I was already having a good day.

And then my coworker who picks up the mail, dropped a package on my desk. I would show you a picture, but it would be red on red (since I usually photograph yarny goodness on this chair), and all you would get would be glimmers of coral here and there. So you’re going to have to settle for the thousand words.

Schaefer Andrea, their 100% silk laceweight, in every shade of red you can imagine, and probably a few you can’t. Deep coral to vermilion to carmine to scarlet to crimson to cranberry to Cabernet (I gave up drinking wine 36 years ago, so I don’t know where Merlot fits on the color wheel). A no-reason gift from one of my fellow knitters. Love made evident.

Gobsmacked.

I have another skein of this yarn all wound up, in teals and turquoise and browns, bought two or three years ago with birthday money. I have swatched with it a little, and it frogs nicely. I have yet to decide what to make with it, although I’m sure that if Blessing could talk, she would say that she wants a silk skirt to go with the sweater I made her, but it was my birthday present, not hers, so she’s out of luck. The color changes in that ball are a little too distinct for lace knitting. I might end up making a Pi Shawl out of it, with a simple I-cord border. But not yet.

This new skein, however, was made to show off the most extravagant lace pattern I can find. And I suspect that the scarlet teardrop beads which I bought awhile back will become part of the design.

It is only the love which I have for my youngest granddaughter that keeps me soldiering away on the third burgundy and gold scarf of the year. KnitPicks’ Telemark is, for me, what Cascade 220 is for many of my knitting friends. It is my workhorse yarn: well-crafted, sturdy, dependable, predictable. I have yet to be disappointed.

But it is not lush. And mysterious. And seductive.

For you benighted souls who do not knit, this yarn is the equivalent of the Cowboys winning the Superbowl and the Rangers winning the World Series and the Mavericks winning the whatever it was they won, within months of one another. Or a Coach bag. Or a Porsche 356SC (Dad’s was red, and he was smart enough not to let me drive it, after I bent the axle on his Karmann Ghia when I drove us into a shallow ditch because I couldn’t remember how the clutch worked with the brake). Or the very best Belgian chocolate. Or having Sean Connery sit at your kitchen table and read to you from the Book of Mormon. [You have your fantasies. I have mine.]

Thank you, my friend. Thank you!