There was a parcel from my Secret Pal at the post office today. I gathered what self-control I had and carried it home unopened. Then I grabbed my camera and took both outside into the cat run, so I could do the Grand Opening Ceremony while sitting next to the bonsaied jade tree one of the builders gave me, in the sunshine.
Peri Peri seemed to sense the importance of the occasion, and positioned himself in a warm spot to observe.
The box opened to reveal a collection of wonderful knitterly treats. There was my favourite sock yarn. There was the cutest sheep bookmark. There was chocolates.
And there was a pair of handknit socks.
I just sat and stared at those socks, picking them up, turning them over and over and gazing at them in amazement. Something struck me at that moment that I hadn’t realised before.
Nobody has knitted me anything since I was a child.
Or had they? Maybe I’d forgotten. Surely in the frenzy of knitting that’s been happening in the last few years, someone had knit me something. I made a cup of tea, opened the chocolates and tried on the socks. They fit perfectly.
And though I racked (or is that wracked?) my brain, I still couldn’t think of a knitted item I owned that someone had knit me. The closest object to a knitted gift I own is Sarina the sock monkey.
So I just sat there and enjoyed the chocolates, tea, sunshine and the awe that came from knowing that a near-stranger had spent hours knitting me these beautiful socks then sent them to me. I was caught between wanting to take them off and frame them, and wear them for the rest of the day – and every day from now on.
And Peri Peri’s expression pretty much summed up the way I felt:
So thankyou, Secret Pal (or can I call you Michelle?), from the bottom of my heart.