It’s pretty much a tie.

The one inside is an Appleblossom amaryllis.  Behind the outdoor one is a Dancing Queen getting ready for her Ginger Rogers number.

Meantime, as an experiment today, I threw a microfiber cleaning cloth in the laundry with a pair of wool socks I once bought: they were supposedly machine washable, but I found that every bit of available lint in the load glued onto those socks like burrs from the first time through.

I wondered if that small cloth would do anything.   Worth a try.

The socks came out nearly free of all that had plagued them, aside from a few leftover pills.  The difference was pretty incredible.  So now having experimented with commercial socks first, I know it’s okay to put those cloths in with the handknit ones, and since it was so successful, I thought I’d mention the idea.  Most sock yarns wouldn’t need it, but I did once knit a pair of socks that had the same problem. (Okay, I’m waiting for Don to come up with some variation of his “Squaw burr-y Shortcake” pun.)

Meantime, the view out an upper window. It snowed a foot yesterday where my brother lives in Colorado; here, we’re snowing Bradford Pear petals.

Someone I was talking to sparked the memory of a would-be recipient of my knitting, a good while ago.

This was not long after I’d started spinning my own yarn but well before I figured out how to knit lace. I splurged on a closeout and spun up some angora, little bunny fibers flying all around me as the wheel turned.  Achoo!  (A side note: I was curious, having been taught that adding twist to create yarn means adding friction to the fiber to hold it together–and the answer is yes, you can spin enough twist into angora to make it feel as harsh as burlap.  Don’t.)

Other than the burlap bit, I spun it into a fine two-ply, enough to fill an Ashford bobbin to the max; then I knit it  into a simple triangle shawl.  Or rather, more a large scarf, done thus: cast on three, knit (or purl, as the case may be) into the front and back of the last stitch of each row till the thing is the size you want.  Use small yarn and big needles for a faux-lace look.  Tadaah.  Take a small hair elastic, crochet tightly all around it in the same yarn to completely cover the elastic, and run it up the long ends of the triangle to hold the thing on and in place in the front.

So. I was wearing it while we were out and about.  Fluffy, soft, simple, not fancy; I was quite proud of it.

And an old woman I barely knew saw it.  She announced I was going to make her one too. She was going to pay me. Twenty-five dollars. That was a lot of money, you know! When could I have it done by?

I managed to recover from my astonishment without bursting out laughing.  *I* knew it was handspun and the time involved, and knowing that pure angora at retail cost a dollar per GRAM in store-bought yarn…

She was adamant and would not be dissuaded. I offered to teach her how to knit.  She already knew how; didn’t want to.  Twenty-five dollars. That was a lot of money, you know.  When could I have it done by?

Waiiiit, waiiiiiiiiit, whoa…

We managed to progress to her offering me the (I could just picture old scratchy acrylic from the 60’s) aged gold yarn in her closet to knit it with. I reiterated my offer to help her knit it herself.

She did finally give up after she made it clear that I was impoverishing myself and really missing out. Twenty-five dollars. That was a lot of money, you know!

Part of me kind of wished–still wishes–that I had it in me to be generous enough to surprise her with her own scarf, and in angora, too; that was one person who I knew would like the thing if I did.  If only.  If only she’d shown the least humility. But she just didn’t have it in her.

And neither did I.

That’s both an exclamation of delight and a note to self. 

Meantime, I was knitting something subdued and quiet and…suddenly I felt like, color. I need color! I put the one project aside and grabbed the Lisa Souza’s Mardi Gras merino that had come in the get-well basket from my Purlescence knit-night friends in January.  I’ve started it in the Carlsbad scarf, a simple pattern that is good for showing off an extravagant color display like this.

This is the yarn that, while I was in the hospital, I kept thinking how good it would look on that day’s nurse. Then the next one. And the next one.

There’s enough yarn for two scarves, and it’s a total toss-up where they’ll land, but at least this one will go to Stanford Hospital.

(Meantime, this Hercules amaryllis opened today, one of the bulbs Dad gave me this past Christmas.)

