The friday night knitting club.pdf

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the only Friday Night Knitting Club member who sees it as the only constant in life , and a among women is a central theme of The Friday Night Knitting Club. THE #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER Once a week, an eclectic group of women comes together at a New York City yarn shop to work on their latest. The Friday Night Knitting Club - [FREE] [PDF] [EPUB] The Friday Night Knitting Club [Ebooks]. Upcoming March Events: Patrick's Day Iron Chef.

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the friday night knitting club by kate jacobs about the book “to know yourself, to know your friends, all you need to do is knit.” walker and daughter is georgia. The role of friendships among women is a central theme of The Friday Night. Knitting Club. Some friendships develop easily, like K.C. and Georgia's, while. Get Free Read & Download Files The Friday Night Knitting Club PDF. THE FRIDAY NIGHT KNITTING CLUB. Download: The Friday Night Knitting Club.

Can you imagine reading this writing style for an entire book? Knit one, purl two. The business was lucky to have a loyal clientele, and the club responded by offering more classes during the week. I wasn't too impressed with the character who tricked her date into getting her pregnant. That was all they'd talked about for months.

Peri got right down to business with her knitted purses and had them in store windows in no time. And my final question was about the trip to Scotland. Georgia decided Dakota could miss a little school since it was "just seventh grade". I thought they'd only be gone a week.

When it was revealed they spend a month in Scotland, I figured she'd just missed the last week of school. Then they came back and Dakota had to go back to school. It doesn't matter what grade you're in, missing a month means you're going to have repeat the grade.

No one can miss that much school. They'd probably withdraw your enrollment. I wasn't too impressed with the character who tricked her date into getting her pregnant. That was just uncalled for. Who conducts themselves like that? I also could have done without the bad language. These are all college educated women, surely they didn't have to resort to four-letter words to get their points across. It could have been a good book, but there were so many thing that just made no sense to me.

I think the movie might be better, though. If they just hit the highlights it should make a good story. View all 6 comments. Dec 25, Jennifer rated it did not like it Recommends it for: No one. I'm sorry why am I sorry? I guess because there's a part of me that feels guilty for completely dissing a book that someone has written. I mean, I've never written a book, so what do I know?

I'm not even sure why I finished it. I didn't even have high expectations for it--had already categorized it as chick-lit--but even still, I found every character completely stilted and unrealistic and the plot uninspired, dull, and predictable. This book will not make you want I'm sorry why am I sorry?

Club.pdf the friday night knitting

This book will not make you want to take up knitting. It may, however, make you want to fashion a noose out of yarn to put yourself out of your misery in reading it. View all 5 comments. Mar 18, Nichole rated it did not like it Recommends it for: I have the soft cover, not the hard cover. The best thing about this book was the cover photo. I read this book slowly because I have very limited time for pleasure reading.

I was annoyed with the overuse of the words "nosh" and "kybosh" for one thing, which grabbed my attention in the first few chapters. I decided to keep reading it because I felt that I was hyper-analyzing the book due to the slow pace with which I was getting through it.

However, the other day, Persia took a three-h I have the soft cover, not the hard cover. However, the other day, Persia took a three-hour nap in my arms, and I nearly finished it.

This book is awful, just awful. The author, though a professional editor, really doesn't know how to write. I kept thinking she was rushing. She told more than showed and showed where it should have been told. I think she really wants the story to be a movie and if it is one, it will be one of those rare occurences where the movie is better than the book. I, personally, hate writing dialogue.

Evidently, so does this author. In some sections of the book, she writes like she's writing a script for a movie or a play. And it just smacks of bored writer. I wonder if she had an editor or if she works for the publishing company where this book was published. The book has too many undeveloped characters.

The main character is also very shallow. There are scenes that are so brief and unrelated to the story that I was left wondering what she was trying to do.

It's nearly like a long outline of a book that might be good when the author finally gets around to writing it. I found it amusing that the main character supposedly went to Harrisburg High. It was goofy how it was written, though. I'm betting the author is from Pennsylvania. There were a few parts in the story where I did feel inspired to knit and I liked that, but overall I hated the book.

