Jane, the Colonial house manager, had not been a knitter, but she spent many hours on the sidewalk outside the yarn shop while we were knitting and spinning, chit-chatting.  Ann spun most days we could sit outside, so hours were pleasantly passed, talking to passers by commenting on traffic, weather, politics, health, family, you name it.   About a week after Ann passed away, Jane said she received a “divine unction” to become a knitter.  “One knitter dies, a new knitter is born,” she said.  Divine unction:  that’s a lot to live up to, Jane—called out of the world for holy work, “the unction comes to make you useful. It will be like an odour that is not to be hidden: it fills all the room. You will be a prophet to teach, shedding light by your example. You will be a priest, to offer the sacrifice of praise. You will be a king, having rule over your own spirit.”  It sounds like you’ll be following in Ann’s footsteps, that the odor is lavender, and I’m sure she is smiling.

Spinning, knitting, and chit-chatting.
Gathering for Ann