I watched all this thinking I should do something. Joan would have stepped in and said something funny to break the tension. All I could do was glance at the door and think about making a hasty exit. But Kris had made me promise to stay through this first session.
“I said not to bring anything, because I have everything you need,” Kris said, opening the plastic bin Gwen Selwyn had dropped off. She took out a tomato red tote with Petit Retreat Three on it in yellow letters. I was relieved that she’d found them. In all the fussing, I’d forgotten to point them out.
Edie’s eyes lit up. “This is it, you guys. Wait until you see what Kris has for you. She’s a genius at this.” Edie started to ramble on about some kind of special yarn and circular needles, whatever they were, and the first Petit Retreat. Kris put her fingers to her lips in the universal shush gesture.
“Edie, you’re absolutely my best cheerleader, but you’re going to ruin the surprise,” Kris said in a friendly voice. “First, let me explain my philosophy of a retreat. I believe it’s the time to push the envelope, broaden your horizons and overcome obstacles.” She picked up a tote bag and handed it to Bree. “You all filled out questionnaires when you signed up for the weekend. They were passed on to me. That’s how I know that Bree is most comfortable being part of a group.” Kris urged her to look inside her tote bag.
Bree began to unload the contents onto the table. She stopped when she got to two balls of yarn. I had never seen anything like them. Each was multicolored and not the usual fuzzy texture that I thought of as yarn.
“They’re made from recycled saris,” Kris said. “No two skeins are the same. The scarf you make is going to be unique. No one in the world will have another exactly like it.”
Bree didn’t seem pleased with the prospect. “Then we’re all going to be making scarves out of this, this sari stuff?”
“No,” Kris said. “Only you.”
“But the Ewes always make the same project together. How will I know if I’m doing it the right way?” Bree sounded a little frantic.
“Don’t you see that’s exactly why Kris gave you the yarn she did?” Edie said. “You need to break out of the conformist box you’re in.”
Kris threw Edie a pointed look. “I wouldn’t have said it quite that way. Bree needs to experience her individuality.” She picked up another of the tote bags and handed it to Olivia.
“I didn’t fill out any questionnaire,” Olivia said, checking the contents. She extracted an orb of fuzzy purple yarn with bits of jewel-toned metallic highlights that blended nicely with her pink velour pants and matching zippered jacket. When she looked at the label, her face clouded. “Cashmere?”
“You might not have filled out a questionnaire, but somebody did for you. It was clear from it that you’d always only used inexpensive yarn and right now you needed something luxurious and special.”
Olivia felt around the bag. “There are so many skeins.”
“You’re going to be making a shawl. And when you finish it, every time you wrap it around yourself, it’ll remind you that you’re special.”
Olivia seemed unimpressed. “Save the heartwarming stuff for the others. It’ll take more than some fancy yarn to get me past this weekend.”
“Let me be next,” Edie said. She turned to the group. “I’ve been on two of these special retreats before, and Kris is like a mind reader. You should have seen the things she came up with for the others.”
Kris gave Edie a broad smile. For all of her chatter, I was glad that at least one person was enthusiastic about the retreat.
“Oh my. Just what I wanted!” she exclaimed, taking some wiggly things out of her bag. “Turbo circs,” Edie said, as she put the metal needles with cables between them on the table. She looked at the instruction sheet. “Fabulous. I’m making two socks at the same time using both of the circs.”
Was she speaking a foreign language? What were circs?
“I’m not much of a knitter,” Lucinda said, taking her bag. Instead of inspecting the contents, my friend let Kris tell her what was in it.
“Yes, I understand that you are just a fledgling knitter and that you only know how to knit,” Kris said, and then I stopped her.
“Excuse me, but what you just said doesn’t make sense,” I said. Coming to my friend’s aid made me feel useful. For a moment, anyway. Why were they all laughing at me? Edie rolled her eyes so many times she must have made herself dizzy.
“Kris, do you want to explain or should I?” Edie said, smiling.
I was glad when Kris took over. She explained it in a way that made me feel less stupid. How was I supposed to know that while it was called knitting, there were actually two different kinds of stitches? It got even more confusing. If you only did the knit stitch, it was called the garter stitch, and if you knitted one row and purled the other, it was called the stockinette stitch. Yikes.
Lucinda knew how to do the garter stitch, which actually meant she knew the knit stitch. The scarf she was going to make required her to learn how to purl. Kris lost me when she said Lucinda would actually be doing the seed stitch, which was to alternate between knitting and purling in the same row. It made me dizzy, but the main thing was Lucinda seemed happy with it.
Kris went back to the bin and extracted two bags, announcing the mother-daughter team was next. Besides their constant fussing, the most notable thing about them was their hair. Both women had the kind of hair I would have loved. The long, wiry curls had so much volume, they almost stuck out sideways. I guessed the color would be called something like chestnut. Only Melissa’s had a few silver hairs mixed in. Kris approached the pair, and Melissa reached out for both bags. Kris dodged her reach and made a determined effort to hand each woman her bag.