Anybody want it? View all 3 comments. Apr 21, Dawn Michelle rated it really liked it Recommends it for: Anyone who loves a good story. Its a story if strength, perseverance sp , tenacity and most of all, love and how love touches and affects everything around you even when you aren't aware that it is.

Is is also the story of forgiveness and the love that can come when forgiveness happens. This is the story of Georgia Walker. And of her daughter Dakota. And the knitting shop she opened when she found herself single, pregnant and alone in a city she wasn't sure she wanted to stay in. And its the story of Anita, Georgia's "fairy godmother" who meets Georgia and helps her start her business and in doing that becomes her friend and the mother Georgia always wanted but didn't have.

And with Anita's help, Georgia opens her store, raises her daughter and makes new friends many that are VERY interesting characters while reluctantly [sp] re-connecting with old friends. And in the midst of everything is knitting and the love of that that binds them together.

In ways that they all would never imagine. At times light and funny and at times dark, thought-provoking and serious and at times SAD! It made me think and look at my own life and what I am doing and NOT doing with it!!! LOVED this book!!!! Aug 23, Ali rated it it was ok Shelves: I'm sorry, but that's all that it turned out to be. Just "Meh The first quarter of the book was not too bad and looked like the story was going to develop and get going.

But instead it went more and more downhill. Petty rivalry, boring, flat characters, nothing really exciting. I had to force myself to finish it. And "finish" is rather an exaggerated term. I flicked through the pages, trying Meh I flicked through the pages, trying to read, struggling with boredom and desire just to put this book away not to see it ever again: So, no, knitting is good as a hobby, but as a set up for a book, maybe not so much.

Not for this book, anyway. Feb 19, Lain rated it it was ok. If this weren't about knitting.. I probably wouldn't have picked this up. While the premise is entertaining, the executing left something to be desired. I found the characters to be shallow and not all that likeable, and the jumping between viewpoints to be distracting and choppy.

Maeve Binchy is a master of this art, so it can be done successfully. The overall effect was a tome that was ponderous and difficult to read. Georgia to be blunt gave me a pain with her stand-offishness, and I was no If this weren't about knitting.. Georgia to be blunt gave me a pain with her stand-offishness, and I was not at all clear as to why other women flocked around her and offered her their undying affection and admiration.

And the idea of James and Cat returning to her life within a matter of weeks was WAY too coincidental. My favorite characters were those who got the least playtime. Now that Georgia's gone, maybe we can see more of the rest of the group -- the more interesting members. Knit one, purl two. I have very fond memories of watching my mother knitting.

She spent hours and hours in her favorite chair knitting scarves, slippers, and sweaters for her family and others. I think I might, even though I never really got the hang of knitting. Single mom Georgia Knit one, purl two. Single mom Georgia Walker and her year-old daughter Dakota is the centerpiece of this warm yarn, but there are many other essential ingredients as well.

Dakota is a beautiful, confident bi-racial child who has never met her father. She and her mother have a very close relationship, and Dakota takes an active role in the life of the store. When customers begin hanging out to work on projects and asking questions about their knitting, the Friday night knitting club is born.

Dakota, who loves to bake, takes on the task of providing treats for the group every week. We slowly get to know them. We exchange small talk, stories, and complaints before we get a deeper understanding of who they are. But when Anita had questions and challenges of her own, Georgia was there for her too.

Talk about stormy weather! First, there is James. James is the father of Dakota, and Georgia has written him off for good. Well, no. Each person in this book is on a unique journey. Without the support of the others, it seems, the road would be lonely and rocky indeed. Yes, there is some knitting done on Friday nights. Lots of snacking too. But on Friday nights, and on days not called Friday, bonds have been forged.

When help is desperately needed, these women answer the call. The characters felt very real. Their fears, their loneliness, their desires, their caring for one another, their pain — all of it seem so human. I felt the bonds of friendship and love, the angst, the frustrations, the uncertainties. I laughed, I shed a few tears, and at the end, despite the sadness I felt, I knew that everyone was going to be okay.

May 15, Cornmaven added it Shelves: I don't know why I keep reading this book. Well, I think this is a sophomoric attempt to ride on the coattails of those great works. So many exclamation points! So much 6th grade sentence structure! The thing I don't know why I keep reading this book. The thing is not poetic at all, which it could have been.

