The chill seeps into my bones as I open the door to walk the dogs, and I lament that I still cling to my twelve-year-old self's conviction that a coat is rarely necessary. You’d think the intervening forty-some years would have taught me a thing or two. And while they have in many ways, the inconvenience of a jacket still clearly outweighs the transient, cozy comfort it provides during a Florida winter that lasts only a few days.
Cooper and Sadie, our little dachshund rescue pups, don’t seem to mind; in fact, they come alive with friskiness in the refrigerator-like temperatures and urge me ever forward through the neighborhood. Up and down the cracked sidewalks we ramble—them enjoying a nibble or two at the smorgasbord of late acorns peppering the concrete paths—while I contemplate the now ragged vestiges of what passes as fall leaves in this sun-soaked state void of proper seasons. The fleeting presence of autumn here reminds me of how quickly change comes and goes, often before we’re ready.
I muse that someday, I really should knit them adorable little doggie sweaters, and I chuckle out loud, imagining their reactions during fittings—especially the first. Cooper is like an old man. His laid-back personality belies a deeply stubborn streak that often causes him to plant his little dachsie feet to the core of the earth when he doesn’t wish to move. Sadie, in contrast, is an eager little extroverted pleaser; she’s a party girl who simply can’t hold her licker and covers anyone who dares to come near in sloppy doggie kisses. She’d put a sweater on in a heartbeat. Cooper? Not so much.
As much as I hate to admit it, insulation is, in fact, sometimes necessary. Having recently traveled to New Hampshire and Maine, I’ve come to accept that no matter the strength of will, sometimes we all need insulation and the comfort of being surrounded in warmth.
Sometimes, insulation comes as a thick, downy coat or a lovingly stitched quilt. Other times, it’s the warm, inviting embrace of friends and loved ones, wrapping you in their care. Recently, though I wasn’t fully aware of the chill precipitating the need for it, my insulation was of the latter variety, and I found myself a grateful recipient of the gift.
Change, thrust upon us when we least expect it—though deep down, we’ve long known it was needed—is rarely easy or welcome. But the betrayal of a longtime friend stings harder and lingers longer than many other sorts of change. Even when it’s not the first time it’s occurred with this friend. Even when you should have known better. Even when you know, in the end, it’s for the best.
The beauty, if you can dry your eyes and see through the haze of hurt for a bit, is the replacement of the sting by the calming, soothing salve and insulating love and care of friends who surround you like that cozy coat, allowing you a moment to nestle into the down, making you feel warm and safe. I am grateful for that insulation. I am filled with thanks for those who know what I need when I do not. I am overflowing with appreciation for the kindness of folks who care for me…even from some who are unexpected but welcome surprises.
With our focus on finishing WIPs in 2025, I suspect I’ll soon be dragging out the half-finished doggie sweaters I began in 2017 for Cooper and Sadie. Maybe I’ll finish them up, though I think it more likely I’ll choose a fresh pattern and new yarn to begin…and complete them…anew. That’s the thing, isn’t it? Sometimes, the inspiration we need to carry on comes from a fresh start—one that offers not only warmth but the promise of something beautifully new.