âThe yarn forms the stitches, the knitting forges the friendships, the craft links the generations.â
âKaren Alfke, âUnpatternâ designer and knitting instructor
LYDIA HOFFMAN
The first time I saw the empty store on Blossom Street I thought of my father. It reminded me so much of the bicycle shop he had when I was a kid. Even the large display windows, shaded by a colorful striped awning, were the same. Outside my dadâs shop, there were flower boxes full of red blossomsâimpatiensâthat spilled over beneath the large windows. That was Momâs contribution: impatiens in the spring and summer, chrysanthemums in the fall and shiny green mistletoe at Christmas. I plan to have flowers, too.
Dadâs business grew steadily and he moved into increasingly larger premises, but I always loved his first store best.
I must have astounded the rental agent who was showing me the property. Sheâd barely unlocked the front door when I announced, âIâll take it.â
She turned to face me, her expression blank as if she wasnât sure sheâd heard me correctly. âWouldnât you like to see the place? You do realize thereâs a small apartment above the shop that comes with it, donât you?â
âYes, you mentioned that earlier.â The apartment worked perfectly for me. My cat, Whiskers, and I were in need of a home.
âYou would like to see the place before you sign the papers, wouldnât you?â she persisted.
I smiled and nodded. But it wasnât really necessary; instinctively I knew this was the ideal location for my yarn shop. And for me.
The one drawback was that this Seattle neighborhood was undergoing extensive renovations and, because of the construction mess, Blossom Street was closed at one end, with only local traffic allowed. The brick building across the street, which had once been a three-story bank, was being transformed into high-end condos. Several other buildings, including an old warehouse, were also in the process of becoming condos. The architect had somehow managed to maintain the traditional feel of the original places, and that delighted me. Construction would continue for months, but it did mean that my rent was reasonable, at least for now.
I knew the first six months would be difficult. They are for any small business. The constant construction might create more obstacles than there otherwise would have been; nevertheless, I loved the space. It was everything I wanted.
Early Friday morning, a week after viewing the property, I signed my name, Lydia Hoffman, to the two-year lease. I was handed the keys and a copy of the rental agreement. I moved into my new home that very day, as excited as I can remember being about anything. I felt as if I was just starting my life and in more ways than I care to count, I actually was.
I opened A Good Yarn on the last Tuesday in April. I felt a sense of pride and anticipation as I stood in the middle of my store, surveying the colors that surrounded me. I could only imagine what my sister would say when she learned Iâd gone through with this. I hadnât asked her advice because I already knew what Margaretâs response would be. She isnâtâto put it mildlyâthe encouraging type.
Iâd found a carpenter whoâd built some cubicles for me, three rows of them, painted a pristine white. Most of the yarn had arrived on Friday and Iâd spent the weekend sorting it by weight and color and arranging it neatly in the cubicles. Iâd bought a secondhand cash register, refinished the counter and set up racks of knitting supplies. I was ready for business.
This should have been a happy moment for me but instead, I found myself struggling to hold back tears. Dad wouldâve been so pleased if he could have seen what Iâd done. Heâd been my support and my source of strength, my guiding light. I was so shocked when he died.
You see, Iâd always assumed I would die before my father.
Most people find talk of death unsettling, but Iâve lived with the threat of it for so long, it doesnât have that effect on me. The possibility of death has been my reality for the last fourteen years, and Iâm as comfortable talking about it as I am the weather.