It really could have been something good - the metaphor of knitting is a powerful one - isn't that why Dickens used it in Tale of Two Cities? But Jacobs just never measures up. I think I keep reading it because I actually paid money for it.

I just couldn't take the poor writing. I began to not care about the characters, so it was time to let go. And I am glad I did. Someone somewhere will love this book. It just wasn't me. Dec 23, Debbie rated it liked it. While I agree with Anna that this is not a great book, I did come away with two passages from the book that I really liked: Does this skill have validity for the moder While I agree with Anna that this is not a great book, I did come away with two passages from the book that I really liked: Does this skill have validity for the modern woman?

There is tremendous power when women hold on to, or reclaim, in the case of many young women today, the traditional skills of women who went before us. In the developed world, knitting is at once a reminder and a connection to the struggles of our collective past, when warm clothing was a necessity that could be made only by hand, and a joyous celebration of the ingenuity and creativity of our mothers and grandmothers.

Jan 01, JayeL rated it it was amazing Recommends it for: This book has an unexpected kind of Karmic wheel ending, but the whole books is well written and well spoken I listened to the audio version from Audible. It starts out in a way that, I think, most of find ourselves in at some point in life: In this case, our heroine's life does get better when she opens her heart and her life to other people: I like this setting, because of the camaraderie I feel with other knitters, quiltmakers, crochet-mavens, etc.

There is something special about a group of people who get together on a regular basis daily, weekly, monthly and make stuff. There is so much more to such a group that that simple statement. Craft groups share their lives, their trials and tribulations, successes and confidences. Craft groups become part of extended families. This book includes the evolution of such a group and how the various women change who belong - not necessarily solely because of the group, but I really enjoyed this book and it made me want to pick up knitting needles again.

I think everything I wrote in my review is still true. This time I focused my listening audio version again on the relationship between Georgia and Dakota. We only hear about it from Georgia's point of view, but we get a sense of the change coming as Dakota grows up and changes. I would like to see a book from Dakota's point of view. Perhaps this same book, but from her point of view? I also like the various mother-daughter relationships in the book. Georgia and Dakota, of course, but also Anita and Georgia.

We all need a kind of mother-mentor. I have the second and third installments ready to read as well. Feb 08, Abby rated it did not like it Shelves: I really, really wanted to like this book. However, I couldn't have cared less about the characters in this book. They were wooden and one-dimensional, either representing a stereotype or a carefully constructed personality set up against a stereotype, almost so the author could say "Look! I'm not being stereotypical! The sentence fragments and short thoughts kept me jolted and jarred.

This is a personal preferance of style more than anything. I wanted the prose to feel like the softest baby alpaca running through my fingers. Instead I got waste ends of boucle. Sep 20, Spider the Doof Warrior rated it did not like it Shelves: I'm reading this for book club. So far it's very, very girlly, but I kind of like it for some reason.

Things wrap up a bit too easily though. I kind of wish that was the case and it's making me want to knit. Later That's it. I'm so mad at books. But books! Not so much. I'm so through with adult books and young adult books. I hate chick l I'm reading this for book club. I hate chick lit. I hate all of the stupid chick lit cliches this writer used. It had be cussing in rage and frustration. It's like those stupid girl movies when just as the female lead finds love and contently BOOM.

She dies of cancer. I know it happens in reality, but this is just an irritating as heck plot point, is what it is. It's an irritating device designed to drive me out of my mind. That is it. I'm going to read children's books instead. View all 9 comments. Mar 30, Suzette rated it really liked it. I thoroughly enjoyed this book. I loved the little nuggets of wisdom throughout, the concept of creating things to bring completeness to life and relationships, the friendship, the sisterhood.

I need to go knit something now. Dec 13, Michele rated it did not like it. I decided to read this book because it combined knitting and New York; two of my favorite things but this was disappointing. This is not the type of book I usually read. I tend to stay away from both bestsellers and chick lit. But my Mom has taken up knitting again recently and when I saw this book at the library sale shelves I thought it might be fun to give it a go and then let Mom have it.

