A Miraculous Day

Our mittis are off to a good start.  Note Peggy's special note-to-self, a useful hint when knitting.

Peggy was coming to brunch and a knitalong, and I was excited about fixing a biggish breakfast, getting together, starting our mittis, and just having a pleasant morning of food,  knitting and chatter.  The evening before, I had debated about whether to cast on the first mitti, or to wait and do it in the morning when Peggy  was there, working on hers.  This was a real decision, because on one hand, I was enmeshed in knitting a little scarf, and wanted to continue with that, but on the other hand, starting a new knitting project is sometimes both traumatic and humiliating – requiring several do-overs and a certain amount of bad language.  I decided to work on the scarf and be humble the next morning, publicly starting my mitti.  Minutes later, I came to the end of the scarf’s first ball of yarn, and looked in my knitting bag for the second.  Nothing!  It must have fallen out and be lurking somewhere in my bed, I thought.  But after taking the bed linen apart, I sadly concluded that it was not there.  I looked under the bed and sadly concluded that I had better do a much more thorough job next time I vacuumed my bedroom.  I looked in all my other knitting bags.  No yarn.  I prayed to St. Anthony, but to no avail.  So, grumbling,  I cast on the mittis and worked on them a bit to get them going, and then switched to another Long Abandoned Project. (Some good came of this, as my enthusiasm for the LAP was rekindled, and I can actually foresee finishing it in the not terribly far future.) 

In the morning, Peggy and I had a nice brunch, had fun knitting, and said some more prayers to St. Anthony.  Peggy is a particularly good pray-er, so I was confident that when she left and I went upstairs and looked again for my ball of yarn, I would find it.  But such was not the case.

Nero Wolfe biscuits

The next morning, her husband John, a fellow choir member, came up to me after practice and asked if I had lost a ball of yarn in the choir room.  There was one in the little storage shelf under his choir desk!  Well, a few days before, I had knitted there a minute or two while waiting for my pal Barbara so we could work on the choir notebooks.  It must have dropped out of my bag then.  But what a miracle – that just John would have ben assigned that choir desk, and would notice the yarn, and would think it might be mine.  Three miracle-lets! The ball had been there for days, and we had already had a practice session without anyone noticing my yarn, let alone knowing that it would be mine.  Saint Anthony has performed yet another of his many miraculous miracles.  And once again, I am ever so grateful to him.  

Becca-made jam