so you go grocery shopping, & for the first time in a year, you remember to take your cloth bags. so you get a haircut, a trim. & so you buy two skeins of yarn, hooks & needles, & three books: knitting made easy, crocheting made easy, & crochet flowers for every wear, plus a basket to put all of it in. yes, you spend an afternoon learning to cast on & knit stitch, until the cat clawing at your yarn & into your leg becomes too much, & then you play, the stick trailing a shoestring like a ribbon wand in your hand. you dance, kick out your feet, shimmy & sashay. well, no–maybe you don’t. but you move. you are moving, & you relax your shoulders & feel the tension slide right out, & you dance. yes, you are well on your way–maybe–to becoming the twenty-four-year-old turned eighty, turned away from the world, cloistered in a stuffy apartment with two cats & many balls of yarn. but as you knit stitch & coax your cats into leaping after strings into the air, you are in it. you are moving.