It's a matter of comfort

Knitting is a thing of comfort, a quiet, repetitive motion, one that requires little thought or focus once you learn the pattern, one that lulls you and soothes you while at the same time creating something useful and, hopefully, beautiful.

This past weekend, I stayed three nights at a friends house so that there would be a responsible adult present with their 13 year old son. Though I didn't have my own bed, I had my dogs with me, and my knitting. The room I was in was dark and warmed by a small gas fireplace. I was comfortable.

My friend had left food. I had macaroni and cheese for the first time in years. Imagine that. Macaroni and cheese. What an indulgence! And in a very surprising way that, too, was comfortable.

The first night home I was looking forward not only to sleeping in my own bed, but to an evening of relaxing in familiar surroundings, in my own place, with everything I need right at hand. It was cold out, and chilly in a house that had been vacant for the weekend. I'd turned the heat down on the main floor, and left only enough running upstairs to keep the parrots warm. I pulled on a sweater Joe gave me to lounge in - a Scottish wool thing that is so long on me I could wear it out as a dress - and a loose fitting pair of jeans. The heavy wool socks Kaitlynn made for me were on my feet, but I still felt chilled, and I wanted something hot to drink.

I was just about coffee'd out, though, and my tea supply, believe it or not, had been depleted by a very industrious mouse. So, I stood, cupboard door in hand, looking at the nearly empty shelves, and wondering what I could fix for myself when my eye fell on an untouched can of Nestle's Cocoa, purchased at some point late in my marriage to Bas, probably so he could bake brownies (one of the things he loved about America!)There it was, way up on the top shelf, unopened and forgotten ... comfort in a can. It had been through at least two house moves, and probably barely escaped being thrown out each time. Has this packaging ever changed in my lifetime?
Hmm ... cocoa. And I actually had a jug of milk in the fridge, something I don't usually keep on hand. And vanilla extract. And even some Splenda. Like macaroni and cheese, I hadn't had a cup of cocoa in years. But I had everything I needed, didn't I? I made myself a steaming mug of hot cocoa. I took it upstairs and picked up the socks I was knitting in a wonderful wool and silk blend, in a wonderful warm, brown color that was labelled, coincidentally, "Cocoa."

Put your feet up in cocoa colored socks that you made for yourself,
sit back, relax. You're home.

Sitting there with my dogs oh-so-comfortable to be back home, with nowhere to go, and nothing to do but knit, and sip hot cocoa, nestled in Joe's big old sweater, with my feet up on the furniture I grew up with, and this house that I own warming up around me - well, it was, just a wonderful confluence of the smallest things coming together. It was, quite simply, a matter of comfort.