The wi-fi wasn’t working, but I didn’t have the gumption to call the provider. The clock in the kitchen had just gonged 5, and I hadn’t even poured a cup of coffee.
Instead I dug through my yarn. I’d squirreled it away over a year ago in disheveled heaps, not long after my daughter was born. The vision of my new infant snoozing on my lap while I stitched away at sweet baby blankets and sweaters was far from a reality, and my guilt for having failed to even make and hang a Christmas stocking for her in her first year of life lurked in the shadows of the year since. I wanted to have one done before the tree went up this year.
I couldn’t find red or green, and I didn’t want to wake my husband or daughter. Instead I went to look for the other stockings, the ones with initials for my husband and me and for our two dogs. I made them in college– unsophisticated, clunky attempts at novice knitting. I located them in a bag, along with a tremendous gift from my past-self.
The red, green, brown and white yarn was snuggled in with a halfway-crocheted stocking that I’d started last Christmas season, obviously in the delirium of new parenting, such that I completely forgot I’d even begun it. I wanted to hug my past-self.
Subtle little favors for your future-self are not like treating yourself to a pedicure or indulging in a chocolate sundae. They’re truly generous actions that I find myself feeling truly deeply grateful for, as if they’d been done by another person as an act of love.
Little things, like filling the coffee-maker with water the night before, and placing the filter, so all I have to do is grind the coffee. I wake up feeling like someone left me a special surprise. Or when I stash a little cash in a small box on the mantle, then forget about it. It’s all the better when the act is forgotten, then discovered. Like the stocking.
So instead of writing, or perusing the internet, I crocheted the final rows on a simple stocking for my daughter for her second Christmas.
The day– and holiday season– began peacefully and full of gratitude.