Besides, at fifty cents, the price was right! The front cover had a line that said the book was like Steel Magnolias only set in Manhattan. So I was prepared for someone to die and someone to be born and at least one quick-witted, This is not the type of book I usually read. So I was prepared for someone to die and someone to be born and at least one quick-witted, sassy woman in the bunch. That's basically what I found, but the book was not on the same level as Steel Magnolias.

I cared about all the characters there. Here I liked a few, but most of the ladies who gradually formed their knitting club and became somewhat reluctant friends did not seem real to me. The worst part was that I did not like or understand the main character. She never seemed to be as wonderful as other people thought she was. I mean that reading pages where she was in the center of the action, she seemed to be a ghost, sort of there but not alive.

Only when anyone else talked about her, she sounded like Super Woman. I kept asking myself what are these people seeing that I am not? Yes, she raised her daughter by herself.

Yes, she ran a fancy yarn shop. But did she live and breathe on the page? Was she interesting as a personality? No, not in my opinion. I simply never cared what happened to her. Steel Magnolias made me cry. This book did not. Enough said. Jan 03, Ann Marie rated it really liked it Recommends it for: Women, years old, Knitters.

The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs

My mother recommended this book so I picked it up at the airport on my way home from New Years. Since I'm trying to pick the hobby of knitting back up, I thought it was appropriate.

At first I wasn't a fan of the book, Jacob's writing initially choppy and unsophisticated, I almost put it down. Since I was stuck on a plane, I didn't, and I'm so glad. I quickly fell in love with the characters, suddenly they became my own little hodge-podge group of friends and I was jealous of their "Friday Night My mother recommended this book so I picked it up at the airport on my way home from New Years.

I quickly fell in love with the characters, suddenly they became my own little hodge-podge group of friends and I was jealous of their "Friday Night Knitting Club" ritual. This is an excellent portrait of women's courage, compassion, and friendship.

Emotional too, I'm not going to lie, I cried a little bit. If you don't knit, you'd wish you did. If you do, you wish you had a place to go like this.

An interesting portrayal of an assortment of women living in Manhattan and drawn together in various ways to a small, privately-owned yarn shop which seems to spontaneously spawn a Friday Night Knitting Club. Every character is unconventional. One wonders The language and situations leave something to be desired. Also, whereas previous generations of women ran into each other at the well, An interesting portrayal of an assortment of women living in Manhattan and drawn together in various ways to a small, privately-owned yarn shop which seems to spontaneously spawn a Friday Night Knitting Club.

Times change. The description of her mourning her beloved spouse, Stan, dead ten years had me in tears and reaching over to touch my own dear husband. Another particularly moving scene was when Georgia's mother unexpectedly came to visit her in the hospital; they had a long history of a strained and difficult relationship which it took Georgia a long time to realise she had partially caused.

Other parts of the book which dealt with more dramatic situations, however, failed to move me in the same way. Although life and death issues were an undercurrent of the book, God was most frequently a word of exclamation and not a person, force nor meaningful part of any of the character's lives.

I suppose this may be true for groups of women in New York and elsewhere who come together, love and support each other in true altruism and goodness, but I have trouble believing it. Clever "knitting" together of crafting techniques with relationship themes. Sep 20, Kelly rated it it was ok.

SO prosaic and cliche. Fome, fome, fome. O mala samaritana, si era como yo, jeje. Eran todas las cosas obv Fome, fome, fome. Eran todas las cosas obvias del mundo reunidas. Dec 22, Paige rated it it was amazing. I really enjoyed this one. Even got a little teary at the end.

There is one sequence in Scotland I felt dragged but overall an entertaining read. Jul 15, Kimberly rated it did not like it. I remember why I never read chick lit: Nov 22, Rachel rated it it was ok. Everything about it just seemed so amatuerish - the symbolism, the knitting metaphor, the foreshadowing, the corny, heavy-handed life lessons from wise older women, etc.

And, as several people on this site pointed out, there were so many events in the book that were not "Now that I learned about this foreshadowing thing, I'm going to use it in all my stories! Amazing, truly, to know that one woman—her mother, who always seemed just so regular and everyday with her reminders to zip up jackets and sleep tight—had the grace of spirit to inspire such devotion. Still, changes were coming all over, it seemed. Since leaving the V hotel chain, James's focus had been on his own architectural firm.