Melissa watched as her daughter began to search through her bag, setting out the contents on the table. Sissy took out several skeins of light blue wool, a pair of needles and an odd-looking hook. “Cables!” the young woman exclaimed after reading over the pattern she’d taken out. “I’ve always wanted to make something with cables, but I was afraid to try.”
“You never told me,” her mother said. “Well, we can work on them together this weekend.” Melissa began emptying her bag, but her expression sagged as she took out needles and two peanut-shaped skeins of yarn, one black and one white. She glanced over the paper pattern. “Oh,” Melissa said in disappointed tone. “A houndstooth-patterned scarf.” She turned to Kris. “Don’t you think it would be more efficient if Sissy and I worked on the same pattern?”
“No,” Kris said with a smile. I think everyone got it but Melissa. Giving them different projects was the plan.
Scott kept scooting his chair closer and closer to the exit with each tote bag Kris handed out.
“I think I’ve changed my mind,” Scott said, getting up. He was still dressed like he was going to a business meeting and seemed very tense.
“Scott is a closet knitter,” Kris announced. “Even his wife doesn’t know.” She stepped next to him. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Knitting for men is hot now. That woman who wrote the Stitch and Kvetch book wrote one just for men. It’s called Knitting for Man Hands. You know, some people believe that sailors created knitting.”
She pushed the tote bag into Scott’s hand. He ran his free hand over his neatly trimmed hair in an upset gesture. I could identify with his longing glances out the window. I knew he wanted to run. He set the bag on the table and looked inside. I heard him gasp and understood why when he took out two bloodred knitting needles. They were as thick as broom handles. The yarn was also thick and red. But as he handled the needles, a dreamy look came over his face.
“You’ve never made anything big, have you?” she said, and he shook his head.
“I only made things that would fit in the briefcase.”
“Not anymore,” she said, pointing out the sheet with a pattern in
his bag. “You’re making a lap blanket.” She ran her hands through the supply of yarn, which clearly was too much to fit into his briefcase. “Why don’t you just cast on the stitches. Give the needles a trial run.”
He glanced back at the rest of us. “You all think I’m weird, don’t you? If my wife knew, or my boss—that would really be bad. I don’t want regional manager of the Sandwich King franchises to be my last stop on the ladder. If my boss saw me knitting . . .” The dreamy look had vanished and was replaced with one of anguish as he held his forehead and stood up.
Everyone at the table forgot about their own issues and was supportive, saying they thought it was great that he knitted. He didn’t seem convinced, and I wasn’t sure what he was going to do. His head kept swiveling back and forth between the door and the tote bag. I surprised myself by stepping in. Me, the person who could most understand his desire to take off, suggested he stay.
“I personally don’t get the pull of knitting, but it certainly means something to you.” I gestured toward the chair, and to my amazement, he listened and sat down. With a sigh, he began happily working with the yarn.
My job here was done. I pushed back my chair and prepared to get up. They were all starting on their projects and certainly didn’t need me around.
“I’ll be going, then. Don’t forget there is coffee, tea and fresh cookies on the counter,” I said. “I’ll rejoin you for dinner.”
Kris touched my arm to stop me. I was surprised to see that she had another of the tote bags in her hand. “Your aunt told me that she really hoped you would take up knitting. I know you have difficulty sticking with things and that you’re totally green in the knitting department, but I think if you try it, you may find out it helps with all the aspects of your life.”
Yeah, right, I thought, it would really help fix my life. If only it were that easy. But I had to admit I was curious to see what could be so fabulous about fiddling around with needles and yarn. I found myself reliving Scott’s moment of looking back and forth between the door and table.
“Don’t worry, we’ll all help you,” Lucinda said. “The nice thing about being in a group like this is we all support each other.”
“And don’t forget me,” Kris said. “I’ll be here all weekend to help all of you.”
I ventured a look inside my bag. There were a bunch of small balls of yarn in different colors. There were also several pairs of needles and then two packages of the most beautiful yarn that changed colors from rust to muted shades of beige and brown.
Along with the yarn, there was a clear plastic pouch. There were a bunch of things that looked odd to me, though I figured the rest of the room knew what they were.
Finally I found a little burgundy ruler type thing with a slot in it and a bunch of holes. I noticed something written in gold along the top. Compliments of Kris Garland’s Retreat in a Box. “What’s this?” I said, holding it up.
Edie started to explain that it was to measure gauge, whatever that was, but then noticed the writing on it. She had a similar bag of tools in her tote. She pulled out the ruler, read it over and started to wave it around. “Wow, you actually did it,” she said to Kris. She turned to the rest of us. “You have no idea how exciting this is.”
Kris beamed with pride. “Edie’s right, it is very exciting and an absolute savior. I don’t know what I would have done if this hadn’t come through.” Her expression had become serious as she said the last part, but she gave her head a little shake as if to get rid of a bad thought and her round face brightened. “Starting in a month or so, kiosks will be in yarn stores offering the same thing you’ve all just gotten. A custom-designed project that broadens the customer’s horizons, pushes the envelope or shows them how to make something they’ve always wanted to accomplish.” She explained that a customer would use a touch screen to answer a questionnaire that gave the key to their skill and their desire. The perfect project would then be chosen for them. A supply list would be generated, including yarn, instructional DVDs made by Kris, written instructions for the project and all the necessary tools. “And then the store clerk would put everything together in a tote bag similar to what you got and present it to them,” Kris said. Her whole face grew more animated as she talked about the project. Enthusiasm danced in her blue eyes. “This is my chance to take a step up and join the movers and shakers in the yarn world. And have some breathing space. Being a single parent with two teenagers gets expensive.” Then she caught herself and apologized, saying the weekend was supposed to be about the group, not her.
