In Which Jake Cracks the Code

Grandson Jake came to have dinner with Mr. Pug the other night while I was knitting with the Noble Knitters. They were still sitting at the kitchen table when I got home and Jake had a really wonderful late Christmas gift for me (more later). It was great to see him (and, of course, to get a really wonderful gift) but the funny part came as he was getting ready to go home.

Leaving the kitchen, he ran back and said, "DB! I finally understand the signs."

"Signs?" I asked, thinking is that like crop circles, or zodiac or what?

"Those signs," he said, pointing at the refrigerator.

"Ohhh, those signs," I said. Well, who doesn't know what they mean?

"I've lived here with y'all for over two years and I never knew what they meant. Now I know what they mean. That first one means knit one pearl one, right?"

Well, don't that beat all? Lived here two years and it never occurred to him to just ask? I don't know if that's the barely post-adolescent in him or the male. Now it makes me wonder whether Mr. Pug knows. I'm betting he doesn't.

So where did he finally get his secret decoder ring to work? Seems it was the yarn shop in Franklin, NC, where his dad and stepmom have recently settled. The last time I was in Silver Threads and Golden Needles it was owned by someone else, and I loved it. Now it's under new ownership and I hope I'll get to see it when I go to The Mountain in a couple of weeks. Anyway, he says it's a wonderful place, and when a 22-year-old man tells you a yarn shop is wonderful, you've gotta believe it.

Which brings me to the gift.

First off, that IS my color. Kind of a ripe raspberry. But the fiber ... well, that's 60% merino, 30% New Zealand possum, and 10% silk. It's worsted weight and feels like a cloud. I'm not much of a hat wearer but it looks like a hat to me. Just beautiful!

(So, am I right? It IS a wonderful gift, huh?)

Finally, in other news ... I was talking to my sister Debbie on the cell today as I drove into the driveway, and saw this:

Now, the other day Mr. Pug told me proudly that he had "trimmed" the crape myrtle. I didn't want to talk about it, and I didn't go look at the tree. The last time he "trimmed" a tree, it was the Japanese maple in front of the Virginia house and when he was finished, it looked like a lollipop. I cried that day, wept like a baby.

I didn't cry today, and I didn't crash into the garage door, but it was close. I think I must have shrieked, because Debbie sounded concerned. When I explained, she just laughed. She knows Mr. Pug pretty well, and she wasn't even surprised.

This time, he's taken a mature tree and turned it into a stump, or rather a collection of stumps.

If I don't have purple crape myrtle flowers this year, he's a dead man!