I began to look for information about knitting. I asked my mother, she preferred crochet and didn’t have any books about knitting.  I bought a ball of yarn and some knitting needles and tried to print out a basic pattern from the Internet. Many knots later I had resigned myself to just buying some cute knit things for my forthcoming baby.

While visiting garage sales in the area, I came across a flower vase full of old knitting needles. It was just a few dollars for the whole pile so I grabbed them up. Down the road there was another yard sale that had old books. I’m an avid reader so I took some time to see what the offerings were. I find an inconspicuous red book that is hefty. The name that is printed in gold ink is nearly worn off the spine, but you can just make it out: “Good housekeeping’s guide to ….”, the rest was rubbed away. Huh, what could this be?

I crack open the worn book and flip through it quickly. It seems to naturally want to open to a section on how to knit. It has clear, vivid black and white illustrations detailing

how to start knitting, basic stitches and how to finish a garment! The $.50 I spent on that book that day has paid off immensely since.

I eventually figured out how to create basic fabric from yarn and two pointed sticks. I felt great pride when I finished tiny little blue booties and a hat for my infant son. I have since moved on to mittens, scarves, gloves and numerous hats. I have even tried my hand at a sweater, but it takes a long time to complete one sweater. I have little patience and desire a quicker satisfaction than sweaters can offer. I make hand made knit items for my family every year. I hope that one day they lament the loss of my knitting skills as I age also.

When my husband and I first met nearly 20 years ago, he was financially bankrupt. He was literally living from check to check and had more interest in drinking the majority of his paycheck than spending it on housing or utilities. At that time, I had most certainly been irresponsible with my money, but I was in marginally better financial shape than he. His divorce was final, his union job had fired him and the arbitration over the firing was going to take at least a year. He decided to move out east to Maryland. Needless to say, love blinded me to many things. I followed him.

I bankrolled the U-Haul trailer that carried all of his belongings behind his aging relic of a Cadillac. My Pontiac station wagon carried the rest with my belongings. Everything else was stored in the barn at my parent’s house. We moved across country with little more than our last paycheck in hand, the clothes on our back and what we considered our worldly belongings.

I can remember what seemed to me, a never-ending, exhausting drive over the mountains. I can clearly recall the only good thing about the whole thing was the oh-so-magical smell of honeysuckle growing in abundance on every hillside as we pulled into an average looking town. He had friends who lived in Hagerstown, Maryland. The Woodards had moved there in the previous year or so for their work. He had been out to visit them several times before I met him. We were fortunate enough to stay with them for those first few weeks.

After much trial and effort, Jim found us a small walk up apartment on the second floor of a grand old Victorian. It had been converted into four apartments. The landlady had looked at Jim’s long hair rather skeptically, decided he was at least well groomed and spoke English and that was good enough. She cautioned us that our dog (a very young Rottweiler) would have to be in a crate at all times when we were not home, walk through inspections would be regular and no drug use was tolerated. Now all we needed was employment to keep up the rent.

That home was perched on the top of a tremendous hill. You had to drive up a one way street to park in front of it, and drive back down the street to get anywhere from it. The backyard was pitched down to a four-lane highway that separated its grassy expanse from the nature park across the pavement. We were more than welcome to use the pay-your-way laundry facilities in the basement. We used quarters that we got from the change machine at the car wash once a week and carried our basket down those ever steepening steps to wash and dry before the rest of the house came to stare at your things. It was a perpetual race to see who could get there first on a Sunday morning. There was only one washer and dryer.

Jim found employment in a small town to the north as a vacuum repairman. This was technically pretty good money for the area at $10.00 per hour. A 3-day stint at a counter top laminate factory cured him of cheap cash under the table labor at $5.00 per hour when we first arrived, but it kept us in our apartment that first month. This is when time seemed to catch up to us again.

I had trouble finding employment in the immediate area at first. My then boyfriend didn’t want me bartending in our new, but strange area – although that is actually how he met me, as a patron where I was slinging cheap domestic beer. I then went on to waitress at an Applebee’s across town. That was decent money when it was busy, but it was late hours and sporadic pay. I eventually found a job as a graphic designer at a larger newspaper than I had been used to in our hometown of Crawfordsville. The Martinsburg Journal was more the size of the Lafayette Journal & Courier. I stayed there and made a good wage, working my way up to supervisor of the entire 11 person design staff before the year was out.

