I’ve been determined to get back to Fillory Yarn to try to run into the woman who helped pick out Rios in a color that seemed moose-y two months ago, especially now that I really had something to show her.

She’d particularly liked the golden brown, and I did, too–and even better after I’d paired it with this darker one. I probably would not have bought the lighter without her definitive opinion that it was The One and my moose would have been much less without it.

So. That group meets on Thursday afternoons and today seemed like a good day to try. (The adhesive in the heart monitor is super itchy. A week from now it is definitely not going to be less itchy and distracting, just go!)

So blame it on the heart monitor, but it got me there.

I saw a long-ago familiar face, exclaimed, Oh, HI! and she welcomed me to sit down next to her.

It wasn’t till she said something about once babysitting my youngest and what was his name? that drew a complete blank from me that I finally asked her to remind me her name again?

LILLY!!! Ohmygosh yes!! She’s one of the people I’ve most missed with the ending of Stitches conferences. It’s been years. And–it’s John.

YES! That was his name! He’d come one year to push me around in a chair.

Then there was the time we were both having our scooters repaired beforehand, at the same place, turns out, going in at different times but with both of us saying what we needed it for and it apparently stuck with the guy: a conference. Of knitters. In the thousands. Who knew.

The thing is that when I came in to pick up mine he was dumbfounded. Was I alright? I had lost so much weight. So quickly. Surely there was something I wasn’t saying, but he wanted to know, and said it again, trying hard to be supportive, was I okay.

(what on earth is he on about)

He said something else and I went, Ohhh. You’re thinking of my friend Lilly not me. Huh. Well she does kind of look like my big sister. (And I am definitely not one to complain about people getting faces mixed up.)

Speaking of which, one woman across the table asked if I could pull the mask down for a moment. I did. She studied my face, and asked, Did you ever go to a little yarn store on such-and-such street in Santa Clara years ago called…

I did!

She’d been sure of it. Yes!

That had to have been a good twenty-five, thirty years earlier. Wow, you’re good. (Somehow I remember that LYSO as being younger… When did we age.)

A great time was had by all, the moose-yarn-finder was thanked, showing off happened all around, a ball of Rios was bought “to pay for my afternoon’s entertainment” and wound up for me, and at last I headed out to try to beat at least some of the rush hour traffic home.

Lilly had reached for her cane first–and spent a quick second staring wondering what on earth–as I laughed that wait, she’d grabbed mine. Our canes even matched. Wood, hand carved.

As she had said several times by then, Great minds!

A few years ago I started a second fish-based afghan. It got put aside as baby blankets were knitted for nieces and nephews and then big ones for siblings with more definite deadlines, etc.

I picked it up one time in there but put it back away without adding a stitch.

I picked it up again today just to study the thing a bit and decide what to do. I untangled all those strands, trying to get started.

I had lost my sketches long since and told Richard, I don’t even know what this red blob was supposed to be turning into and I have no idea what to do with it.

(I had had a photo of a coral reef and I was trying a little too hard to replicate it rather than use it as a jumping-off point.)

But, I told him, it does have a big seed stitch border and I love how it looks and hate knitting it and am glad that that much of it is already done!

He went straight to the point: Rip it out. Rip it right down to that bottom border and start over with something you know you like.

I was a little bit stunned. All that work.

He was right.

But…he was also partly wrong. I like this side. I just don’t like the third of it on the right. And that’s the real reason why it’s just sat there.

I told him, Let me think about it for a day.

Sounded reasonable to him.

And then, while doing laundry, it suddenly hit me what the red blob was and where it had been going and how to take it from there. Finally, I could picture it! But if I do? I was trying to squeeze too much detail visually into too few stitches and it will never please me.

I know that if Gracie Larsen were still here she would be telling me how to carefully cut out the intarsia section I don’t want and to knit back up again from there, connecting back in at the sides as I go, even keeping the side seed stitch panels. I could do that.

But do I want to bother with all that. With all those strands on the left, plus whatever I add on the right, when I don’t even know yet what I would replace it with.

Let me think about it for the night.

(Edited to add, after counting: it’s only 26 rows of stockinette so far. He’s probably right.)

I used up at least half that new skein getting the seed stitch edge done: it took a lot of yarn and a whole lot of time.

But at long long last a few minutes ago (while I was telling myself I knew better and to plan better next time so I don’t end up having to cast off an afghan while purling. Again.) I was down to the last, I counted a moment later, 62 stitches.

After exclaiming out loud, It’s a five?!!?

The writing way down the side of the circular needle that had been so jammed with stitches for so long was finally showing: 3.75 mm. That’s a US 5, not the US 6/4mm I’d thought I’d been using all this time.

