In the Realm of "Be Careful What You Ask For"

I have a lovely friend who knits. She is actually the mother of one of my closest friends, and I guess by osmosis or some other process she has become my friend as well. She is in her mid-eighties, and, as I said, loves to knit. She makes wonderful pure cotton knitted washcloths and gives them out for use by her best buddies. I have been lucky enough to receive a number of them, and they are incredibly soft. Nobody else in my family can use them.

But I digress. A few of years ago I took her to a local book store for her birthday. It is something I like to do with friends, and something they seem to like as well. In this case, she picked out, for her present, a terrific book of knitting patterns, of everything from fancy sweaters and baby clothes to charming knitted animals.

As she refused to get the book as my gift unless I picked out something in it that she could make for me, I leafed through the stuffed animals and came across a very cute little duck. It was bright yellow with an orange bill and dangling orange feet, and I thought it would make a good addition to my collection of stuffed pals. The one thing I did not do was look at the pattern and see what size it actually was.

The whole time she was making it I kept hearing from her daughter that she was regularly cursing out the pattern she was working from, and how very difficult it had turned out to be. I couldn't imagine how a little (I figured maybe eight or ten inches tall) innocent duck could give her so much trouble. Then she finished it, in time for my birthday.

We met with her daughter and son-in-law, again in our favorite bookstore, and I was startled to see the size gift bag she carried. Then I dug into the bag and pulled out "Duckie," named after my favorite NCIS doctor (I am addicted to that series), or maybe because he was a duck. I had to laugh. Duckie was easily two feet tall, and a bright enough yellow to make up for the cloudy day outside. In addition to the brilliant lemon-hued body, his bill, legs and feet were the brightest orange yarn I had ever seen. All of that was topped off by two big black eyes, and somehow he seemed to be smiling. No, grinning!

I took Duckie home and gave him a place of honor atop a sofa in my family room. In spite of the amusement and occasional horror on the part of some visitors, he remains there, four years later. He has become a part of the family.

Oh, and to top things off, for Christmas that year my friend asked me what she could make for me, and I told her Duckie was cold sitting right in front of a bank of windows, so he needed a sweater. She dictated the measurements to take, and I gave her the numbers. By a few days after Christmas, Duckie was wearing a brilliant blue, green, and matching yellow ombre sweater, a perfect fit.

I am so very lucky to have the friends that I do, stuffed or otherwise! I don't know how many fellow adults would understand that I truly did want a silly yellow duck as a part of my home's decor, and that it was equally important that the duck be warm and comfortable in a custom-designed sweater. My best friends are those who easily come along on my little adventures, without ever asking why.

No, dementia has not set in, and I am not certifiable. I simply value the dedication to silliness in those closest to me. It is keeping us all smiling right along with Duckie.

P.S. - His best friend is a tiny bear dressed in a pink bunny suit. They are inseparable.