It's bizarre to nonknitters, how yarn finds its way into your life. I know any obsession is getting bad when I start dreaming about it. In the summer after high school, when Hughie and Faith and Ziggy and I sat around the Helpline Center in Lansdale, Pennsylvania, waiting for the phone to ring with somebody who needed help on the other end, we play pinochle. Endless games of pinochle. When I started seeing aces and kings and hearts behind my eyelids when I slept, I knew it was time to stop.