For the first time in my life, I was enjoying financial freedom. I was not dependent upon my family, my boyfriend or anyone else. I was my own woman. Just when I was settling into this role, Jim’s arbitration hearing was held in Indiana. He had won the right to return to his job after nearly two years. He was returning to Indiana.

I was torn. I had followed him to Maryland. I had stayed with him because he had grown comfortable, familiar and loved. He had proposed, we were to be married “sometime” and I had started to make more money than I ever had before and realistically, since. I was not prepared to leave.

I couldn’t understand why he wanted to return to a town that was crumbling economically. Factories in Crawfordsville were reducing work forces. The local paper where I was employed for a time before we left was cutting staff even then. Our prospects looked bleak back in Indiana. With many reservations I resigned from my position at the Martinsburg Journal, amidst the upper management protesting the move and asking what it would take to keep me.

Again I bankrolled the move. The U-Haul had been traded in for a 24-foot Penske moving truck and a tow trailer for one of the cars. There were more boxes, more furniture and more worldly possessions to be hauled over the mountains on our return trip. Again we had no secure home upon our arrival. I had called my parents two weeks in advance and asked if we could invade their upstairs for a few weeks, not more than a month, as we looked for a new home. Again, I didn’t have any job prospects. It seems time does indeed circle back upon itself.

Trent is a school friend of his, and his parents are bus drivers for the same school. They also happen to be pretty good friends that we like to hang out with regularly. With this innocent statement from our son, the meaningful glances were exchanged once again. I think both of us are in a mood to go, but don’t want to seem overeager to take hospitality from them once again this weekend. Our prospects of any sort of fun activity are looking bleak if we stay home, so I say, “ I’ll give them a call.”

It turns out that the Trent Household had been thinking the same thoughts as the Shillings Household. Plans were cemented for an after dinner get together that included cocktails and cards at their house. We load up a small cooler of our favorite beverages, including some juice bags for the boys and make the short journey of literally, ‘over the river and through the woods.’ We get there and immediately after parking the boys scramble out of the backseat and race across the yard to their backdoor.

We forgo the usual ‘knock-knock’ and just go right in. They’ve been expecting us and would think it odd that we waited outside for them to answer the backdoor. They just holler, “Well, we’ve been waiting forever for you to get here!” Greetings are exchanged, and we settle in at the kitchen table. Our boys hop the security gate that keeps their small pet dog, Jack, in the kitchen. They head into Trent’s room. Excited chortling can then be heard through the living room, which is between them and us. They immediately start up the Xbox and very little chatting is heard after that.

We adults in the kitchen mimic the children’s behavior. Excited bits of our stories raise above the rest as we talk about our day, how things have been, how the kids are doing. Drinks are poured, tasted and shared and the television plays a pre-recorded concert of James Taylor in the background. The miracle of DVR has brought us right into his intimate concert. A recording made sometime in the past is made new and vibrant just for us, just for this moment. The notes to the song ‘Steam Roller’ float through the air, adding a rich depth to our conversation.

These bright notes of song add to the cheerful evening and provide a topic of conversation to everyone. Guitar players and musicians we are, or aspire to be, and watching Mr. Taylor play is an honor to be learned from. Within short order the deck of cards are brought out. The colorful, worn box opens easily, releasing its pre-sorted deck. Musical chairs for proper partner choices is played and then the sixes and fours for scoring are doled out. The remaining cards to be used are shuffled and dealt in threes and twos until everyone has a total of five cards.

Something so simple as a game of cards can often bring people together for companionship and friendship. It’s a fabulous thing to have a comfort level with another pair of humans. You don’t have to fear judgment when you really know them, and they you. They offer honest feedback and advice on your daily travails, child rearing issues or relationships. And we offer they same for them. We have in a way adopted each other into our respective families. For whatever reason, we seem to fit.

Two or three fast paced games of Euchre are played. Scoffing, but good natured, remarks about cheating or playing ability are made, but everyone has a good time and no clear winner is evident. Time passes quickly and bedtime for all approaches. The cards are finally laid down, children are gathered amidst persistent grumbles of resistance and the goodbyes ‘till next time are made. The drive home is seemingly subdued and quiet compared to the vibrant hours we had just passed. Glances are again exchanged – hard to see in the murky dash lights – but they say, “ We are glad we went, it was a good evening.”