A construction manager drove past me knitting on the hill. I could hear the orange plastic cones attached to the front of his truck scuffing the pavement as he went down the steep incline. Then he drove back up, parked his truck and came over to talk. He was extremely apologetic for parking right on top of the knitting! A young guy drove up the hill on a blue motorcycle. He turned off his engine and said, “I saw your line running along all the sidewalks. It’s beautiful.” Finally! Someone besides me thinks it’s beautiful…
I asked the window delivery man if I could photograph his makeshift canopy on the truck. He said the guys at the shop call it the Frankentruck. A middleschool boy wearing bright blue sneakers said hi with an open smile. I let him hold the ball of knit line with one hand, and he said “Holy crap!” when he felt how heavy it was. That sent me down a mental rabbit-hole about Jung and Freud and one of my favorite words, scatalogical. (Where else do scat and logic meet in the same breath!) The sacred and profane collide or embrace all the time, depending on your point of view.
The highlight of today’s knit was the man who told me that the knit line helped him find his way. He said that he had followed the knit line down the street, and then drove off to check out some houses. He got lost, but when he saw the knit line, he knew where he was again. E. the neighborhood philosopher, told me I should get a golf cart to drive up and down the hill now that it’s taking so long. I hemmed and hawed about how it would not fit in with my ritual, and he said, “It would be a new ritual, an electric one. Isn’t your goal to electrify people?” he asked. “Well, golf carts are electric, you know.” He was adamant that I could easily find one to use in the neighborhood. It’s makes me laugh, just thinking about it!
Knitting in the morning is so magical…I just love the dramatic swooping shadows, the dew on the tips of grapevines, the shiny newness of everything. Knit from 8:45 – 10:15.