I know this is supposed to be our happy place, and it pretty much is except when the server locks up or we lose a battery charger. But ever since I got back from New York last Thursday, I have sat in front of this computer, waiting for something to occur to me. Nothing happy is bubbling up, you know? I’m feeling as soggy and low as a cardigan soaking in the sink.
Not so easy. I’ve not-written so much in the past days, I’m just telling you. So productively unproductive! Usually, I would take my inability to find words as a clue that I shouldn’t be blogging. Remember our rule? “Under no circumstances can the blog contain the sentence, ‘I haven’t been knitting much, but . . .’ ” It’s a knitting blog! If you’re not knitting, don’t be blogging about your not-knitting. Just wait until you start knitting again, then blog about THAT.
But I can’t not-write anymore, you know? I have in fact been knitting, and after almost six years of keeping this blog with you, it is absolutely a habit to take a picture of whatever I’m making so I can show you. You are such a HABIT!
The flight attendants all liked it, just so you’ll know. They’re always so supportive, the flight attendants. “WOW! That is BEEYOOTEEFUL–watch your knee!”
I carry around a lot of vivid memories from last week. Last Wednesday morning, I was in the Whole Foods on Columbus Circle as you and I have been on occasion, watching all the good people of New York figure out what scone they were going to take back to their offices with them. The woman in front of me was extraordinarily polite to the coffee lady. I thought: what lovely manners she has. She had some kind of orange cranberry scone, and that seemed like a good idea to me, so I went with that.
I sat down in the scone eater’s holding pen and watched the flower lady do a little magic with the bundles of flowers that customers would slide to her across the counter. She would unwrap each cone, shuffle together the tulips and the Peruvian liles and the roses, and she would tie it all up with a bit of raffia and a piece of bright tissue, a clear sheet of plastic inside so that the paper wouldn’t get wet. Each customer–and she had a steady stream of them–left with a bouquet that was so charming. All those common grocery store flowers, transformed.
On that morning, the smile that woman gave to those people–a quick nod and a flash of something kind–stayed with me. I keep thinking about those flowers, and that flower lady. She’s doing what we all wish so powerfully that we could do for you, Kay: to fix it all up nicer.
Speaking of fixing it all up, I am amazed at the blankets and socks and sweaters that will be coming together for Afghans for Afghans. All that visible love and energy in there.