Make time for friends. Make time forDebbie Macomber.
CEDAR COVE 16 Lighthouse Road 204 Rosewood Lane 311 Pelican Court 44 Cranberry Point 50 Harbor Street 6 Rainier Drive 74 Seaside Avenue 8 Sandpiper Way 92 Pacific Boulevard
BLOSSOM STREET The Shop on Blossom Street A Good Yarn Susannahâs Garden (previously published as Old Boyfriends) Back on Blossom Street (previously published as Wednesdays at Four) Twenty Wishes Summer on Blossom Street Hannahâs List
Thursdays at Eight
Christmas in Seattle
Falling for Christmas A Motherâs Gift
Dear Friends,
When I wrote The Shop on Blossom Street, I didnât intend it to be a series. However, reader response was so positive that I decided to write A Good Yarn. Iâve discovered through messages left on my website and from your letters that you love Blossom Street as much as I do. So hereâs our third visit, Back on Blossom Street.
Knitting is still a large part of my lifeâand even more so since the publication of these books. My yarn room (yes, room) is full. But what Iâve enjoyed most is the wonderful knitting friends Iâve made along the way. This book is dedicated to one, Joan McKeon (and her equally wonderful husband, Bob), who knits sweaters for charity.
Iâve included patterns in the previous Blossom Street books (for whatever Lydiaâs class is knitting in the story) and Back on Blossom Street is no exception. Iâm thrilled to share two patterns for prayer shawls with you, compliments of Leisure Arts and Myrna Stahman. Iâm grateful to both for their generosity.
I hope you enjoy Back on Blossom Street!
PS You can reach me by mail at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA.
www.debbiemacomber.com
âOne of the best kept secrets in the knitting world is that knitting lace appears to be much more difficult than it is. If you can knit, purl, knit two together and put the yarn over your needle to form a new stitch, you CAN knit lace.â
âMyrna A.I. Stahman, Rocking Chair Press, designer, author and publisher of Stahmanâs Shawls and ScarvesâLace Faroese-Shaped Shawls From The Neck Down and Seamenâs Scarves, and the soon to be published The Versatility of Lace Knittingâ
Variations on a Theme
Lydia Goetz
I love A Good Yarn, and Iâm grateful for every minute I spend in my shop on Blossom Street. I love looking at the skeins of yarn in all their colors and feeling the different textures. I love my knitting classes and the friends Iâve made here. I love studying the pattern books. I love gazing out my front window onto the energy and activity of downtown Seattle. In fact, I love everything about this life Iâve found, this world Iâve built.
Knitting was my salvation. Thatâs something Iâve said often, I know, but itâs simply the truth. Even now, after nearly ten years of living cancer-free, knitting dominates my life. Because of my yarn store, Iâve become part of a community of knitters and friends.
Iâm also married now, to Brad Goetz. A Good Yarn was my first real chance at life and Brad was my first chance at love. Together, Brad and I are raising our nine-year-old son. I say Codyâs our son, and he is, in all the ways that matter. I consider him as much my child as Bradâs; I couldnât love Cody more if Iâd given birth to him. Itâs true he has a mother, and I know Janice does care about him. But Bradâs ex-wife is ⦠well, I hesitate to say it, but selfish is the word that inevitably comes to mind. Janice appears intermittently in Codyâs life, whenever the mood strikes her or she happens to find it convenientâdespite the parenting plan she signed when she and Brad divorced. Sadly, she only sees her son once or twice a year. I can tell that the lack of communication bothers Cody. And Janiceâs cavalier attitude toward motherhood angers me, but like my son, I donât mention the hurt. Cody doesnât need me to defend or malign Janice; heâs capable of forming his own opinions. For a kid, heâs remarkably resilient and insightful.
On a February morning, my store with all its warmth and color was a cozy place to be. The timer on the microwave went off; I removed the boiling water and poured it into my teapot after dropping in a couple of tea bags. The rain was falling from brooding, gray skies as it often does in winter. I decided it was time to start another knitting class. I maintain several ongoing classes and charity knitting groups, and I usually begin a new session four or five times a year.
As I considered my new class, I was also thinking about my mother, whoâs adjusted to life in the assisted-living complex reasonably well. In some ways, I suspect that moving her was even more difficult for my sister, Margaret, and me than it was for Mom. Although Mom hated giving up her independence, she seemed relieved not to have the worry about the house and yard anymore. I wept the day the house was sold, and while she never allowed me to see her tears, I believe Margaret did, too. Selling the house meant letting go of our childhood and all the reminders of growing up there. It was the end of an era for us both, just as it was for our mother.