And I can tell you exactly where it happened: when I split the row into two needles just above the moose so I could lay the whole thing out flat to see. I switched then from the ebony I’d started with to the long-treasured old Holz and Stein rosewood, because its longer cable could handle those 268 stitches more easily. All this time I’d thought the two had been the same size.

I’d actually tried to check a few times to see if any writing was still extant but you just couldn’t see it for the smushing. I thought from its age. In retrospect, my subconscious knew those tips seemed narrow.

So the moose hangs loose and the beginning edge is more relaxed than the finished one. At a quarter millimeter difference, not by so much that you’d see if it you weren’t told.

Well, I *had* wanted it as dense and cat-proofed as possible.

I am sitting here still gobsmacked.

Okay, so: now that I finally finally don’t have to worry about dropping a ton of compressed stitches off the edges I can finish fixing that barn door (doing it right this time.)

Tomorrow. I’ve run out of today.

The *ECG machine was a total flatline.

The nurse was getting flustered with it, so the patient laughed and assured the nurse that the patient at least was not.

The doctor, a little earlier: Was it a slip first? Or a faint first?

Patient: Slip, then a fall headfirst onto the cold water valve on the shower, missing my eye, then very nearly throwing up once finally getting up with his help, then starting hard to pass out but managed to just make it to the bed to collapse.

Doctor: It doesn’t need stitches, but you do need an ECG and complete bloodwork and thyroid tests. We need to find out why you were fainting.

Thus the ECG machine. A second nurse came in. I made a joke about wearing the wrong shoes–can’t reboot with clogs. Okay. They tried rebooting the machine. Then finally they sent me to cardiology down the street–but first I was to go to CT and get a brain scan. And the lab.

Which is how my husband ended up leaving work early to spend hours with me at the clinic, because no way was I driving. He is my rock.

Thirteen previous concussions?! Knocked out five times? When was the last time you saw neurology? It has been too long, they told me.

Okay, so that’s on the list, too. But enough for today.

I figured all that was one way to get a carry-around project teal-green hat back into my list of ready-to-give-aways. But seriously, life? If you want a stinking green hat, you do know there are easier ways to say so.

*Update 10/9: I typed EKG yesterday when it was an ECG, and if that’s the worst mistake my brain did after that head banging then I’m okay with that. Update 10/11: Oh wait. I was thinking EEG when I corrected away from EKG. The brain is getting there!

Okay, Morgan, don’t look, some knitting friends wanted to see it. (Not like my wanting to show off would have anything to do with it…) Picture taken at noon half a row of trees ago. Nature preserve on one side of the river with tall trees and the moose, pruned trees with the farm on the other.

And yes I have done the barn door sides in duplicate stitch twice now and ripped it out. AnneS had an excellent idea, but by that point it would have meant ripping it out past a color change and the ends running behind it and I had so far to go at that point that I just kept on going.

The thing was only 32″ long when I booked those plane tickets for three weeks out. I didn’t really think it was doable. I’m almost done.

(Photo mishap: there are three evenly spaced upper zig zags of plowed field, not the shadowed hodgepodge that the camera thinks.)

108F by our thermometer, 104 in our zip code per Wunderground today.

And I was sitting there with pounds of wool, super grateful for power and for air conditioning and not running anything I didn’t have to to avoid stressing the grid.

When we left on our trip, I had set up the barn with its first row and six strands on the needle. It was a sleep-deprived trip leaving early and coming home late, and when I picked the afghan back up the next row was a wrong side row and I was too fuzzy-brained to think, wait. Turn it around and take a good look first.

I didn’t need to; I knew what I was doing, right? It was ready, just go.

Which is how I went merrily on my way without knitting the vertical bars at the sides of that big barn door. It hit me today as I finished that part just why it vaguely reminded me of a Union Jack. Oops.

If you look at the top right you’ll see the lonely little remnant stitch from my trying to duplicate-stitch (ie embroidering it on after the fact) my way out of that problem. Clumsy looking. Out. I still have lengths of white yarn at the top to work with but that attempt wasn’t it.

Maybe I’ll try a crochet hook next.

Somehow working from the bottom up feels easier. But then the extra ends.

How would you do this?

I learned something cool!

Did you double-check? he asked. Just because you read it online….

The great Google Deep Dive later, site after site after site said the same thing. Some called it ferrous oxide, some called it rust, one spelled it out: ‘ferrous oxide (rust)’.

