It’s April, and we’re having one hell of a thunderstorm outside. Odd.

Even odder is the deja vu. I’m sitting on the sofa knitting a blanket as a gift for some friends. (The blanket, by the way, is responsible for the lack of comic tomorrow. I’m trying to finish the blanket before they finish the baby.)

I don’t have a visual memory stored of my grandmother knitting, but we lived with her until I was 11, so I’m sure I saw her do so at some point. She’s the reason I wanted to learn to knit. Somehow I feel closer to her when I’m working with my hands. And she was an avid storm watcher, sitting on the porch watching the lightening and listening to the thunder.

So I’m sitting on the sofa watching the storm through our sliding doors, knitting, and thinking of her. I feel like I’ve been here before – or maybe it’s just that I feel like I’ve come home.