It’s really late, or really early. I just woke up after falling asleep on my book. I’m on the sofa, the rain is falling pretty hard outside, and Hershey is sleeping next to me, in that regular, soothing way a cat has of sleeping. One ear perked, the rest of him absolutely relaxed, curled into a position that looks so comfortable on him, but would leave me in chiropractic debt.
I fell asleep on my book just as TMOTH left to go to bed. I lost my place and had to find it, then prepared to go to bed but realized I hadn’t checked email all day. These things… they suck you in. Electronic media, I mean. I have a window open for Jane Eyre and a small small part of me wants to knit and listen, but then I would be a very tired person and not at all good to be around come morning.
I went to the yarn store yesterday. I didn’t buy anything. I didn’t, and it was painful, but I was righteous in my self-control, because we are on a Budget with a giant, horrible B. But you know? I came away with more than I thought. The yarn store–my favorite in San Diego–is across the street from Geeklet’s dance studio. Often, after a class, I’ll take him across the street. The women who work there are so kind to him. They ask him about his dancing, compliment his hat, ask him what book or toy he’s brought along. And then he goes and finds the old pew off to one side, near the pattern books, underneath which there is a slowly-growing bin of children’s books (yesterday I found A Light in the Attic in there for the first time). He’ll pull out a book, ask me for a post-dance snack, and settle in.
My kid loves the yarn store. Once they gave him strawberry bread.
So yesterday we were set to leave after class. I’d already gone over to the yarn store (ballet and tap for 3- and 4-year-olds is too cute to be described, and they make the parents leave except for one class per month) but the boy asked to go again. So I had a chance to really check out the pattern books. I found a few things that I liked. (Unexpected, no?) I very very very much liked Lily Chin’s Couture Crochet Workshop, and of course I absorbed Nicky Epstein‘s Knitting on the Edge through my skin, but then I found the Noro pattern books designed by Cornelia Tuttle Hamilton.
I love Noro. I know, I’m using that word “love” a lot, and it’s different when you love a person, or your cat; but I’m serious when I use the word “love” in terms of textiles, materials, design. There is something rather visceral in my response, an ache that is similar to an obsessive teenage crush, the kind where you just look at the object of desire because the beauty of said object–perhaps merely in the way the lines of the face or the colors or the sound work together in that mystery–makes you hurt in the strangest wonderful way. Triangles can be that way, and merino, and baby skin, and Noro.
So I’m not sure whether it’s the yarn, or CTH’s designs (it’s probably the combination of the two), but they just glow. I can’t afford the yarn for a single sweater, even in a good month; but I could look, and look, and look. And I did. I absorbed that glow like sunshine on the one still day in a desert winter full of wind. I left with Klaralund in my mind’s eye, and Larstorp, and Opptuna, daydreaming of stitch patterns and playing designer in my head. Geeklet hung out with yarn and books and homemade Jupiter bread. I hung out with Noro, and Cornelia and Lily and Nicky, and felt like I too could make things that felt like a gorgeous sensual happy embrace. We both danced when we left.
It didn’t cost me anything. A steal, I think. But they didn’t seem to mind.