Close Call

It’s incredibly smoky at our house from the forest fire bonanza that is ripping through our community. To escape to fresher air, we’ve taken daily outings ocean-ward to spare little Reed’s precious lungs from hazardous air quality. I have been taking my Waterlily tee with me for car knitting, having finally figured out I can knit and drive without hurling if I don’t look down too much and stick to stockinette in the round. I don’t go fast, but it is something. I have been using car knitting to mitigate the subsequent loss of my sacred naptime knitting that has been impacted by these awkwardly timed toddler adventures and inevitable car snoozes. A summer of car knitting has added up, and I am almost ready to start on the sleeves and yoke.

Thrilling indeed.

To the point.

Yesterday we are on one such Smoke Avoidance Mission. We are an hour into traipsing across a very picturesque giant sand dune on the way to the ocean when my dear, sweet husband looks up and announces he forgot to lock the truck. The very same truck parked smack dab in front of the very large sign that says LOCK YOUR VEHICLES. DO NOT LEAVE VALUABLES IN YOUR VEHICLE. YOU HAVE  BEEN WARNED. IF YOU LEAVE ANYTHING IN YOUR CAR, YOU ARE ROYALLY SCREWED.

 Okay, it didn’t say exactly that. But pretty close.

We do a quick run through of what has been left in the car. Cash. Husband’s wallet. (I carefully read the sign and chose to lug my 500-pound clutch with me in the daypack, to the regret of my neck muscles. Just saying.) A cell phone.

My knitting.

Now, I couldn’t say this out loud as my dear, sweet husband never would have understood and quite frankly would have been irritated at me for even fretting over something so silly. Especially when there was so much more of real value to be lost. I mean, cash is cash.

For the next two hours, all I could think of was my knitting. Months of knitting time. Left in the unlocked car. Granted, it was in a plain white cotton knitting bag with nothing else. Not the most enticing bounty for a burglary. But I feared they would grab the bag first and look later.

There I was on the beach. Thinking: Beautiful waves. Look at the birds. My kid is so cute. Is that a seal? Oh my God, my knitting! Smile for the camera. The air smells so nice. Oh my God, my knitting. This is so great. We should come here more often. Oh my God, my knitting.

I may have even said a small prayer.

Okay, a big prayer.

I braced for the worst, rationalizing in advance how I didn’t really love the project anyway. I have decided linen yarn just isn’t my thing. If it were stolen, I told myself, I could start over with different yarn and perhaps be happier in the end.

Maybe this was fate. I was supposed to have my knitting stolen.

Scratch that. No one should ever have their knitting stolen, fate or otherwise. Never. Ever.

The Great Knitting Gods must be with me because we returned to our truck to find it unharmed. All intact. Nothing gone. Not even my knitting.


Linking up with Ginny’s Yarn Along and reading Dietland.

 

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