I am sitting in a coffee-shop near where Kate is attending a make-up session of her History of Western Music class. It’s her last of the year, and although she is very good at it, she is glad to be done with it. I’m glad too. One less day of trekking to Eastman for a few months. It all starts up again in September, but after next Friday’s hour and a half long piano lesson, she will be done for a couple of weeks until summer lessons start, and those will be the only thing that bring us to Eastman for five weeks of summer. The break will feel luxurious and will be welcome. Essential, even.
I am knitting the sleeves of a cardigan while sipping what must be my fifth cup of coffee today. It also feels essential. The coffee-shop is full of violists on a lunch break. A conference brought them here. Strange birds flocked together. Being amongst their own seems to make them very happy. As it should. It is pleasant letting their enthusiastic chatter wash over me as I knit. Or as I untangle my knitting, I should say.
I have been knitting in stolen moments for the past few days, yanking my work out of my bag whenever I am able to knit a few rows, and thrusting it back in hurriedly when it is time to move on. Because I am knitting two sleeves at the same time, I have two balls of yarn connected to the circular needle on which I am working, and after a few days of that level of care, they are understandably and somewhat hopelessly intertwined. The name of the pattern? Essential. As is this coffee break.