I love knitting. The stitches are neat and tidy lining up like soldiers in perfect rows. Knitting gives cadence, pattern, order. It makes sense visually and mathematically and if I make a mistake I can rip it out and start over.

I need structure in my life. That doesn't make me special in any way, I believe we all require routine and the assurance of knowing where things are and what happens next. Visual rhythm, the pattern of waves on sand, the repetition of line and color in fabric, these things give me a sense of the harmony I crave. So, the lava rock with the black stained concrete grout on my walls is disturbing, even ugly. The contrast between the beauty I desire and the dark rough stone is glaring.

Life is this way. I have a plan all lined out: stuff to get done and meetings to attend and places to be and things to buy and books to read and reality intervenes. A grandson gets sick at school and suddenly the day and my plans are in chaos. I drop everything, drive to the school, pick him up and bring him home. His cheeks are too pink and his eyes too bright with fever. We settle down with string games together snuggled under a blanket. A sweet quiet time with a precious little boy and I am aware of the beauty in the unexpected, the gift of slowing down, the delicious pleasure of spending time, taking time to simply be.

Yes there is charm and grace in order, in the predictable but it is in bending to the unusual, the unexpected that I discover beauty in myself and the truth of who I am.

The little grandson goes home with his mother and I am left gazing at the lava rock on the wall, still unable to see beauty. It is the ugly beautiful and I am trying to embrace it.