—Karen Alfke, "Unpattern" designer and knitting instructor

LYDIA HOFFMAN

The first time I saw the empty store on Blossom Street I thought of my father. It reminded me so much of the bicycle shop he had when I was a kid. Even the large display windows, shaded by a colorful striped awning, were the same. Outside my dad's shop, there were flower boxes full of red blossoms—impatiens—that spilled over beneath the large windows. That was Mom's contribution: impatiens in the spring and summer, chrysanthemums in the fall and shiny green mistletoe at Christmas. I plan to have flowers, too.

Dad's business grew steadily and he moved into increasingly larger premises, but I always loved his first store best.

I must have astounded the rental agent who was showing me the property. She'd barely unlocked the front door when I announced, "I'll take it."

She turned to face me, her expression blank as if she wasn't sure she'd heard me correctly. "Wouldn't you like to see the place? You do realize there's a small apartment above the shop that comes with it, don't you?"

"Yes, you mentioned that earlier." The apartment worked perfectly for me. My cat, Whiskers, and I were in need of a home.

"You would like to see the place before you sign the papers, wouldn't you?" she persisted.

I smiled and nodded. But it wasn't really necessary; instinctively I knew this was the ideal location for my yarn shop. And for me.

The one drawback was that this Seattle neighborhood was undergoing extensive renovations and, because of the construction mess, Blossom Street was cl