I had wondered for some time why old barns were such an iconic red and how, no matter where you are in the country, they all got to be about the same shade (with fading on the older ones, sure.) Having read “No Idle Hands: a social history of American knitting” I knew that red in Colonial times was the least colorfast of colors. This is still mostly true.

And that in George Washington’s day, women riding properly sidesaddle into Valley Forge with rescue supplies nearly got shot because their red petticoats were showing and someone had to yell at an overeager soldier that no you idiot the Redcoats (British) aren’t coming, it’s our wives and girlfriends! Who had apparently freshened up the dye job on those underclothes to look pretty.

But I digress.

So: your barns held your entire next year’s food supply and it needed to be protected. The wood planks the barns were made of needed to be free of decay, they needed not to let fungus or moss grow on them in the rain, and they needed to last year after year and hold up against the weather. Things needed to stay dry inside.

Linseed oil from crushed seeds from their flax plants mixed with rust created a kind of varnish and the rust turned the oil red while killing off the stuff that would damage the wood.

Sometimes limestone was added, sometimes milk (which makes one wonder about the smell on hot days but never mind) but the basic recipe was those two things. The effect was not only useful, it was pretty, and it made it really clear from a distance what that building was and where to find it.

My friends at Cottage Yarns today found just the right colorway for a slightly faded barn with specks of brown in Rio’s Jupiter dye to finish the look. I bought it, Kathryn’s husband went to go wind it up for me–and then I saw the Cereza. A single skein. It was brighter but not too bright. It was that perfect shade of red, with a steadier hand on the dyeing–not monochrome, but a bit heathered rather than a mixture of colors coming together. Bought it too.

I spent a lot of time today under every kind of lighting I could get while the sun was still shining.

And then I went with the Cereza.

The moment it actually went into the afghan it settled right in there like it had been looking for this all of its life.

A photo before today’s knitting began.

I ran to Andy’s to try to get some of the last peaches of the season to share but they were sold out. I did get some Reine Claude Green Gage plums, which Trees of Antiquity considers the best stone fruit of them all.

As the couple in front of me in the line turned to go, I said to them, If you’re going home by way of 101 north there was a brush fire just starting on the northbound side near Capital Expressway as I came down–you might want to go a different way.

I can only imagine the traffic snarl, much less the risk of being hemmed in that close to it. They thanked me.

I went the other way, too, with visions of how fast those flames had spread down the side of that onramp. Not high–things had been mowed recently enough and I saw no bushes nor trees–but the smoke! Whoosh!

In the emergency of the moment, I told Richard later, I realized I didn’t know how to make my 6S phone call 911 without my touching it while I was driving and I didn’t dare take my eyes off the road for fear others were looking at it rather than where they were going. There were so many other cars; surely someone else reported it, I wouldn’t want to flood their lines.

He, a former county and Red Cross emergency communications volunteer, told me, Actually–almost no one ever does.

Sounds like I need to get up to speed.

Great to be over the 10-day bug and the fall and mobile again.

We were going through serious peach withdrawal: it’s the last few days of August, the season is short, we knew they’d all be gone soon.

One of Andy’s employees was new (to me, at least) this year and started off seeming down. I made a point of being a friendly face. And you know what comes next. Maybe.

Only, the last two times I went in I didn’t see her and wondered if she still worked there.

Today answered that question nicely. She got two flats from the back for me, one Cal Red, one Angelus.

I waited till I was rung up and then pulled two soft Malabrigo hats out of my purse and asked her to pick a color.

Okay, this was a first for me: she laughed–I’d never heard her laugh before, she hedged on accepting one, and finally explained, I have so many hats. My mom’s a knitter!

My turn to laugh: I’m not going to compete with your mom!

I totally made her day, she totally made mine, the hats came home with me but the love they convey was completely present.

I almost typed ‘his’ all those times.

I bet she still gets that a lot.

Cleaning blankets. The guest room. That antsy sense of can’t-hold-still when you’re preparing for guests.

After dinner, the puzzle: he told me too late that his puzzle enthusiast mother had always stuck to 250 pieces or fewer because otherwise they take too long.

Dang. Yes. Yes they do. I’d been too much a newbie to realize what 1000 pieces was going to be like.

That one piece of rutted driveway had been missing for a week, and the last few days we were not admitting to ourselves that we’d lost interest in finishing the darn thing given that we could never finish the darn thing.

The vacuum unearthed it near the back door this evening. Somehow it had tried to follow me out to go water the plants and been stuck in the carpet. Yay!

We got right to it and didn’t stop till it was done and it’s pretty and all those sky pieces drove me nuts and we never have to do it again.