Unfortunately, business wasn't exactly booming. The knit shop was also facing smaller revenues this quarter. Dakota didn't see the adventure in uncertainty.

Knitting the club.pdf night friday

Too much change, she knew, could come to bad ends. She eyed the clock, assessing the tidying she still needed to complete in the apartment. Dakota knew Peri was downstairs in the shop, finishing up the day's sales and awaiting the arrival of the club for their regular get-together. Those same women who were now Dakota's very own friends and mentors. The big sisters and, on some days, the surrogate mothers who were around whenever she needed to talk.

The group would be gathering in the shop in a few hours to knit a little and talk a lot, catching up on one another's lives and prepping for the upcoming holidays. To be fair, Peri had warned her, when the two of them struck their deal last week as they went over the bookkeeping for the week, that she had nothing in the kitchen. Absolutely nothing.

Dakota was accustomed to that style of New York living, had other friends whose refrigerators held only milk and bottled water, a selection of cereal at the ready for every possible meal or snack. She had shopped for staples today, even salt and pepper, knowing full well to expect very little. The turkey and produce would come Wednesday, when she planned to make all the dishes and leave them for day-of reheating. Tonight her goal was merely to organize the space and stock the shelves.

Although these shelves were already overstocked with surplus inventory from the knit shop. Gingerly, Dakota stepped over the yarn and away from the green canvas totes covering the tiny strip of countertop between fridge and stove, their long handles flopped over every which way, as the onions and spices and celery threatened to spill right out of the bags with just a nudge in any direction. She glared at the groceries, hoping the power of her stare would keep them still, as she figured out where to unload the yarn.

She listened for movement, in case the bags began to topple, as she pulled the door to the fridge just enough for the light to come on inside. Mercifully, it was empty—not a yarn ball in sight—and held only a dozen bottles of handcrafted root beer and a door filled with nail polish.

Hastily, Dakota shoved most of the groceries into the fridge, even the five-pound bag of organic sugar. But the relief at crossing something off her mental to-do list passed quickly. The truth was, her mind was bursting. There was just too much swirling around her. The past year had been the busiest of her life. Convincing everyone she was all grown-up led to a hard-won realization: She had to act like an adult. She had to handle new responsibilities. And it was a lot.

Life, just the day-today, was a lot. She worried. Her mother had been a worrier as well. Everyone said so. But she'd been a smiler, too, witty and generous and seemingly able to make things fit together. Right now Dakota spread her worries around, allowing time for concerns large and small.

She worried about finding time to make two turkey dinners in the next week, mastering a perfect chocolate truffle cake before Monday's class, reading Catherine's latest installment in her mea-culpa novel about two former best friends who reconnect, and finishing the tidying of her room so her grandparents, Joe and Lillian Foster, would be comfortable staying at her father's apartment during Thanksgiving next week.

That had been a task put off for too long, and Dakota spent several weekends earlier in November pulling boxes from her closet and underneath her bed, chuckling over sixth-grade book reports and old report cards and printouts of endless photos from the summer in Italy, waiting for frames or albums. She'd also spent a quiet, lonely day sifting through some of the odds and ends that had belonged to Georgia.

Admiring the pencil drawings that accompanied the original pattern designs for the hand-knit suits and tunics and dresses her mother had outlined in a binder, the simpler sweaters destined for the charity pattern book she'd been assembling with Anita. And she read again the notes on knitting that her mother had kept in a small red journal that was passed on to Dakota after her death.

It was soothing to see Georgia's handwriting again, to imagine her mother curled up in a chair and scribbling. That comforted her, somehow.

The proof of being on her mother's mind. To confirm what she already knew. Dakota had taken to carrying that red journal with her, tucked in the bottom of her knitting bag—an original by Peri—along with an oversized unfinished camel-and-pastel-turquoise striped sweater she'd found.

She'd kept all of her mother's UFOs, all the fun projects her mother never had a second to complete because she was too busy knitting her commissioned pieces, and just tucked them away for a later time.

