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Ecstasy, pleasure, pain: My gift to you

I am knitting a scarf for my husband. I’ve chosen a deep green, hand-dyed yarn, with a wonderful springy heft; I’m working in two-by-two rib with pleasure and absorption. The scarf is like a magic thread connecting me to him.  Now and then, as I measure its length, I envision him wearing it.

These weeks when I secretly knit the scarf are a precious time for both of us. They create the best of possible worlds.  I have the pleasure of feeling my affection, of touching it with two hands, of fashioning an object that will warm and hold him. He is also lucky.  Because he does not yet know about his gift, he need not yet pretend to like it.  Soon, he will receive the scarf, wrapped carefully in tissue.  He may be pleased or he may not be, but on certain winter mornings, he will feel obliged to wear it.  If he doesn’t like the scarf—if the color or texture or length is somehow wrong—he will wrap it like a leash around his neck.

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