A Yarn Crawl--sorta

Yesterday my friend Risa and I took off midday and went to Hillsborough for a ladies lunch, then we hit the Hillsborough Yarn shop. The owner, Ann, describes her store as similar to a department store shoe department. She has one of everything out on display, and the rest is in the back and she can get it for you. I would love to walk through the back room.

I took a couple of pictures of yarns and wares. The colors and textures were a joy to the eyes and fingers. The photos don't begin to recreate the sensation.

While we were there, a van-load of ladies from Wake Forest arrived on leg two of a yarn crawl. They had been to a shop in Henderson and were off to Carey next.

Risa had never witnessed a full-fledged yarn crawl. Given the size of the shop, it was overwhelming; there may have only been five or six women, but it felt like a busload. The group was having fun. They are part of a group that meets every two weeks at a library. It was delightful to hear the back-and-forth among the knitting friends.

Ooh, feel this!

Does this yarn go with that one?

I think I must be buying this one; it hasn't left my hand since I picked up.

As a true-blue knitter, Risa was right at home.

One thing we all agreed on is that a real yarn shop is filled to the ceiling and overflowing and overwhelming. Now I understand why the shop we had visited in Rockville two weeks ago was so underwhelming. It had aspirations of being a boutique not a yarn shop.

I'm hoping to go back to the Hillsborough shop on Tuesday. I fell in love with a stitch used in one of the sample sweaters--a star stitch [of course]. I was willing to buy the book just to get that one pattern stitch, but they didn't have it. However, the owner said she would work it out for me if I came back at a quieter time. And she added that Tuesday and Wednesdays were dead. [In the wall photo, the sweater is the second on the right, the bright colorful one].

The Night before Easter

I wrote this piece in 1964. It conveys a bit of what memories of Easter mean to me.

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The Night before Easter

Although it is only 10:30, the house is quiet now. We have to be up early tomorrow for the Sunrise Service, and Papa still has to finish up preparation for the morning service. Mama is lying quietly beside him, listening sleepily to his occasional comments; she will soon be asleep. Debbi is already asleep; she had a busy day cleaning the house and is tired. I’m tired too, but I’m not quite ready to sleep.

As I lie here writing, I am remembering many of the Easters I have spent in parsonages. There always was a happy air about the house. Gramma and Grampa were usually here. Gramma would spend the evening finishing our new Easter dresses, while Grampa helped Debbi and me to decorate eggs. Sometime during the evening we would all go over to the church and add the finishing touches to arranging the flowers.

As soon as the dresses and eggs were done, Debbi and I would be sent to bed; Papa would go to the study to finish his sermon notes. Mama, Gramm, and Grampa would talk quietly while folding the bulletins in the dining room.

This year Gramma and Grampa didn’t feel up to coming to Pittsburgh, so we’re going to their house after church tomorrow. Debbi and I are now too old for Easter bunnies and colored eggs; our Easter suits were purchased at a local dress store.

Even though Gramma and Grampa aren’t here, even though we aren’t coloring eggs, and florist decorated the church early this morning, there is still a happy, gay air to the house, but this year it is a mature air. This year we are happy with a spiritual fervor; we aren’t waiting for an Easter bunny, but for an Easter savior. This Easter marks the beginning of new grown-up traditions.

I’m ready to go to bed now. I know that Papa will be awake for quite awhile yet. As I fall asleep tonight, a mysterious feeling of anticipation creeps over me, and I roll over hoping that the beautiful, new morning will come quickly, for tonight is the night before Easter.

Note: I wrote this piece the night before Easter 1964. In the fall of 1964, Grampa Starr was hospitalized with blood clots; and the following spring, he died of a major stroke just before Easter. I had no idea how much Easter was changing for us.

Easter 1954: Sporting my new glasses.

Easter 1955, Masontown, West Virginia. Debi and I are wearing Easter coats and dresses that Gramma Starr made for us.

Easter New Florence, 1956: Janet Colbert was our foster sister.