Thirty years ago a dear friend knit me a brilliant red shawl;  light,  warm,  airy.  In the midst of babies and homemaking and writing and school it was a hectic time and this was a most welcome gift. 

 I wore it often;  one day I could not find it;  I think I  left it in a restaurant but much searching and backtracking failed to find it. For months I would open a drawer and be looking for something and suddenly think of that shawl and feel hope that I would have maybe put it in here. Or dig deep in the diaper bag for a kiddy item  and feel perhaps  the shawl would be there.

Several times over the years I have thought of  making its replacement but that never happened –  until today.

That incredible garage sale of yarn last weekend brought me this ball of wool and I was inspired to take some big needles and start the simple triangular increase pattern  but after eight rows I put it down …..  for   ……. later.

At that moment my eye caught on the six balls of chunky acrylic/mohair/wool  (from the same sale) and sometime  later I came out of the absorption long enough to take this photo.  

Six strands on seven stitches being knit on my arms as needles.

Seeing the work so quickly depend (isn't that a lovely term – I think it is Victorian) from the needles (aka my arms) is very satisfying as is the feeling of the wool being worked with nothing between fibre and skin.  

I began to wonder just how long it would be.

Well, it is this long,  more than six feet.

It feels wonderful on the shoulders and cosy wrapped around the neck.  And this on a sunny summer afternoon so more than warmth is involved.

Will it take the place of the one that was lost?

I don't know,  yet. 

The finer yarn on the large needles would be more the look and weight and shape of the original.

But something was accomplished this afternoon and I am content.