright!!

Over the river and through the woods and up to the top of the mountains.

Where we saw snow and ice as we turned onto their road and along the switchbacks coming down. Only at the last house, at the bottom of the hill, did it clear up. (Turns out they’d had hail earlier, too.) The redwoods towered over us. We pulled in.

His aunt was hosting.

I like to surprise people, but colors are things people have strong feelings about, so I showed his cousin who grew up in that house the photo I posted here yesterday.

Motherhood had been a long time coming for her and I’ve particularly wanted to celebrate with her and her husband.

She pointed out the lavender and said she really liked that one.

You like lavender?

I love lavender!

I told her I’d put all those others together in part because I only had that much of each–except for the lavender. Colourmart had had a closeout on it (in a different weight, but, same yarn.)

She didn’t quite want to hope out loud for plain lavender until I made it clear that that was totally what it was there for, and then Yes! Please the lavender!

Note that I had certainly not needed more yarn at the time Colourmart had put it on sale this past summer but that color and only that color had felt compelling–that someone was going to need it. It bossed me into it, and when it showed up here there was this unfathomable sense of joy and a certainty of purpose that mystified me because, I mean, it’s just yarn, really; I wanted to know what that purpose was, and why was I so excited about this? Ever since, it’s made me happy every time I see it.

Now I know why.

The mystery that she didn’t have any way to know anything about (and still doesn’t) has been solved for me.

Her baby’s due at the end of January. I need to get a move on.

1. The new keyboard came.
2. The old keyboard decided to work again, with just a few keys needing to be typed a little more forcefully.
3. The one total holdout is the arrow for moving the cursor to the right.
4. My keyboard refuses to be a Republican. It won’t even curse.
5. While, on the afghan, I hope to officially hit the halfway mark tonight. I want this one longer than the original so I’m putting in an extra few inches before starting the eagle.
6. I ended the feather-and-fan part with a purl row this time to emphasize the break between the waves and the hillside rising above the bay.
7. This is a better combination of needle size and yarn for making that moose.
8. It finally occurred to me for the first time today that knitted moose are typically found in…Christmas sweaters.
9. Tough.
10. I pulled out the finished original afghan and was relieved at how the eagle and snow and mountains rescued it from any singleseasonativity.
11. Thanks to, he said, the street tree the city planted three feet from the outtake out front, Bernie the plumber came today (this happens about once a year) and it is amazing to be able to run a full load of laundry and not have the sewer back up. Yay Bernie!
12. And, 12, I have discovered a bug in the update here. If you see numbers 1-12 before each of these, tell me, because on the preview page I don’t but they should be there. And it keeps deleting my title. Let’s see what hitting publish does to it.

He’s bald and he’d recently had the flu and it’s been as low as 29F at night and he was freezing.

Last week I gave him all five hats and he immediately offered his friend next to him his choice of one. As I had hoped.

Yesterday he confessed that he was down to one, because various friends had liked this one or that one so much so of course they had to have something made with love like that. His eyes pleaded with me to understand, but believe me, I did. I told him, That’s what they’re for!

Not to mention, it’s not like I’m running out of yarn.

I could just picture randomly running into some stranger, recognizing what’s on their head, and going, Oh! You’re I.’s friend! Cool!

(And the potential, ??? Who are you???)

I added a 16 stitch repeat to the width? I did? I have to adjust the pattern to match? Good thing I caught that in time. Barely. Here, let’s drop this and this and this stitch down two rows and flip the purls to knits and those knits to purls. Got it.

And on the very row of, I realized that oh wait, when I knitted that first moose I added two stitches’ width between front and back hooves because whoever designed the chart I’m working from clearly had a picture of a moose facing them, whereas I want a side view. Those two stitches (checking the original baby blanket vs the chart) change everything. Also, a muzzle that doesn’t make it look like a deer. Don’t forget that when you get up there.

After putting the second Alaskan afghan project (ie, a washable version) down for two weeks starting with Dad’s funeral, today was the day when I had to make myself sit down and work out exactly what the new layout of pine and moose was going to be across the bottom of the picture because I knew that once I got that done and out of my way the thing would start flying off the needles on its own momentum.

I came so close to merrily hashing it and having to rip out–days’ worth, surely. I caught myself just in time.

And now it’s gone from, why have I only barely started this thing when I’m running out of time if I want to deliver it in person, to, it’s coming along great now. It’s finally hard to put it down. I’ve been waiting for that and needing that and today, this thing’s finally got legs.

And…38F again at 7:30 am.

After posting about the cold mornings last night, I finally got up the gumption to go email a friend who’s gone missing. This is someone we’ve had over while finishing up a batch of chocolate level of friend. I told him he had said I didn’t even remember what anymore but that it had left me thinking, This guy needs a hat.

So I’d gone through my small stash of Malabrigo Mecha and knitted him a simple beanie.

Didn’t see him at church the next Sunday, so I thought, good, because sometimes his friend comes too and I wouldn’t want to leave him out. If both come, they both get one, if not, then he gets to choose. Not that anyone’s really going to get excited about thick wool in the heat of the summer.