I’ve had the experience before of knitting something, giving it away, and then totally forgetting later that I’d made it.  I’ve found projects stashed away I’d forgotten starting, I’ve seen people wearing scarves that answered my inner question as to whether I’d knitted for them yet–oh, right, right, that yarn, I remember that.  Maybe not what I made with it or just who it went to, but the yarn, yes, I almost always remember working with whatever yarn when I see it.

But this one really threw me.  Some of the women at church were throwing a mystery-dinner party tonight, and Christina showed up wearing a gorgeous open-front circular shawl, borrowed from someone else for her costume. She didn’t know who’d knitted it and had just assumed I probably had.

I was stunned. There’s no way I could have made that in that colorway and not remember it, but that was definitely my pattern.

Turns out that someone I didn’t know was now a knitter and that I didn’t remember they’d bought my book, if I knew, had made a sweeping, gorgeous Julia shawl from it.  And I’d had no idea.

But I couldn’t be absolutely sure it wasn’t something from my own needles till I’d eyeballed its yarn up close: that sealed it. Nope, I’ve never knit with that one. That’s someone else’s knitting.

Christina was trying to wrap her mind around the fact that I had to see the yarn to know that, at the same time I was wrapping mine around the covert knitter who didn’t tell me she’d succombed to my addiction.  It was pretty funny.

I need to work in the ends on most of these scarves (or, as my mother calls them, yarn necklaces); it won’t take me long.  It’s been, finish knitting one, dive into the next, finish knitting the second, dive into the next, over and over–I was trying to get a lot done before I just couldn’t stand it, I had to finally go start that black cashmere shawl.

The black shawl has now commenced.

Which didn’t stop me from casting on Amanda‘s Huarache yarn today while waiting for the dentist. You can never have enough lace scarves on hand when you’re planning on going back and thanking your nurses; I’ve got a long way to go.

Meantime, a few years ago, I woke up one morning after a night of heavy storms to see a bright blue sky out the clerestory window.  Empty expanse.  It took me a moment to puzzle out what was missing: a tree had blown over, and the green branches I was used to waking up to were simply gone.  (The red berries are on the heavenly bamboo it had been growing next to.)

We had someone cut its carcass up and haul it away for us, but for whatever reason, they left the overturned stump that was still within the long raised flower bed.  Huh.

Having grown up in a house in the woods, I knew that old wood is good for all kinds of wildlife. My folks had had a towering dead tulip poplar that the then-endangered pileated woodpeckers loved.  Bugs would eat the dead wood, and high off the ground, those huge woodpeckers would go after the bugs, spectacularly so: you could see chunks of wood going flying and the whole neighborhood could hear one hammering at work.  Go check out the tree trunk as well as the birds in that link.

You’re not going to get that same effect from a stump on the ground, but you go with what you’ve got.

With our recent rains, these mushrooms on the stump have grown around and through the leaves of the heavenly bamboo, swirling their colors and dancing round and round for sheer joy at being alive.

Sam flew home last night; Mom flew back in this morning.  My family’s taking good care of me for a little while longer.

Mom and I went to Purlescence’s Knit Night tonight, where I cast on my new Casbah yarn, started to knit, looked at it funny a moment, counted about forty-leven times, started another row, stopped, took it back off the needle, frogged, chatted, cast on, and started to knit again–but mostly we just chatted. (Hence the frogging.)  People time!  And we all flirted shamelessly with Meg’s cute baby.  When someone I didn’t know complimented my shawl and asked if I’d made it, I proudly told her, no, Mary did.

On our way out the door, Nathania told me, Hang on a second–and handed me this  lovely get-well card card from Michelle in Ohio and this cool little tote by Debbie R that would have been perfect tonight for my small project and many a doctor’s waiting room.

Good to be out and about, and spoiled on top of that!  Watch it you guys, I’ll be insufferable before you know it.

