I talked to someone today and then went through the stash and put aside what I was working on now that I knew what my needles had really been waiting for.

Tis the season. And I love this.  Happy November!

(Ed. to add: I just did eight slow, careful minutes on the treadmill for the first time in a week. I’m not over that flu yet, but by golly I was tired of it telling me what to do. It felt so good. Didn’t faint. I’m going to embarrass Ruth again and say thank you for the treadmill! It does a body good.)

More Parker pictures from our trip.

Or not. Huh. Silly computer. Meantime, we’re home. And the phone rang today: I had finally made a hat, out of a strand of Cascade Venezia merino/silk and a strand of sheared mink laceweight, for a doctor whose caring had made a great difference to me three years ago in the hospital. That bit of a flare at the end of this summer nudged me to just go do what I’d so long wanted to do and say thank you; I would regret it–I had regretted it–if I didn’t, finally. And so it came to be.

I left it in an envelope with his receptionist last week with a note explaining why I’d made it: how his words then had said to me, Wow. You’re a survivor! And so I had been.

He called this afternoon. “It’s so soft!” And he’d so loved my note. His voice was full of wonder at it all.

But first he had to get through my thick head. I was hearing the tones but not the words… I’m sorry–(finally), Oh! Is this Dr. F?

Yes!

He said it again, and the second or third time I got it, and thanked him right back.

Got off the phone, wondering how on earth I had been that deaf on the phone…reached up to my left ear…and found that although I’d put that hearing aid in hours earlier, both of them…

I’d never turned the darn thing on all day.

But he was patient with me anyway. Like I say, he’s a good one.

I had wanted to do this ever since the first time I heard him play: the gifted pianist I’ve seen a few times playing in the atrium at one of the Stanford clinics, creating a place of peace for all who come into that medical building whatever may bring them there.

Wait–you MADE this?!

I designed it, I answered him, as he looked back down at the piano hat in his hands in wonder. I told him the Malabrigo merino was superwash, but I’d put it in a pillowcase before putting it in the washing machine, and his expression was, Oh no, I’m not doing that to it, as he explained he would just handwash it with a bit of soap. With a look of, That’s okay, isn’t it?

Absolutely. Cool. He totally gets it. He was so thrilled. He was so not expecting that. I wasn’t really expecting it to be so appreciated, but he did and he gave me back more than I gave him. Whoever he is, he’s such a good soul.

The man over at the reception desk had his own big smile going on; he’s the one who, after I showed him last week what I was working on and why, told me what day the pianist would be back so I could do that. Clearly he had kept the secret. Clearly he was taking joy in his friend’s joy.

I had knitted it a tad loose, having once knit a piano hat too tight; fair isle work is something I just don’t do all that often and I was trying to keep the floats from turning it into a tourniquet. I wanted it to be able to stretch to fit someone who was bigger than I am.

I didn’t say anything about all that, but there he was, flipping it over to see what the inside looked like and going Oh! at the floats. I don’t know if it was a so-that’s-how-she-did-it, or if he’d seen knitting being done before. He put it on without turning up the ribbing so that it bagged just a bit, and admitted he used to have dreadlocks. I tell you, he was totally rocking that look and will however he may wear it.

I forgot to tell him, if the tag bugs you, it’s just me showing off, feel free to clip it–but don’t clip the yarn holding it on, that’s the cast-off end right at where I started to work it into the fabric. So I’m mentioning it here.

And then I listened a bit till someone else stopped to talk to him, and it was time to beat the start of rush hour. Went off to the post office and sent off a baby alpaca hat to someone facing a life-changing diagnosis and also the now-finished one to Representative Cleaver, with a note of thanks for his shout-out during the Democratic National Convention: he had noticed our group’s efforts to promote peacemaking in Congress, even though he hadn’t gotten one of those hats; I had noticed his recognition of what we were trying to do.

Some days are simply what yarn was created for.

The third hat this week is done and it’s ready to go to Congressman Cleaver. My photos and blog aren’t playing together–I want to show some of this stuff off!

Well anyway.

