Friends in Atlanta sent a box of special, beautiful skeins of yarn. When I sorted by color and texture, patterns formed. The person who bought the yarn planned to make fuzzy winter scarves in rich jewel tones and baby blankets in pastel blue. We all have plans we might not get to see come to fruition.

So I asked my friends if they’d like me to make blankets out of the soft baby yarn and donate them to a shelter or agency. They said that’d be fine. A year ago, I worked up the nerve to knit baby blankets for complete strangers. I get stage fright. Sue me. This year, leading into the unnamed university’s anti-hunger project, I’m going to try to knit a baby blanket every few weeks, maybe one per month. In between, I’m going to race through half a dozen blankets for animal shelters. It’s a modest plan and not the first time during the cat blanket project a box of yarn drove home the fragility of our future.

They’re all just blankets. I’m just knitting. The world is spinning, spinning, spinning.