And then since organization mode had totally taken over the day I pulled out all the small-project FOs. Hats, ends run in, those go here. Cowls, ends run in, here. Anything with the ends not run in all go in here for some day when I have a strong need to Finish All The Things.

Then there was the one I labeled Favorites. The scarf I made for his mother’s funeral. The silk one, just because. The red cashmere one I wear with a particular Ukrainian blouse that I love but whose neckline I do not. Easy fix. Plus one that’s going to a particular recipient and the Favorites label fits her (also because there’s no more room in the ends-already-run-in bag.)

It’s okay to keep some, he said, making sure I knew that.

Cooler weather is coming and people are going to need a little bit of human warmth. I think I’m ready.

From the late Gracie Larsen, then head of the Lacey Knitters guild, founder of the Lace Museum in Sunnyvale, friend and mentor whom I simply lucked into as a member of my local knitting group.

And instigator of my lace shawls book. When I didn’t believe in it she sure did and pushed me forward. After Martingale published it, at the next Stitches West Gracie surprised me with this exquisitely fine lace leaf in a sandwich bag with a tag offering congratulations in tiny writing. So that I would have a piece of her to remember her by forever.

And oh I do.

People moved away, the group fizzled to nothing, and it was a treat to see her like clockwork at Stitches every year manning her guild’s booth where anyone who wanted to learn any kind of lace was offered guidance on the spot. Tatting, knit, crochet, you name it.

I had almost forgotten this leaf. It had been so carefully tucked away.

Got halfway across a row and knitted the rest on a different circular needle so I could lay it out flat to have a good look. Sometimes staring for awhile is the only way to really see it. It is 12″ or 15″ long, depending on which measurement you believe (I could definitely stretch it to be more.)

Oh hey I could… I wasn’t planning on… But yeah. I like that idea. Blame the puzzle we’ve been working on for that one, but yes, I think I’m going to do that after the next planned thing.

It’s a bit too wide again. 60″. Nice and snuggly, though.

Y’know, it’s still at the point where I could top the afghan off with seed stitch, call it a scarf, and walk away from the whole thing.

Nahhh. I want to see what it wants to be when it grows up.

And then the skein from Imagiknit arrived, Coco in Rios, and it too was perfect, depending on whether I wanted a dark morph moose or lighter.

So I googled moose pictures. They come in all black, dark brown, dark legs, lighter lower legs, dark antlers, medium antlers. That’s what I thought.

So basically I could take my two skeins and give it a lighter belly and lower legs and antlers. Works for me. We’ll see when I get there, though; after laying the work down on two long circular needles to see what I’ve got so far as a non-scrunched-up whole, I’m doing another round of pines first.

Knitting charts are emphatically not my strong point, but I’d found a moose (Ravelry link) that actually looked like a moose and I went to start adding it in today.

And stopped halfway across the row, feeling silly.

It was backwards. I knew that.

This is where being married to a computer scientist comes in handy so I thought I’d pass this on.

Go to your pdf. Go to pdfux.com and scroll down to find what you want your pdf to do. There it is: flip. Click that, drag your pdf where they say, and there you go.

We had eaten the last peach, and I needed a skein of brown that was not the ones that I had.

It would be a fast dash into the LYS; you don’t leave Andy’s ripe fruit in a hot car any longer than you have to.

Which is how I stopped by Fillory Yarn on the way home.

I’d been told months ago that there was now a Thursday afternoon knitting group there; I hadn’t been thinking about it at all but yes there was. I had wondered from time to time if any of my old group had started coming again post-covid, but I didn’t recognize a single face.

One woman at the table said, Oh sorry, and leaned over to move her purse so I could stoop down to check out the Rios in browns near floor level.

I picked up two slightly different colorways from two different bins and, looking up at her, asked, Which one would you pick for a moose? I need a moose in my landscape.

She wasn’t expecting that and laughed a little.

I told her about the moose in Alaska that had stood at the hood of our car and looked in at us inquisitively like, What ARE you?!

She told me about a moose she’d seen and how cool it was. She was quite definite: That one.

I’d actually been leaning towards the other–but as I mentally pictured it with Cian I knew she was right and was glad I had asked.

Wait, though. I found a third skein in its bin that had less variation to it. Yes! And I wouldn’t have found it if she hadn’t been so sure, helping me see what I needed to see. I owe her one, whoever she is.

A little bit of conversation and then I had to run rescue my peaches and nectarines and Green Gage plums from the heat. But I came away feeling like, it’s been four and a half years since I had an in-person knitting group. I think I’ve finally found it.

So now I just have to knit that moose before next Thursday so she can see what she helped make happen.