Every fall, Georgia's habit was to choose one of those on-the-go creations and finish it by the end of the year. A little gift of satisfaction to herself. That particular sweater was Georgia's UFO of choice the fall that she died, Dakota recalled vaguely, and Anita had bundled together all the knitting that hadn't been completed and placed it safely away. Too painful to look at, too precious to throw away: The unfinished objects had simply lain in wait until Dakota was ready.

This she knew. It struck her, as she was sorting and organizing, just how close she was getting to the age her mother was when she had arrived in New York. During the great cleanup, she uncovered an old Polaroid that was fading and loose at the bottom of a box, of Georgia standing at the top of the Empire State Building, a knitted cap pulled down low on her unruly corkscrew curls and her mittened hands resting on her pink cheeks as she affected a look of surprise.

She wondered if her father had been the photographer, if the two of them enjoyed their bird's-eye view of the skyscrapers all around. Dakota liked how the snap captured Georgia's goofy side, and she liked this concrete evidence that she had her mother's wide eyes, proof that the two of them were the same, just with different shades of skin. She tucked the photo into the red journal after scanning it onto her laptop, to the folder that held her story, with its images of Gran and the shop, and a picture of Ginger and Dakota standing in front of the Roman Forum.

She felt guilty that she hadn't spent as much time with Lucie Brennan's daughter, Ginger, since she started culinary school, and that she'd broken four lunch dates with KC Silverman in as many weeks. She had planned to finish a pair of matching fisherman's sweaters for Darwin Chiu's twins, Cady and Stanton, when they turned one; of course, they were already over eighteen months and the sweaters were now too small.

She'd have to save them for a decade until someone else she knew had a baby. Not to mention that she fretted whether Anita and Marty Popper would finally say "I do" at the wedding they rescheduled for New Year's Day instead of submitting to yet another manufactured delay caused by Anita's son Nathan Lowenstein.

How many almost heart attacks could one very fit fiftysomething man invent, she wondered? And when would Anita stop getting suckered? And as much as she wanted the wedding to be a go, she felt surprisingly nervous about seeing her friend Roberto Toscano since their summer romance in Italy more than a year ago. His grandmother, Sarah, was Anita's sister, and he was definitely coming to the wedding with his entire family: He'd already e-mailed to plan some time together, in fact.

She felt awkward about seeing him again. About the we-almost-did-but-didn't-so-have-you-done-it-with-someone-else-ness of things. Plus she suspected—half hoping and half dreading—that her father was getting serious with a new, not-yet-introduced-to-Dakota secret lady friend. Not that she spent too much energy reflecting on that aspect of his life, and not that she relished the idea of having to share his affections.

But she knew enough to recognize that—like Anita—her dad deserved another shot at love.

The holidays, it seemed, were all about celebrating love. Dakota wasn't sure how she felt about that emotion these days. And all her worries came back to the immediate moment in this kitchen, because Dakota was responsible for prepping a turkey dinner that Peri could use to impress her boyfriend's parents.

It was her part of the bargain. In exchange, Peri would watch the shop during the week of Christmas so Dakota could do the thing she was truly looking forward to: Sure, she'd miss out on a holiday dinner or two, but she was confident her dad would actually be relieved not to have to truck out to Pennsylvania as they did every year and eat a quiet holiday meal.

Although her mother's younger brother, Uncle Donny, was congenial enough, her mother's parents were not big talkers. They were pleasant but taciturn.

And her mother's absence at the holiday meal was palpable. Christmas had been a challenging holiday for everyone to get through since Georgia died.

So Dakota was quite delighted by her own initiative, having set up the internship on her own, even though it wasn't required at school. But she wanted to squeeze out every opportunity she could in order to reach success. She could hardly wait to tell her father about the internship, her gift to him this low-maintenance Christmas. She was even going to cook extra at Thanksgiving and freeze him a perfect holiday plate, with a generous helping of cranberry and mashed potatoes, an option if he chose not to go either to Pennsylvania or to see his parents on December Dakota would, of course, delightedly be at the chef's beck and call in the V kitchen.

