I spent the last three hours finishing the scarf for hubs to honor our first anniversary. (We were married in 2005.)
Which means, mathwise, that I was desperately knitting an eleven year old wad of a scarf in lieu of writing my post and possibly being realistic about bed time for the first time ever. I sat there, frantically plowing through this more than decade old fancy pants hand dyed wool yarn, marveling at how quickly you can make a luxuriously thick, wide, scarf that will wrap twice around you with extra to spare, and wink warm colors at you when you’re ready to put it away, and I realized,
When this scarf is done, I will be giving hubs one of my own personal favorite comforts, woven by my fingers, via a skill I’ve barely met, much less worn or practiced as you should with skills.
And I remembered why I wanted to make him this scarf, that first fall after our wedding. I remembered why I wanted to be the one to knit it, rather than just hunting online until I found something beautiful and warm and worth it. I remembered why I picked out a stitch that wasn’t simply garter stitch but unfortunately for my noob hands, wasn’t simple, either.
And as I sat here, tonight, shuffling through the heavy strands and my sleepy memories, I thought about all the promises we make that never get words.
Like care that lies against our necks, twice around you with extra to spare.
The journey our fingers make through new patterns, ever returning to familiar palms.
A stretch we lean into, with our seeking hoping wanting yearning, stumbling and starting again, stopping
then stumbling a bit more
Just to drape some care around someone’s neck
twice around him with extra to spare.