Today will be a gorgeous day, in the low 70's with sunshine. I will be out in the yard, building the walkway from the garage to the back door. It'll wind between the vegetable and flower gardens, and I'm just waiting for the ground to dry out a little this morning before I get going on it.
Meanwhile, I've been threading the baby blanket warp and pondering the nature of gift giving, especially when the gift is handmade. The first baby blanket from this warp went to Heston Busby, whose dad took my last job as preservationist when I went back to the kitchen as pastry chef. Since then, the cheesemaker left for another job, and, as I said last week, left without saying goodbye. If I finish the second baby blanket and track him down to give it to his son Brian, will it mean anything? Won't it eventually just be a blanket from that woman Dad worked with a long time ago?
It makes me remember other gifts I've given and will never hear from again. I quilted for 25 years, and my very first quilt has probably long ago been thrown away. It was a gift for my then in-laws, for their 25th anniversary. Two years after its completion, we visited them and I saw the quilt wadded up in the top of a closet. It hurt, and I wanted to smuggle that poor thing back home with me. The second quilt was for my son, who still uses his Superman quilt regularly, 24 years after I finished it. The third quilt was accidentally left behind when I left my husband, and he promptly gave it to the new dog he and his girlfriend adopted for its bed.
This morning, I finished one more repeat of the pattern, and have three more to go. We'll see where this blanket ends up, whether as a lovely shawl for me or someone I care about, or as a blanket for a baby who will be in my life for more than a brief moment. In the meantime, it keeps my hands weaving and out of dirt from time to time.