Truly, she reflected with pride, she'd thought of everything. Dakota stretched her arms, tired from carrying the groceries up the stairs, and then reused the tote bags to gather up the yarn, careful to sort by manufacturer. She scrubbed the counters and cupboards with a mix of warm water and white vinegar, and started a list of what else she might need for Peri's "home-cooked" Thanksgiving. Dishes, she thought, peeking back into the now-empty cupboard, hearing anew the same old creak she heard whenever her mom had rummaged around to find supper for the two of them.

Dakota opened and shut the door several times in a row, mesmerized by the sound, before picking up her backpack and her handbag and readying to pop down one flight of stairs to the yarn shop. Did she half expect to see something else? Her younger self, her mother somewhere behind her? Dakota's body tingled whenever she entered the old apartment that had been her home until she was a teen, feeling the past and present rub against each other.

She saw more in her mind's eye than her mother lying tired on the sofa, than the moving men carrying her bed and boxes to her father's apartment after Georgia's death.

Instead, she heard in the creaky old cupboard the sound of her mother, needles click-clacking as she knitted in the living room, pretending not to hear Dakota sneaking cookies.

Or the two of them, exhausted after a tickle-and-laugh session, rolling in to grab snacks and watch TV movies, lying together under an old afghan Dakota's great-grandmother had sent in the mail from Scotland.

Or surprising Dakota with a bowl of popcorn to turn into a garland as the pair set about decorating a very small Christmas tree with multicolored strands of leftover yarn. She heard all these things in the screech and whine of the old cupboard.

The noise was loud, insistent. But then such is the sound of memory.

The Friday Night Knitting Club

Obligingly, Anita moved in a slow circle, her arms held out. She modeled the latest incarnation of her hand-knit wedding coat, an ankle-length ivory affair with a shawl collar that was as fine as lace. The third version?

You hear me? Anita cracked a tiny smile. Instead, she took Catherine on a shopping expedition for a new dress and meticulously pulled out the stitches of the coat to start again with an updated pattern.

Her sister, Sarah, who was doing part of the knitting, had gone along with the changes the first time. But this new coat was simpler and all of her own making. After all, Catherine had pushed her toward a dress that was dramatically more sparkly, and her coat— which she wanted for modesty and simply to express a bit of personal style—had a certain clean elegance to the drape of the open-closure front. No bulk. Just light, beautiful stitches. She closed the door of the shop behind her, subtly catching Peri's attention and letting her know with a raise of her eyebrow what she thought of the kitchen upstairs.

Peri motioned toward the shop she had sweetly decorated for the holidays, with baskets and cornucopias of yarn on the table and at the register. Skein after skein—in harvest colors of amber and chocolate and rust—were threaded on strong cord to make garlands that swooped across the tops of the windows facing onto Broadway. Soon enough, Peri would replace the skeins with deep blue and brightest white, and then rich red and dark evergreen, the decor as lively and bright and interfaith as the members of the club itself.

As many Fridays as they could manage, this group of seven women pulled up chairs at the heavy oak table in the center of the room, a loan of furniture from Catherine's upstate antiques shop.

The post-flood, pre-reno transitional knitting store was all about simplicity—wire shelves that were easy to put together and move around, a small desk also from Catherine for the cash register, and painted taupe walls to warm up the place. The business was lucky to have a loyal clientele, and the club responded by offering more classes during the week.

Anita taught some days, and even Lucie offered to teach in the spring. But Friday night remained sacred, and the shop was open only by invitation to the women who had banded around the late Georgia Walker, the shop's original owner.

It was the place where each one of the women knew it was safe to share struggles and dreams. There were always questions; they tried to avoid judgments. After all, they'd all made mistakes. And, of course, there was always time to knit.

Especially with the holidays closing in, having a time-out for a little creativity and relaxation was a necessity. Dakota tugged her new—old—find from her knitting bag and onto the table. It was not her usual type of project, and she paused to see if anyone would pay attention, or comment that she'd somehow managed to finish half a sweater since the week before.

She brought the yarn near her face. It made her feel as though she was doing important business, a private task she was finally mature enough to complete. A remnant from the s, no doubt. From a sale bin. I just found it again, and I've done several rows. There's not enough yarn left, though. I'll need to try and locate a match, guess the manufacturer. Silver hair framed her face, and her bangs stopped just above her eyes, which were narrowed with concern.

