I went to my first Knitter’s Guild meeting last night.  It was not bad. Everyone was friendly and there were a ton of people there. I got distracted in the middle of the Savvy Girls presentation, though. They were talking about traveling and knitting, and how to turn regular adventures into yarn adventures. There was an offhand comment about sneaking yarn into trips with your significant other, and suddenly I was off in my own world, thinking about Michael.

Is there a word for sad/irritated/grateful? Maybe in German. I need it every time I hear people talking about their spouse rolling their eyes at “one more row,” telling them they have too much yarn, scoffing at their creativity, disrespecting their craft. Those “Your husband called – he said you can buy as much yarn as you want” signs common in yarn shops get right up my nose, but I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you. Asking his permission? It is to laugh. But you’ve met me.

I mean, come on. Dude bought me a handmade swift and the ChiaoGoo interchangeables for Solstice. (And a Keurig, but that is off-topic.)

I tell everyone that Michael is supremely knitworthy and an awesome knitter’s spouse, and it’s true. Not only does he support me in this thing that makes me happy, he takes joy from seeing my joy. I don’t have to sneak yarn into our trips together; often he’s the one finding yarn shops for me. His giant feet aren’t his fault, and he makes up for them by liking bright and happy colors in his socks. He’s learned the lingo and makes conversation, asking intelligent questions and sometimes making interesting suggestions. I don’t have to excuse my stash to him, he knows what it means, what it’s worth. And I know what he’s worth.

Sometimes I’m lonely up here, and I still really miss my people. But I have my best friend with me.