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  • This is a scarf.

    Just an object.

    Shorn fur, processed, twined.

    I’ve been wearing it daily for the last week since the weather here in Kamloops turned cold, the highest daily temperatures are sometimes can peek far, far upward and see the 0 degree line.

    It was laying on a desk. Not until this morning, looking at soft curvy shapes lit by sharp morning light, that I saw much more than an object. A piece of clothing.

    A scarf.

    I saw my Mom’s touch.

    She knit this scarf for me sometime around 2008, maybe was 2009. Does the exact year matter?

    It was pre-before-she-died-when-we-had-all-the-time-in-the-world-to-laugh.

    The scarf featured the classic stitch she used when she made those fisherman sweaters I wore as a kid.

    There was some trick, some Mom Magic, some spell she had in washing those sweaters. She could make it grow, so the same sweater I wore at 5 I probably wore at 14. Or so I remember.

    Likely I exaggerate. Maybe it lasted til I was 12.

    A year before Mom made me this object, this very scarf-- I went to visit her in Florida. She was excited to show me the surprise project she had been working on- it was going to be a new fisherman sweater for me. She had the back and the sides completed, hanging in the closet, and she wanted me to try it on so she knew how much she would need to close it off.

    It was not even close to wrapping around my body.

    Oh, how we laughed at how off were her estimates of my size, it was nowhere near something I could possible wear. Well, not in this century.

    I am not sure if she finished the sweater and gave it to someone else (smaller) or if she re-purposed it. But it was not long before I got this object, this scarf in the mail.

    This object, this thing of woven yarn, just became that more special, her love thouching me daily.

    I miss you so much, it is impossible to measure the depth of the missing, Mom. Sometimes in the rush of things, I briefly lose track… and then it just jabs me again. Sometimes it's a playful jab, as playful as those laughter filled phone calls we shared.

    This object, is a scarf.

    It’s woven of love and more. There is magic in the yarn much better than the kind than can expand a sweater.

    I feel it in my soul.

    Warm.
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