I was walking in the room where some of my stash is, wondering what to make for yesterday’s physician who cleared a path in her schedule when I needed her, and some Colourmart silk in a shimmery ice rose practically threw itself into my hands. It wasn’t what I was expecting; I questioned it; I have a lot of different yarns and colors, and it’s actually easier to knit wool than silk, from a purely selfish point of view. And silk might not be the most practical thing for a mom of young kids. And do I know if that’s really her color?

It listened to me stating all my objections like a patient mom in the kitchen with a teenager with their arms folded. And then I caved. Size 4mm needles and I’m off.

Showed up on a doorstep this afternoon. Someone’s flying off for college in the morning and I knew it’s cold where she’s going. It was just a little extra something.

They invited me in, we chatted a bit; I explained a little about Great Northern Yarns’ mink cashmere yarn (they’re sold out of the laceweight I used).

She asked me the name of the lace pattern as she petted her new cowl; she loved it. Then, since it was the last day her mom got to have with her till break, I got the heck out of their way.

But she was so sweet and so appreciative that it totally recharged my desire to get to work to do that for someone else. She’s a good one.

Today I had to return some Lands End dress shirts because they quit selling 38 sleeves, and hoping didn’t do a thing to make a 37 length do the job. I told Richard before I left that the nearest Sears store was 25 miles away and it just happened to be near Cottage Yarns in South San Francisco.

I kinda wonder if that’s why I’d chanced it.

And so a little extra Malabrigo filled a gap in my stash–I’d needed a skein of superwash Rios in guy-friendly colors. The little bit of Finito added in will be justifiable only when I see someone’s happy face when it’s done. I’ll have to get to it, and soon.

Coming home down 280, the self-proclaimed “most beautiful freeway in America,” the coastal mountains and reservoir to one side and hills to the other giving intermittent glimpses of the San Francisco Bay and valley, what was probably the peregrine who lives near the Flintstone house soared overhead, coasting on the thermals. Glorious.

Back home to real life. That new yarn staring at me did it. I had been dithering over my new niece’s gift, unable to pick just one pattern and just one idea. Enough. I grabbed my needles, cast on, ribbed, doublechecked the stitch count, debated, and dove in for Eden Alison. Pink sheared mink.

Somehow it turned out like this. I didn’t see till I took the picture that the lace echoed the wings there.

And somehow I didn’t see till I was well into it that what I was knitting was a crown for our sweet little princess.

Carolyn is expecting.

Carolyn was due.

Carolyn is overdue, and any woman who’s ever been there is probably putting a hand on her own back in sympathy about now.

I have been trying to get myself to sit down and knit a hat for her son for about a month now. There was that wedding in the way, but after that I had no excuses. I saw her at church last week and thought, well, blew that chance of getting it to her before the delivery.

But I knew that there would be a happy announcement made–and there had been none yet.

I got a note from her: her mother was in town to help and she was a knitter and wanted to know where the best yarn shops around might be?

Deadlines cure procrastinations. This morning I pulled another Malabrigo Rios out of my stash: superwash merino for a tired mom about to have a toddler and a newborn. Forty stitches, a few rows, a checking of size on the Bev’s Country Cottage site, a total rip, a start over, 50 stitches, size US 5 needles of 1×1 ribbing, and looking at how long that was taking me, I ditched the idea of ribbing all the way up. I switched to US 8s because rib stitches come out bigger than stockinette ones (and stockinette knits up at twice the speed) and zoomed through a plain swath that showed off the colorway. Five spirals of decreases and a little pigtail of crocheted chain stitch at the end.

Got it done in time. Just barely. And it was so cute–what had taken me so long to discover what that yarn could be?

Went off to church, where I connected with Carolyn, met her sister and her mom, and apologized: This was all my fault. The baby had been waiting for me to finish his hat. Now at last he can come.

They cracked up. They loved it. Her mom exclaimed over the knitting and tweaked the little pigtail–bouncy bounce! Carolyn waved it at her husband, going, Now we can finally have the baby!

Her mom mentioned in an aside to me that she wasn’t going any distances right now, yarnstorewise. I told her I had stash I’d be happy to share. There’s no way a new grandma who knits is going without yarn to shower the little ones with, not around me she’s not.

