When I was 18, I was a lifeguard. It was the summer time, and I was about to leave for college, to the great hippie-oasis of Northern California. I was gathering clothes for my new (used) wardrobe, and decided I would crochet myself a purple parka-wrap similar to ones I had seen in photos from my mom's youth, and period movies. During my breaks as a lifeguard, I worked on it. It took a couple weeks all together, and even now I can't believe I would lay it over my lap, like a blanket, in a California summer. The stitches were immaculate, the pattern consistent and reflected the constant tension I held on that yarn all summer.
For whatever reason, I never wore it in Santa Cruz or after. Because of how warm I made it, it makes the wearer about twice their normal size. I think that's why I never wore it. But I was so proud of its craftsmanship, I held onto it.
As I was cleaning out my house, preparing to sell it and move to Indiana, a neighbor would volunteer to take my extra things to a shelter she ran, where everything was given for free to the poor. When she saw the funny purple hat I bought at the Renaissance Fair, she told me about a sweet old woman who loved the color purple and who would love it so much. I was working on a performance project ("Yard Sale") at the time, so I asked for a picture of her in the hat. I never got one, but later she told me again about how much this woman loved the hat, and how she had recently been hit by a car. I suddenly remembered the wrap I had made ten years earlier and never worn. I sent it with her for this woman, and was glad someone would get use of its warmth.
Last month, I received a letter in the mail. In it was this photo. At first, I didn't recognize it. Who was this ancient woman? What is this strange pose she is holding? But the whole thing is such a strange, amazing photo. It seems so perfect, her gesture, the heart-shaped window bars, the tilt of her head, and this wild purple parka. I can't tell you how it made my day.
