Yo, Norma, check this picture out! I know it’s not great, but at least the scarves aren’t hanging on my neighbor’s fence. Some additional scarves arrived via interoffice mail. Last night I put care tags on the other scarves. Some of them I could tell what the yarn content was, others were put to the match. (Shout from downstairs – Hey what are you burning up there?) When in doubt, I used the hand wash tags. I’m planning to get this box in the mail tomorrow, and I know there are a few more scarves coming. Is this great, or what?
Norma asked those making scarves to write and say why. At first, I thought, what does she mean, why? Because I can, that’s why. Then I started to really think. Knitting is great for thinking. Dulaan is easy, it’s for kids who are freezing cold and poor. And yes, I’m usually good for a square or two for an afghan. But why additional effort for this and not another ‘knit for people I don’t know and probably never will’ — what spoke to me? I mean, besides Gale’s fab poster.
Honestly, it took a while for these feelings to surface. When I was beginning college/university, my mother, who was never sick, became mysteriously ill. At the beginning of my second year, she died of pancreatic cancer. My support was gone. My dad had his hands full with his grief and financial problems. He had lost his job shortly before my mother died, and there were three kids still at home. (I’m the middle of seven, and the oldest girl.) I’m sure he figured as long as he didn’t need to worry about me, all was OK. No letters or care packages. Plus I was going to school in Ottawa, and my family lived in New Jersey, so I couldn’t pop home for visits. I didn’t even go to my graduation, since there was no one planning to attend. Hmmm, do you think that could be why the Red Scarf Project called my name?
I had so much more than kids who spent most of their lives in foster care, but I still remember the feeling of loneliness. So keep those scarves coming, folks.
Or start now for next year. Thanks to all those anonymous knitters who made my box runneth over.