(Edited later to add) because how could I not: my niece Emily just had her baby. And this is what she just told me on FB:

So, aunt Alison, I don’t know if Eric posted this or not, but we named our baby Eden Alison, the Alison after you. I have always admired the positive outlook you have on life, and hope to emulate that.

Gobsmacked does not begin to tell it. I read that and exclaimed Oh WOW!!! so out loud that I had to immediately explain to Richard, sitting next to me, why. Wow. Hope y’all don’t mind my bragging here. Welcome to the world, Eden Alison!

I’ve got me more knitting to catch up on!

The note I got from John about how much our aunt was admiring and enjoying her new silk scarf was enough to keep the needles going for a long time to come. It was wonderful.

Meantime, Stephanie Pearl-McPhee is biking from Toronto to Montreal, along with some of her loved ones, in a fundraiser for a group that provides care to AIDS patients.

I have a cousin whom I think I last saw when I was not yet in kindergarten. I never knew him as an adult, didn’t even know where he lived but wished very much that I did: I could ask him if he remembered sledding down the Marx’s hill on those round metal sleds, we could reminisce over our parents and our childhoods as a starting point of getting acquainted again; he was family.

I found out only after my uncle told us of his death that he had been ill.

It turned out he’d had AIDS. In the early days of the crisis when there wasn’t much they could do, when patients were so often blamed and feared and told they deserved to suffer, that it was God’s wrath. In retrospect, it sounds a little like the mentality of that traveling group from Kansas, doesn’t it? I shiver at what it must have been like.

Not knowing meant I did nothing to offer him comfort or support. I have regretted that intensely, all the more so because, it turned out, he had been living in San Jose and we’d been 25 miles right up the road for a few years by then. If only…

As I write, Stephanie’s sponsors have given $45,470 to the cause, and if you click on “view team page,” those first five names at the top with her are her friend Ken, her sister, and her daughters. Their friend Paco is on another team, and via knitters reading Stephanie’s blog, has gone past the $8,000 mark himself. We have this hobby that teaches the power of each individual stitch added to stitch added to stitch.

Every act of kindness counts. Every now and then, they get to become visible like that.

(At the end of typing those sentences, it’s $45,495 now. Wow.)

Parker didn’t want to try on his new vest and it was warm enough Saturday that I didn’t blame him.

So I did. Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the one it fits best of all?

Meantime, the fridge is back to needing a bowl of ice. And maybe two. Or ten. This time, we have to figure out which part needs replacing.

Let me work on this new silk project while I ignore it…

I finally cast off on my blue silk shawl. I’d made two to give but really wanted to finally have one for me, too: gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous yarn. I had it soaking in hot soapy water to get the mill oils out like you have to do with coned yarns, and between doing that and when I got it blocked, the mail came.

I had sent the good folks at Colourmart a query as to whether they had any of their dk silk left in something close to white. There had been some previously, and Ravelry rumor says that sometimes there are extras not listed on their site. There were a couple of weddings coming up around here and I figured I could at least ask.

No, answered their Richard, but: and out of the blue (which, come to think of it, I almost am) he insisted on sending me two cones of a deep cream of wheat color. To play with. No no, it was on them, have fun!

Wait–what? But I– ! Okay, then, could I send them two copies of my Wrapped in Comfort: Knitted Lace Shawls book? (Whoa, looking at that link. Purlescence has them at cover price.)

Oh, just one, and that would be very nice…

Two can play at twos. One got signed to the good folks at Colourmart, the other simply signed. They can keep it; they can use it as a prize for a Ravelry competition if they don’t need the extra; they can play with it however they want.

Today’s shawl was out of just one cone. Two recipients and everybody who loves them are going to be blessed by their generosity, people they will never meet are going to be happy just because they wanted it to be so. They put some good in the world.

Gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous. I can’t wait to make it worth their while.

A quiet day of peace. Of feeling greatly blessed.

And knitting away, I wondered yet again who… And suddenly I absolutely, totally knew. There is nothing that speeds up the needles like that happy anticipation.

Today… We’ll see how things develop. But I think I know now why I had to make two.