No sign of either.

I had a good laugh at myself as I went down to Fillory that Friday for my informal knitting group, and this time I went through the skeins, razzing myself that he didn’t come because he was avoiding having to tell me he didn’t like them. This time I was going to get the color right!

Mottled browns, this time in a pattern with more pizzazz.

No sign of him.

And then we went off to Alaska for the new baby and we sure didn’t see him there, either.

I wrote that quick post about our unseasonably cold mornings and then it nagged at me: so, at long last, I sat down and sent him a note. Tossed the idea of any kind of surprise and simply told him the story of the three hats.

I had no idea.

He wrote back that he’d spent the summer out of the country and that he’d just come back Saturday–with a knock-out case of the flu, while home was cold cold cold compared to where he’d been and he was freezing.

I read that and thought, and none of your friends knew to come help.

He ended it with his gratitude that God knew he needed that divine ‘hey you, I know you’re there’ just then.

On a side note but on second thought it was clear it was not, Richard happened to mention this evening the same thing I’d been thinking: we’re overdue to make another batch of chocolate.

I know who could use a bar of the good stuff.

—————-

(Edited to add: After he got home from his ham radio meeting we did indeed get that batch started tonight. For my records, it’s Madagascar 2018 Organic Trinatario-Sambriano Valley from Chocolate Alchemy. The kitchen smells divine.)

It was some peach baby alpaca spun loosely to keep it as soft as possible, with a bit of bamboo thrown in to keep it together. I saw it at Cottage Yarns in South San Francisco in August and my instant thought was, the Honeyladies owner recovering from being shot at the Gilroy Garlic Festival: she’s a redhead. Surely that would be a great color on her.

So I went home and sat right down and knit it into a cowl and didn’t take a picture yet and then forgot all about it in the drop-everything-and-run-to-Alaska-tomorrow thing after Lily arrived early.

I came home to a spoonful left at the bottom of the first bottle of Poison Oak Blossom.

Trying to avoid more fattening desserts, I’m again dipping a fresh fork in there several times a day. Skip the baklava and go straight to the heart of the thing. It’s less sweet than many types and darkly caramel and thick and lovely, but I’d only bought so many bottles at Andy’s Orchard.

The second one was going down fast. This called for reinforcements.

So after making sure I had the right place, today I went to the Honeyladies’ part-time store and bought a half gallon of the stuff because there is no honey like that honey.

I didn’t quite ask it right and the person who let me in didn’t quite understand why I would be asking so she didn’t get what I was asking and so maybe that was my answer. To, essentially: you guys rescue bees and property owners who suddenly find themselves with an uninvited swarm. Is the Poison Oak Blossom a one-time run and done with the bees now removed from there, or are there honeybees currently employed amongst such?

She answered in terms of seasonality.

That implies repetition from year to year, which is great! But I’ll ask more clearly later to be sure.

I waited till the woman had run my card through before saying I had a get-well card for Wendy.

In yarn. I pulled out the ziplock that had that cowl, said what I’d knitted it out of and wished them all my best.

I’d been a stranger and there’d been just a touch of wariness up till that moment, fully understood because a very different stranger had done them so much ongoing harm and pain.

But in that moment I saw it fall away from her as she looked forward to giving and making someone she cared about happy, just like I’d just gotten to do.

We are all in this life thing together.

Here, let me give me a close-up.

Remember when I dug out a long-abandoned scarf project, turned it into the front of a baby dress, extolled the virtues of a stash of UFOs, yadda yadda, and knit the back to match?

Today I went to go put them together.

And suddenly realized why my subconscious had been dragging its feet on getting that done for so long.

Huh. How could…

Well, out of the original 100g skein of yarn on that front I had 54 g left, so, there was nothing for it but to cast on with it and have a do-over.

Maybe that other dress back will morph into something else in its own time, too. Who says hats can’t have seams, right?

Or a really, really full sleeve. (Nahhhh…)

Or something.

Oops.

It wasn’t upside down when I took the picture. Nor when I sent it. Again. It’s doing what it wants to do. I think this was Queguay colorway, Malabrigo Mecha, anyway.

See, I knit someone a hat, and looked forward to giving it to him at church.

Didn’t see him. But he’s always there! Nope.

Knit another hat. In case his son visits him again, and you couldn’t leave him out, right?

Didn’t see them.

So last Friday, being at Fillory for the informal knitting group and always feeling like I should buy a skein to pay for my afternoon’s entertainment, I hunched down at the display of Mecha yarn and said a little prayer, a bit of a joke to G_d: See, when I picked out the color he didn’t want to disappoint me so he didn’t come, right? But if I pick out what he wants then he’ll be there, right? So which one should it be?

This skein leaped into my hand. I worked on the afghan while the staff wound it up for me.

Sunday’s coming. It needed to be finished.

I even got the ends run in, just to make sure I don’t get tripped up at the last minute by procrastinating that part.

To be continued.