Greetings from Los Angeles! I’m spending a bit of time hanging with my lads who have recently moved here from New York.
You’ll find postcards in the gallery up top. Among my rambles, I’ve had a quick visit with Kat Coyle, proprietor of The Little Knittery in Los Feliz. Kat is the designer of the PussyHat, one of the most-knitted patterns in the history of this thing we love to do. Has any other pattern landed on the front page of The New York Times, on the heads of thousands of people? My suitcase contains a copy of the pattern, a souvenir of 2017 that I keep there as a reminder of that time.
The Little Knittery is a jewel box of a yarn shop.
Amazing to look up and see the sea of people.
A sheepy mural painted by Kat’s friend.
Delicious yarns to see.
One of Kat’s favorite yarns is Noro, so she has a fine supply of it. I beelined for Geshi, in the shade Hokuto.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a knitter in possession of a ball of Noro must be in want of a place to sit down and start knitting it. I had an overwhelming urge to crack open my Geshi, so I went to the Barnsdall Art Park, where Frank Lloyd Wright’s 1921 Hollyhock House is a Unesco Heritage Site and an excellent example of what happens when a woman in possession of a fortune must be in want of a gigantic Mayan-influenced house.
(See the interior here, wow.)
I’ve been there several times now, sitting on the lawn, taking in the LA view, listening to LA people talk about their LA lives, watching an LA toddler charm everybody. I marvel at how a place can be so utterly different from the place one usually lives. Hollyhocks abundant in March. LA, you are a whole nother world.
I have the Color Explosion Throw pattern memorized, having made two blankets of it, so I started a Color Explosion scarf. After a few nights of Geshi, the colors are starting to do their Noro thing.
Truly, I am now a believer that cats have nine lives. Kermit is back to eating, after a solid week of not eating. I can hardly believe it—to see my cat friend laid so low was hard on my heart, as I did all the hospicey things for him that I did for my dad last fall.
I didn’t give up on Kermit. I kept so many dishes of food for him nearby that our house looked like a catfeteria. I felt like water was the way back for him, so I spent hours with him as he slowly sipped from the faucet in the sink, source of his favorite water. But as I did these things, I did grieve him, you know? It felt like the end was very near.
Imagine the moment when he took three bites of his food. That’s the kind of hope I’m clinging to these days.