Anybody else do this? I find I tend to go through bursts of playing with my dye pot, where creating colors in my wool or baby alpaca is what I find myself focused on day after day. Or winding up balls of yarn for the sheer sake of winding and the sense of anticipation it brings–and that it lets me be engaged with a particular texture or shade or colorway for just a short time and then lets me go right on to the next.  Or times when, enough of all that, I need to sit down and knit and see something actually materializing and getting done!  But each phase tends to go in spurts.

It bugged me lately that I hadn’t been able to ball up yarn hanks all these months.  That I couldn’t expand my project possibilities into my whole stash; I was limited to the ready-to-knits.

Last week, I found the black cashmere (yay!) and got the first hank of it ready to go; I did it, but I had to take a good long rest afterwards.  This evening, I finished winding Amanda‘s Huarache yarn she gave me in Vermont last November, and I’m wondering which yarn to wind next after I finish typing this.  My arms and standing-up time are getting better at this.

But the groove in the record that my diamond needle keeps jumping back to?  (That’s an anachronism, kids, go ask your folks. Heh.)  Taking pictures of everything blooming, celebrating spring giving birth to life.

Other than the newly-cast-on project to the right there that I’m knitting for a nurse, it’s been awhile since I knitted much in the way of reds; vivid reds and oranges make my balance funky, one of the weirder side effects of smacking my head hard twice against the headrest during my car accident.  (Rob, if you read that, thank you again.)  But I found myself drawn to the pinkish reds at Stitches, which are more my color anyway.

Sam and I went back today; I signed a few books, saw lots of friends, had a good time, and bought a very little yarn.  Sam was patient.  I missed a few friends I would dearly liked to have seen; next year, or hey, you guys, you can always drop by here on your ways back north.

I think I set a personal record for the least yarn bought at a Stitches event; the hospital bills tend to focus the mind. Two Silkie merino/silk skeins from Blue Moon that I bought yesterday, two in baby alpaca in “Foxglove” from Lisa Souza that I bought today.  I couldn’t leave without those. I called Tina Newton this morning and told her I loved her “Love” colorway.

Someone with another hank of it in her hands had stopped me in the line and asked if I’d knit with the Silkie before; yes, on Lene‘s shawl.  She asked if it stripes; I realized a half a heartbeat later that she was talking about socks, and I told her I knit shawls. Oh. We both laughed at ourselves over that, at tripping on our assumptions for a moment there: doesn’t everybody knit shawls? Doesn’t everybody knit socks?

Of course!

This is the beautiful shawl Mary surprised me with Thursday night.  I did finally find a camera, and of course it was right in plain sight. It had just enough battery power to shoot the one thing I most needed photographed, and then, to keep me humble, that was all it was going to do for the day.

My house is chilly and I find myself folding this in half and putting it over my shoulders constantly while at my favorite knitting and reading perch here.

Meantime, I finally picked up the needles last night and gave it a try. I cast on 27 for that green scarf–the scarf idea won out–and had to rest after two rows.  Then again after a few more. But I found myself picking up steam, going from wow size 9 needles feel big in my hands, to having it begin to feel natural and normal again. It felt so good to actually start to create what I’d been envisioning so long and to anticipate being well enough to walk clear across the hospital to where its recipient works.

Sam and my husband came home from shopping and found me sitting there with a growing piece of knitting in my hands.  It was fun to see their faces light up in delight.  They were thrilled.  Me too.  Me too.

While snug and warm in my shawl and under my Medicine Blanket (skip down to the third paragraph, and Robert, I hope to see you at Stitches) and another afghan made by my South Bay Knitters friends that they surprised me with as a congratulations when my book got published.

And life is good.  Cold around here–I badly need to gain some weight back and stop losing it–but my friends are taking good care of keeping me warmed.

Mom called; I hadn’t posted yet today and she was concerned that I was doing okay.  (Yeah, Mom, I’m outing you, sorry.)  Message heard! Alive and posting!  Heh.

I wanted to go to Purlescence’s Knit Night last night, to the point that I deliberately kind of backed myself into it by calling them and saying I hoped to, and that if anyone happened to show up sick could they let me know so I could stay away?

When they heard my voice on the phone–actually, I had to identify myself, my voice is still raspy from that NG tube–the whole yarn store sent up a cheer.