“And to think it all started here,” Edie said. “It was the last night of the first Petit Retreat. At dinner, I think. Who was it who brought up the Retreat in a Box idea? What a fabulous meal. Chicken Piccata made with local lemons, and salad with those baby greens. I think there were scalloped potatoes, too.”
I think we were all grateful when Kris stepped in and stopped Edie from going on with her rambling monologue before she got into the details of the dessert they’d had. Kris suggested we all get started on our projects.
I needed the most help. I was absolutely starting from scratch. My kit included a whole stack of printed instructions, but I was glad when Kris personally helped me. She decided it was best to cast on the stitches for me and then showed me how to do the knit stitch. In no time, I had the hang of it.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Kris said. “You’re just going to be making practice swatches at first.”
The time flew, and before I knew it, Kris was telling us to pack up. I had managed to complete a number of rows on my first swatch and found out that circs was short for circular needles. Not that it seemed likely I’d have anything to do with them. But I thought my stitches in the golden yellow yarn looked particularly nice. I got a lot of congrats from the rest of the group as we stopped working. Kris told us just to leave our tote bags in the room and only work on them during our workshop time when she was there to help. “I’m sure you all brought some of your own projects to work on.” Everyone nodded but me.
Lucinda and I walked back to the dormitory-style building she was staying in. I had to admit, I was stoked. I was enthralled with that little piece of yarn material I’d made. I couldn’t wait to go check out the yarn and needles at my aunt’s house. Lucinda laughed. “Joan would be so happy to see you’ve caught the bug.”
“Bug?”
“The yarn bug. Once you try it, there’s no going back,” my friend said.
5
WHILE MY GROUP WAS GETTING READY FOR THE evening meal, I went across the street and checked out my aunt’s stash with new eyes, though in my head, my mother’s voice was groaning that I’d just picked up another diversion. But now the dinner bell was ringing and I left my house and headed toward the dining hall.
I’d never been inside the Sea Foam dining hall before. It was built in the Arts and Crafts style, similar to the Lodge, and had the same old-fashioned feeling.
A hostess greeted me as I came in and punched my meal ticket. I was happy to see Lucinda waiting for me. The huge room was filled with round wood tables, and I suggested we snag one in a corner.
“The food is cafeteria style,” Lucinda said, gesturing toward the back. I noticed she had freshened up her appearance with new makeup and a patterned silk scarf that blended with her apricot-colored top. There was just the slightest wrinkle of distaste to her nose as she looked over the menu of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Not exactly the gourmet fare they served at the Blue Door.
Edie was the first to come in and, no surprise, she was talking to someone. She and the tall man in a baseball cap stopped for a moment before separating. Her troubled expression quickly brightened into an upbeat smile as she saw me. The temperature was dropping, and she’d replaced the sweater I’d admired with a blue fleece jacket.
She stood with me and helped wave our people over as they came in. Only Scott declined the invitation and cho
se to sit at a table nearby instead. I bet his tablemates had no idea the conservatively dressed man had a knitting project hidden in the briefcase at his feet.
“Let him be for now,” Kris said as she pulled out a chair. She had cute features and the kind of round face that would probably never look old. Whatever lift Olivia had gotten during the workshop session had evaporated, and she was back to looking sour as she snagged the seat next to the knitting teacher. Lucinda and I sat together.
“Baby steps,” Kris said. “At least he stayed and knitted in front of us. And it’s just the beginning of the retreat.”
Lucinda took the basket of bread off the lazy Susan in the middle of the table and went around using the tongs to put a piece on each of the bread plates. “I can’t help it. I’m used to being in a restaurant,” she said with a shrug.
Bree arrived with a sagging canvas bag and deposited it on a chair. She sat next to Olivia, pulled the bag on her lap and started going through it. I saw her computer tablet sticking out of the top. “I promised I’d read the kids a story later,” she said, showing the book behind it. “Thank heavens they have Wi-Fi in that Lodge building. I can’t believe this place has no phones or TVs in the rooms. What is it, from the Dark Ages or something?”
“Vista Del Mar was built before phones were common and TV even invented. I think it adds to the romance of the place. It’s like stepping away from everything,” Edie said. She was a little too perky, too enthused about everything, and was beginning to get on my nerves. She glanced across the large room, and I saw that her gaze stopped on the man in the baseball cap, but only for a second. Then she put all her attention on our table. She rolled her eyes as she stared at Bree. After setting the canvas bag out of the way, Bree had absently taken Olivia’s slice of bread and was in the process of cutting off the crusts. She buttered it and cut it into triangles.
“Thanks, I guess,” Olivia said, picking up one of the pieces.
Yarn to Go Page 5