On the second go-round on my aunt’s shawl, I carefully wrote down, checked, double-checked and cross-examined every word going onto that page: do you promise to knit the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you shawl?

Yes. (But I’ll knit it again and again. Trust but verify.)

I am close to giddy at how gorgeous it came out–and, for all the pain that it was in the writing of it, the fact that it’s reproducible now.

And I am grateful to all those across the ages in whose honor I shall wait till Tuesday to mail it.

Ryan is dear to us and we are fortunate to be able to have him; this is going to be a great summer. (Note to my sister- and brother-in-law: you did a great job.)

Meantime, yesterday I frogged my latest project most of the way back to tweak the very first row and it is much better for it. Little details matter.

I’m glad too that I wasn’t satisfied with the darker, grayer blue silk I was knitting for my aunt, because that means the original shawl is still here to check against and improve on. This time I’m carefully writing down every stitch as I go–because this time I know how it comes out and that I like it and that I want to knit it again and again. (Always a good sign.)

By the way, just for fun: some books recycled into art here. Books of a cover, carved another.

I drove to San Jose near sundown to see the peregrines in person; it’s that time of year. I didn’t get around to it last year and I wasn’t going to miss it again–it’s the birds but it’s also most definitely the people.

Old friends were there: Eric, the gifted photographer who gave me one of his photos two years ago; he let me see the babies on the ledge through his camera on a tripod. They would flap their wings mightily and then hop down and back into the nestbox with their siblings (via the streaming video Alicia had on her Iphone), not ready to take off like the one that oh oops fell over backwards yesterday while preening on the ledge and had to start flapping fast. That was Cobalt, and he has flown well since then–and he had the sense to stay put all night last night. He has gained some altitude in his flights, something they have to learn fast.

Meantime, the three surviving San Francisco fledglings are soaring happily.

Debbie and her sister Gerri (did I spell that right?) arrived. Debbie had come from Reno, and I was very honored that they both made a point of seeing me. Two hats, one knitted like feathers. I wish I’d had one for Eric and everybody else for that matter, but it was okay; he already had an official one, a baseball cap with a falcon embroidered on it. Hard to beat that.

And a good evening was had by all.

Three to fledge yet here. Tomorrow will be a big day for them.

It seems so obvious in hindsight.

The other thing I did yesterday was…

I came home slightly sunburned and tired: I was a klutz, no, but I mean, even more so. I smacked my head hard into the metal birdfeeder, of all things–it’s not like it had moved from its usual spot–and my foot into the corner of the treadmill hard enough to wonder if I’d broken it. Jammed my thumb just to keep it in threes.

I had multiple plans for the evening but that foot wasn’t going anywhere.

I wound balls of yarn, not sure what to knit next, needing to feel useful while station-nary. I had several people right at the top of my list but with no idea on the color for one coming from out of town next week nor whether she should even be first in line. I met her in person two years ago, briefly; I just had no idea. (Although, Afton, her sister has your hair, in case yours ever goes missing.)

So I did what I do, I said a prayer. This ball? Eh, could be okay. This one? Not interested. This one? Definitely not!

And then after quite a bit of stash diving, I happened to see some that had not and would not have occurred to me and it leaped out at me anyway and stamped its little feet and demanded. Nothing else had felt remotely like that.

Pink? A light pink hat? Seriously? (Truth be told, it was fragile laceweight mink that must be knitted at least doubled and I’d done several things in that stuff of late. I was quite ready for something else. Although, slick Addis rather than my usual rosewoods, like these here, probably would have helped.)

But it knew even if I didn’t. I surrendered. Tripled strands. I worked all this afternoon and evening on it, my feet propped up as needed, and now it just needs the ends run in.

I found as I knit that I kept thinking of the hat a friend knit me while I was so ill, how warm it kept me at night, how grateful I am for its pink-and-gray-striped warmth–three years later, I still wear it on cold nights.

If my friend getting this one should ever need a warm super-soft hat, whenever the time, well, she’ll have it, then. She doesn’t have a major illness–but her husband does: slowly, slowly progressing, and in the end he will not survive it.

Just because it’s not new news doesn’t mean it isn’t hard. My goodness, what could I have knitted her but that mink!