I found a long, pointy knit hat in the living room.
Mom sidled over and plucked a library book from her knitting/sewing/odds-and-ends/magazines/junkpile table. She opened to a “Winter Hats for Gnomes” page.
“I knit these for the kids,” she said, showing me the book and two more hats. She’d used thick, gorgeously-saturated Malabrigo yarns from Uruguay, dyed in red, green and blue.
“Cute,” I said.
Petra had already told Mom to stop knitting for her kids (4, 4 and 2), since they had refused to wear her nice but slightly itchy creations.
“If you die, I get your Vitamix,” Piper said.
“I get your All-Clad skillets,” Akela replied.
“Doesn’t anyone want any of my stuff?” I asked.
“I’ll take your trash cans,” Piper said after a while.
I own a bunch of attractive Japanese trash cans made from ayous wood. One of them cost me $70.
“What about my laptop?”
“I’d prefer your trash cans.”
“Uh . . . I’ll . . . " She couldn’t think of anything.
For Christmas, I gave Mom several presents, including a set of artisan felted wool coasters. The set consisted of two mustard yellow coasters and two royal blue coasters, with an artsy silkscreened design on the top of each coaster.
After a few months, I noticed that Mom consistently used the blue coasters on the correct side and the yellow coasters turned over to wrong side.
"You don’t like the yellow coasters?" I asked her one day.
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