That very fall. I can handle it. Anita nodded, relief flooding her face. Your mother used to knit this at the office. Dakota well knew that KC worked at the publishing house where Georgia had started her career, that Georgia had initially turned to KC as a mentor, and that the two had remained friends after Georgia left her job, became a mother, and transitioned to her career as a knitting mompreneur.

Dakota remembered all these facts and yet was shocked that KC could find a connection to the piece.

Club.pdf knitting the night friday

To get an inkling that the sweater was a UFO from before Dakota was born. Why would her mother pick it up again the summer before she died? Blah, blah, blah. Your father? Dakota instinctively dropped the sweater as though singed. Even though she loved her dad. Lived with him part-time. Even still. This sweater was from. Before he left her mom pregnant and alone, before he came back and was forgiven, reunited with his family. She wasn't so sure that she wanted to finish it anymore.

There was much more history in these stitches than Dakota had anticipated. She hit the speakerphone function on her cell phone and winked at Dakota. Once, what seemed like not too long ago, it had been up to tweenage Dakota to call the evening to order. Now Georgia's daughter was a gorgeous woman of twenty, and Lucie's spirited seven-year-old daughter, Ginger, stayed up a little bit late to do the honors via telephone. The sounds of Velcro could be heard.

I have my pencils out. She cleared her throat dramatically. Dakota Walker? From her earliest days, she'd been at home in Walker and Daughter, her namesake shop.

The long evenings spent hanging out, learning to knit or doing her homework, while her mother totaled up the day's sales. Georgia had been a single mother focused solely on her daughter and her business, until she finally connected with the women who now sat around the table. Since her death, they formed a tight unit around Dakota, overseeing her through her challenges with her father, James, her summer looking after Ginger while Lucie worked in Italy, her two years at NYU, and her recent switch to pursue her passion for baking at pastry school.

Although she still had trouble with her own three sons, who couldn't bear the idea of their widowed mother marrying again, she made no secret of her maternal feelings for Georgia and, therefore, for Dakota.

Her recent reunion with her estranged younger sister, Sarah, had renewed her energy. Combined with her invigorating romance with Marty, who owned the building and ran the deli below the shop, Anita was more content than she'd been since the loss of her surrogate daughter Georgia. Say hello! She liked Lucie's daughter, had offered to babysit now and again in preparation for her upcoming visit with her friend Marco, who was bringing along his grown son, Roberto, and his twelve-year-old daughter, Allegra.

In her forties and still learning to be happily single after a tumultuous divorce years before, Catherine often fell into relationships that didn't quite satisfy emotionally—including a secretive heady fling last year with Anita's almost-but-not-quite-separated son Nathan who promptly returned to his wife post-consummation, naturally.

The Friday Night Knitting Club

These days, she focused primarily on her antiques shop and wine bar business in Cold Spring, while also making herself indispensable as Anita's ersatz wedding planner. Late at night, she tapped out pages of a novel loosely based on her teenage years in rural Pennsylvania, when she and her best friend, Georgia Walker, had worked part-time gigs at the Dairy Queen. I'm copying from last week's," Ginger explained. Plus, she devoted herself to the creation of a line of knitted purses, backpacks, and messenger bags, which, thanks to an Italian Vogue photo shoot, had transformed her business from a homegrown concern within the last year into a phenomenon.

Peri Pocketbook, the company, was enormously popular—though Peri had trouble keeping up with demand. And Peri Pocketbook, the person, was still taking baby steps as she remembered to leave time for a personal life; her yearlong online-dating experiment had yielded many dates and one very witty lawyer who might really have potential.

Who knows what could happen if she managed to pull off this Thanksgiving-dinner thing? Which was why she'd let Dakota into the kitchen in the first place!

And even though her best friend KC would be no help in the cooking department, she was relieved that she wouldn't have to face her boyfriend's parents on her own. KC, a petite fiftysomething, had turned an unexpected layoff in her past into a successful exploration of a second act. While Peri gave up the idea of a law career for herself, she tutored KC, and the two women become close pals as KC completed law school in her late forties and, ultimately, ended up working back at the same publishing company where she'd once been an editor.

She'd tried marriage—twice, in fact—but announced loudly and regularly that she just wasn't the committed kind.