The January Hat, Part II
Here's the deal: I got up at o'dark-thirty to take a shuttle to the airport. My shuttle driver was exceptionally chipper for the hour. She drove me to the airport by way of the Pacific Coast Highway. This would have been the scenic route, except that 1. It was dark 2. It was foggy 3. My eyes were at least half-shut.
At one point, she said, "The ocean's over there to the right. You can't see it, but, wait, here …" Then: She. Opened. The. Window. Now, this is Southern California, but the bright Day Star was not yet up and the air rushing through the window was not warm.
When we arrived at the airport, she said cheerily, "Well, now, that took us exactly an hour. If we'd taken the freeway, it would have taken 30 minutes."
The fog cleared. But half an hour before the flight, I looked out the window and saw this:
That, my friends, is fog. Flight-delaying fog.
But, they decide to load us on the plane anyway. Even though it's clear—well, so to speak—that we will not be taking off anytime soon.
I find my seat. Shortly thereafter, a mom and her small child find their seat. Right next to mine.
They close the door.
At the gate.
For an hour.
I am not happy. The child next to me is happy. She keeps trying to make me happy.
Whatever. I am too deeply unhappy to be cheered. I think about the big coffee I drank. I think about the bathroom at the back of the plane. I look up at the Fasten Seatbelt sign. What is that? Might there be turbulence at the gate?
I think unhappy thoughts. The child reaches out to me. I resist.
Finally, finally, we inch away from the gate. And roll toward the runway, to wait behind the other delayed planes. Ahead of us is a four-hour flight to an airport where I have already missed my connection. I think more unhappy thoughts.
Hours into the flight; hours after the child has cheerfullly cleared my tray of pretzel crumbs, so they don't get into my yarn; hours after she has repeatedly reached out to touch the soft, soft pink yarn; hours after this child has smiled and laughed and not once, not once cried, when I myself wanted to weep and rant, I decide to pay it forward.
I start a little pink hat.
(details: Patons Classic Wool Roving in Magenta (77402) and size K hook)
The plane is over Alabama:
with three rounds done, I have 28 minutes:
The child is 13 months old. The Tahoe Hat is designed for an adult head. I calculate the size by surreptitiously holding it up against her silhouette. I decide that five rounds on top ought to do it, then I start the hdc round:
We're nosing our way over Georgia. ATL is Right There.
Dc flo, dc blo, dc flo, dc blo. Who WROTE this pattern?!
too busy crocheting to take pictures of the hat:
Good golly! Four rows of that blasted dc flo/ dc blo pattern ought to do it.
No need for that hdc row, d'ya think? Let's go straight to the rev sc edging …
Adriana is a happy, pink-hat-wearing girl! Her mom, Tracy, says she usually doesn't like hats at all (probably because she has great hair & doesn't want to hide it). But she's a Southern California girl, headed to New Orleans, where it's cold, because it's cold everywhere this winter. And she likes this hat.
Here's hoping Adriana has a swell time with her Grandma. Thanks for the smiles. You had a tough nut to crack.
Karmic balance is restored.
p.s. The Tahoe Hat is now available for free download here.
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