I stayed up late knitting, and I finished the back of the red sweater. You can see it below, not quite finished, but close enough that you get the sense of the thing, and why it was difficult to photograph in process. I will block it today, a quality control check, to be certain that I maintained gauge, that my calculations were correct, as I rewrote the pattern somewhat. Better to know now, before proceeding. I have not been as consistent in my knitting as I had hoped, but even so, it is a good start. When I am knitting I want to do nothing but knit. When I am working on something else, my focus shifts, which is, as I suppose how it should be, living in and enjoying each moment and each task.
It was cold in the house this morning. The weather has been warm, unseasonably warm, and I had turned off the heat. Luckily I hadn't yet put away the alpaca blanket I knitted some years ago, although I had, in fact considered it. The blanket needs to be disassembled, washed, and repaired. But it was still at the foot of the bed, just in case.
So I S was snug and warm, surrounded in delicious softness and I was reluctant to venture out. The house was cold. When I finally pulled myself upright I learned that it was 59º in the house. I turned up the heat, let Tikka and Moisés out for their morning romp, and made a pot of coffee, my first pot of coffee with my new coffee grinder. The old grinder died over the weekend, accompanied by screeching noises and billowing smoke, and the new grinder arrived yesterday.
As I write these few words, I am drinking a cup of wonderful coffee, far better coffee than I made with my old grinder. It warms my hands, and frankly discourages me from being eager to run out to my morning meeting at Panera, not because I am not eager to see a friend, but because I am not eager to give up my superior coffee. Friends trump coffee however, and off I shall go.
When I return the house will be warmer; but for now I am enjoying that sense of warm air drifting through the rooms, the deliciousness of warm air meeting cold, a feeling akin to holding a cup of warm coffee in cold hands, except felt with the entire body. There is nothing quite like it, and it is good to be reminded of the blessing of warmth, the luxury of my life, When the house is always the same temperature I can forget what a joy shelter and warmth and yes, good coffee, truly is. I feel the warm air meeting the cold, I see the sunlight creeping across the branches outside my window, the glistening of the dew on the twigs, the rise of steam from my furnace, the whisps of fog. And I know how luckily I am and how perfect small moments can be.