That did it. I was going.

But by 7:30 I was also popping a hydrocodone to get me through it, and I avoid those and almost never take them till bedtime.  Oh well. I needed it.  My daughter, who I’ll call here by her nickname of Sam even though I obnoxiously still call her by her real name in person, did the driving.

We were about two blocks from home when she offered to turn around. I considered, and then said, no, let’s just go.  And go we did.

I stumbled in that yarn store door and into the arms and tears of my friends.  There were quite a few tears of mine going, too.  And then–

You remember Mary?  The one who made it so I could take back the shawl in the window and ship it to the woman whose husband had a brain tumor?

She handed me a circular lace shawl, warm enough for a lap robe as needed, absolutely exquisite.  I was blown away.  Later, home again, I laid it out across the top of the couch so it would again make my day this morning when I came out and saw it, and it did.  It’s gorgeous.  It’s Mary. It’s love made tangible.

Mary had lately had a project with a deadline, and she told me this other project–my shawl–nevertheless kept insisting it must go first. She couldn’t make herself get going on the deadline one till this other demanding one was satisfied and done; it just insisted it of her. And I was stunned.  And stunned that she must have gotten it done so fast. Stunned that I’d felt I needed to go that night, whether I was up to it or not, and here the shawl was and here she was and here I was and wow.

Now, Mary, I want to tell you the outcome of that and of seeing and hugging all of you. I went home with a sense of lightness that had been too long missing.  That was the first time in two months I had been in any building or room that was not my home, Stanford Hospital, or my medical clinic (and almost exclusively Urgent Care there).  Now I had been among friends.  I had taken a risk, I had stepped out to see if my body could handle an outing, and I had been treasured and loved and wrapped in comfort.

Last night, for the first time in two months, I was able to roll over in bed. By myself.  All the way from one side to the other.  This sounds silly, but I can’t tell you how huge it was.  I felt like I had crossed some invisible line: invalid, that side.  Starting to not be an invalid, that side.  And I was there.

The silly thing is I can’t find my camera nor can I find the one Kelli gifted me with a few days before I went into the hospital–I feel like Rip Van Winkle here.  They’re there somewhere, right in plain sight somewhere.

But Mom, that’s why I hadn’t posted yet. I have this exquisite shawl I want to show off and no pictures!

Yet.

To those who cautioned over spending too much energy searching for the cashmere: you were exactly right.  I tried and gave out fast. But what leaped out at me was the exact shade of green baby alpaca that I’d known was in there somewhere that would look perfect on the Thai nurse I had two weeks ago, the very skilled and gentle woman who had a dream of writing a book about her experiences as an oncology nurse.

As I looked at that green in delight, green being her favorite color–Kristine, this is the same vivid shade you ordered from Aurora, and this was even already rolled up into a ball, ready to go–I knew the doctor’s shawl could wait but that if I didn’t get to making something for that nurse quickly, it wouldn’t happen. The chance could too easily fade into oblivion.

I barely had the oomph to walk the ball into the next room, so it’s going to take long enough to do.  But for a whole lot of reasons, I’d really like to give her a lasting reminder of goodwill and encouragement along her way.  I’d told her that if it took twenty years before she got her book written, that was okay; I was looking forward to reading what she had to say.

I don’t know if she’ll get a shawl like I aspire to do or if it’ll be a (more realistically speaking for now) a scarf. But something. Anything.

We’ll see how I do.

Clicked those ruby slippers again; dropping the other shoe and going back a third time is simply not an option.  I’m finally home again.  Thank goodness!

Last night was rough and wiped me out, so I didn’t have the cheery energy today of yesterday, just a strong gratitude at being further along in the healing process and able to safely leave.  In yet another moment of hey, look how that worked out!, my surgeon happened to stop by my room when I was supposed to have gone home–but things never happen on time in a hospital.  So.  I was still there.  Long as she was there, she said forget tomorrow’s appointment; she took out the staples on the spot.  Done.  Yay!

