take a deep breath

I went to help my son and d-in-l and granddaughters through their misery, as misery went through both ends of my granddaughters and d-in-l and son. When I arrived, my d-i-l was in the hospital, too dehydrated to be safe at home, the girls, though on the mend, were confused and anxious about "puking on my pillow," and my son was white, freezing, and too weak to give me much of an update. For a day and a half I was helpful and happy playing with the girls and performing the satisfactions of a Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy. DIL came home, weak but hydrated, son slept, . . . I got sick, and sicker. And spent thirty-six hours between bathroom and a mountain of blankets. We're all on the mend now; I've crept home, so I can start my teaching semester tomorrow, shaky, shaky, listening during my long drive to stories of The Plague in 14th-century England, and knowing a bit about contagious diseases (Ken Follett's World Without End ).

Last night, I sat for hours on my sofa wondering if I'd ever want to knit again, and worrying about absence of desire, especially in the face of the gorgeous NORO yarns which had arrived in my absence (of desire, of presence): three bags full, from the fine sale at Seattle's Little Knits ( http://www.littleknits.com/ ). I especially love the colorways of Kureyon's "172" (is desire re-emerging? or is it rue, that I'll watch this yarn forever, burping and never touching needle to wool?).

While I wait for a stable and calm intestine, and for my NORO's fate, I'll re-draft the syllabi for the two classes which begin tomorrow. Sometimes work must bring desire in its wake.