mother and daughter

A few months ago, one of my favourite people ever, L., gave birth to a daughter (who could not love a woman who says of her first born: "... to me she is lovely. She is improving by the day in the looks department - less like Brando and more like a little piglet." Now, I have promised that little M. will get handknits, and she will, when I get round to it (I'll know this girl for years, so I've got time). But I wanted to get mother and daughter something really special, made just for them, from start to finish. (Let us ignore the fact that these are hats, and we are heading for summer - the hats are not tacky-fashion-will-go-out-of-season-in-a-flash hats, and will work just as well next winter. And by then there is an outside chance that L. and I will have actually managed to get together, and I will actually get to meet M.)

So a few weeks agos, I turned to one of my new favourite people, Ruth, and demanded that she help. And Ruth, with her professional hat on, came through for me. She wasn't scared when I said there were no photos of L. Ruth wasn't scared when I said I have absolutely no memory for faces, and couldn't tell her what L. looked like, even if I were staring L. in the face. Ruth wasn't scared when I started on the long and rambling stories of things done with L., all in a vague attempt to capture character.

Ruth asked me clever questions, made suggestions as to shape and colour and style, sent me work-in-progress photos, and delivered (came in under budget, too!). Two gorgeous, hand-dyed, hand-spun hats, warm and interesting and beautifully finished, one in cashmere, one in merino and silks, which I know fit L., in body and soul.