Now my big goal is to actually find my unfindable black cashmere yarn that I got at Purlescence and knit it up into a shawl to thank her with.  It’s a color I know by now she’ll love.  I have looked for that yarn time and again for various intentions, thinking this is ridiculous, I thought I knew right where I put it…

…and now that there’s utterly no question in my mind exactly whom I bought it for, it should show right up. Right?  (I hope she hasn’t found my blog yet.  I’m sure she has no time to read it if she did.)

So that’s my next big project.

Yesterday’s nurse was back again this morning, looking tired, whereas yesterday she had been totally chipper and brightened my day.  I had a two-skein scarf going for whoever it was going to turn out to be for, and it was quickly clearly for her. So that’s what I did today.

No pureed foods after all, meantime. I admitted to the surgical team that the clear liquids had hurt, so they had me stick with them for now (oh joy). Broth and this super-sweet lemon fizz stuff you could use for a glucose tolerance test, and sorry, Nancy, but I despise Jello.  I actually do eat a ritual half square’s worth when they bring it, trying to see if it’s any better this time.  It is not.

So having that yarn to retreat to helped.

But my abdomen was hurting and I kept knitting anyway–I wanted it finished by shift change.

And I managed it. I’ve been resting since I gave it to her, and I’m doing better.

The important thing is, she was thrilled. She was totally blown away. “Now I own a scarf!” as she wrapped it around her. I explained that if she rinsed it and laid it out flat it would come out about a third longer and flatter, but she was perfectly happy.   Thrilled.  “You didn’t have to do that!” (A little medical tape to wrap the yarn label in a circle around the scarf–I thought that was a nice touch.)

I have two more balls of that same yarn left.  Two days to knit a scarf out of it at hospital pace. We’ll see how I do.

The 25 staples come out ten days post-surgery.  I look very Frankensteined down there.

You can knit a whole lot faster when you already know the road ahead.

Hat #2: down a needle size.  Smaller keyboard (and thus faster to knit), more piano–I like this one.

Michelle pointed out that it needs to be a thicker yarn to be really warm, and I chuckled at my child who was only eleven months old when we moved to California: college has taught her to appreciate warm clothes.

I regret that my children never got to make a snowman in the front yard. I have memories from when I was a kid of my Dad helping our giant balls of snow walk the plank: there was no way we could lift that midsection, so Dad set up a board and with his help we rolled it on up. The head would be smaller and lighter, so Dad simply lifted those up for us, although I remember one big snowman in the yard in front of my parents’ bedroom where it was a challenge even for him and he went looking for a longer board.  Good times.

My kids growing up in California never got to ice skate on the driveway. Or on the Canal.  Or on the Reflecting Pool between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument like we did, with the Park Service running a warming bonfire on the side.  The Reflecting Pool is something like a foot deep, so if you weren’t sure the water was frozen enough, you weren’t going to get anything but really cold if you fell through.

So. No snowmen.  Yesterday I got a surprise package in the mail, one that hadn’t made it in time for Christmas, but all the better for that.  Totally unexpected.  What… From KC?  And it’s a snowman! Who knits! And sings! And waves his knitterly arms, with his ball of yarn glued to his backside (I kid you not).  Who flies through the air in his red sleigh on New Year’s Eve, delivering yarn to all the procrastinating knitters who didn’t get their Christmas presents knitted in time this year!

And yeah, he waves that nail-needle perilously close to his carrot nose, and I love him all the more for it.  I played it over and over till Michelle put her hands over her ears and wailed, “Make it STOP!”

Ya gotta love a great snowman.

I’m almost afraid to blog this because I know so many people who would be hoping I made it for them.

So. I wanted the black keys in sets of three purls each note, because black keys are raised in real life and purl stitches are too–but not if there’s only one standing alone.  A single purl stitch will sink and disappear between knit stitches, but a trio would have them standing shoulder to shoulder, holding each other up high.

I couldn’t make the math of it work in the small stitch count of a hat.  Thus this simplified version.

Leading to the realization that…I can’t count. So I had to fudge a few extra stitches into the white at the start of the intarsia.  I guess I’ll have to make another one!