After arriving home from Thanksgiving, all I wanted was to shut myself inside my golden room and be still and be warm and breathe. Just breathe. No phones. No computer. No visitors. No one anywhere demanding anything. I had already promised myself the ultimate luxury: one day... an entire day... to do nothing. Nothing except what I wanted.So I did. I twisted the worn, aged doorknob in my bedroom until it caught the door tight. And I looked around the room and let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding inside.
I passed by the mantle, all weathered and peeling and old. So old. I breezed by it to the windows, where I gathered the curtains in my fists and fastened them back.
And as the light poured in, I sat close - with a steaming mug - and listened to the wind and breathed. And sipped. I sat and breathed and sipped.
When the mug was empty and my feet got cold, I climbed into my curved, chipped bed and I started to knit. Something for me.
Not something to sell or something to donate or something to give away. A cabled hot water bottle cover just for me. I never do that. I never make things just for me.
As I knitted, I found myself so happy and so contented and so comforted and so comfortable I cried. I just let it all out: all the exhaustion and worry and excitement and weight. It was wonderful. I had the whole day. In my golden room. A whole day with the worn doorknob and heavy fireplace and gathered curtains and steaming cocoa and curved bed and knitting and setting myself right again. I felt like royalty.Holiday aprons hit the shop Friday. The shoe drive kicked off today. The bakery website goes live tomorrow. And as soon as these holidays are over, I've promised myself another quiet, golden day.
I can't wait. Hurry January.
(I heard you, Faith. The hot water bottle cover is a Sarah Dallas pattern and is in this fantastic book of knit patterns. For all fellow knitters without this book, do yourself a favor and buy one for Christmas. It's fabulous.)