"It looks awful, Grae." I demonstrated yet again my lack of talent with textiles. He examined my handiwork.

"It's..." Apparently he couldn't think of an appropriate lie. I squinched my face in dismay and he tugged my ponytail. "It's the thought that counts."

"That's lame," I responded, folding my offering into a small fabric bundle. "Let's go. I'll finish it on the road. Decatur is a haul from here"

We drove straight from Chicago toward Atlanta for ten hours. After countless coffees, Talking Heads, Fleetwood Mac, Black Sabbath, a little Willie Nelson and several technicolor balls of yarn, we closed in on Decatur.

"Turn here," I said, consulting my MapQuest print-out. "Should be just after the blue split-level on the right."

Grae parked the Cadillac. "It's about time, you two!" George greeted us, waving, from the door. He half-turned to call into the house. "Jim! Grae and Nory are here."

The three of us walked into the living room. Jim sat propped in his easy chair. He looked like a wan little boy. He smiled when he saw us. "You crazy kids. What took you so long?"

"Hi, Jimmy. We would have been here sooner, but I had to learn how to crochet," I said. I shook out the misshapen afghan. "Lydia sheared the flock and dyed the wool herself. She couldn't make the trip, though. She had to go to TJ to pick up a friend."

He smiled fondly at the horrible mess. "Aw, Nory. Really. You shouldn't have."

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