“The Knitting Circle”  is about Mary, who loses her 5-year-old daughter Stella suddenly to meningitis. Crippled by grief, she is encouraged by her mother to take up knitting, as a way of healing, and she joins a knitting circle to get help in learning how to knit. The other women in the circle each have lived through similar, possibly worse, tragedies, and one-by-one, they share their stories with Mary.

The book is a little formulaic, weaving Mary’s the other women’s stories with Mary’s unrelenting sadness (her husband leaves her, she does not get along with her mother) and her day-to-day efforts to write restaurant and book reviews for the local alternative newspaper (the editor of which is unbelievably patient). Ultimately, the knitting, or the friendship that knitting brings her, is  healing.

What makes the book compelling is that it is largely autobiographical. Ann Hood’s own  five-year-old daughter Grace died of a virulent form of strep, just as suddenly as Stella did, and Hood was unable to read and write (what might have been a source of comfort) for months. When she finally found her voice, she began to write about Grace. She decided to change the story, she said last Thursday at Highfield Hall, by adding some “what-ifs.” What if the child who died was an only child (Hood also had an 8-year old son), what if she was new to town and had no friends, and what if the husband left (Hood’s husband did not). She thought about the many dimensions of grief: guilt, bitterness, hope, love, and gave each of the women in the knitting circle represent one of these qualities.

Hood did learn to knit, as therapy, when she was unable to read or write, and she joined not one, but nine knitting circles. Both Hood and the fictional Mary live in Providence, Rhode Island, and they are both writers.

The dramatic difference between Hood and Mary, one which I was not expecting, is that Hood is hilariously funny and a very engaging speaker, who has clearly found a way to cope with her daughter’s death, whether through knitting, through writing, or through friends. She kept the packed house at Highfield Hall laughing. I asked her after the talk if her humor played a role in her recovery. She said with friends who knew her sense of humor, it was, indeed, helpful.

Hood was not naturally drawn to knitting, having grown up in a home where her grandmother “crotcheted clothes for the toilet paper.” She struggled with home economics, causing her teacher to say, “You may be getting an A in English, but you are not getting an A in home ec. And we’ll just see which one serves you better in the future!”

English was her first love. She grew up in Warwick, Rhode Island, and remembers reading “Little Women,” the first book she had ever read in which a character dies, in second grade. She was so engrossed in the story that she neglected to stand for the morning pledge of allegiance. When she explained why–”Beth died!”–her teacher, impressed that a second grader was reading “Little Women,” gave her permission to read during morning exercises.

Her efforts were frustrated by the fact that the local library allowed children to take out only one book a week. Hood would finish hers on the first day. So, she started writing her own stories, based on her own life.

Her cantankerous grandmother had 10 children and 21 grandchildren and would bless the children “in the order in which she loved them.” Hood came in around 18, and “the last three grandchildren were in jail.” So one of her early stories was bout a little girl who came home from school and found that her grandmother had vanished.

Hood said she read “to escape to places where a little girl from Warwick could not go,” and she wrote “to figure out the world in which she lived.”

“We all have loss and grief in our lives,” she said, “and words have always gotten me through.” They failed though, when Grace died, when “the insult of the sun coming up the next morning” left her bereft. It was a friend who had also lost a child and found healing in knitting who encouraged her to give knitting a try. She found that it was the first time since the death of her daughter that she was able to get through two hours without sobbing. Slowly, her concentration came back, and her ability to write.

She wrote the book, she said, “to give voice to that confusing, glorious mess that grief is, and to give voice for all of us.”

Two years after Stella’s death, Hood and her husband adopted a baby girl from China, who is now five years old. Hood’s next novel, due for publication on Mother’s Day 2010, is about six women adopting children from China, and the six birth mothers relinquishing those children.

The event was sponsored by the Gosnold addiction treatment and recovery center, and featured, in addition to Hood, women from Emerson House, who have  found strength to fight their addictions through knitting. They each told tales of the “knitting ladies” who visit Emerson. Their stories were true, and inspiring.

Nicole said the rhythm and repetition of knitting makes her happy, and creating knitted items gives her a feeling of accomplishment. Joyce said her first scarf was a tangled, messy triangle, but she persevered, and loves knitting. Jackie said Emerson House saved her life, and knitting and crocheting have been very therapeutic for her. All thanked the knitting ladies for their gifts of time and yarn.

Last Sunday, Winkler appeared as the celebrity conductor for the Boston Pop’s Pops by the Sea concert in Hyannis. He conducted John Philip Sousa’s “Washington Post March” at the sold-out concert; 15,000 people attended.

Henry Winker poses with the band Tripping Lily. Monica Rizzio presented Winkler with a copy of the band’s latest CD. Tripping Lily performed on Sunday as part of the pre-concert activities. Also performing were the Turner Avenue Quartet from Falmouth. David McTiernan, who plays with the quartet, also played piano during the VIP reception.

I met Henry Winkler at the VIP Reception and Benefit Auction for the Pops on the Saturday evening before the concert. He was friendly and funny, and he seemed genuinely interested in talking to people and patiently posing for one photo after another, even though he barely had a taste of his clam chowder or any of the many other exotic and exquisite hors d’oeuvres offered under the tent on the main stage, as the rain poured down all around us.

I had bought one of his books that afternoon, at Eight Cousins bookstore in Falmouth. I picked The Curtain Went Up, My Pants Fell Down because it was about Hank’s experiences in the school play. Hank’s grades are bad (Henry was in the bottom 3 % of his class, academically), and his father does not want him to waste time in the school play, “Anna and the King of Siam,” when he should be studying. He makes a deal with his dad that he can be in the play if he gets at B+ on his next math test. With the help of a smart fellow student, a girl he has previously disliked, as his peer tutor, Hank manages to get a B on the test. A B is an outstanding grade for Hank, who is more familiar with Ds, but his stern father forces him to withdraw from the play, even though he has the lead role.

I told Henry that I was reading the book and he seemed so genuinely pleased. We talked about the stories, which were based on his own experiences, and he told me that many of the people in the books were based on real characters in his life, and that his father really was that strict.

Starstruck, I forgot that I actually had the book with me until a few minutes later. I wondered whether I should bother him for an autograph (no one else seemed to have any of the books or be asking for an autograph). Encouraged by a friend, I approached him again with the book, and he seemed delighted to sign it, putting his chowder aside once again. Obviously, these books are very important to him, representing a victory over his own dyslexia and giving hope to kids with learning problems.

Winkler turned down initial requests that he write children’s books. He never wanted to be a writer; writing was just too difficult, and it remains challenging for him. Dyslexia never goes away; you just find ways of coping. One of Winkler’s ways of coping was by writing the series with a partner, Lin Oliver, who did the physical writing, while Winkler told stories about his life.

Later, during the auction, Winkler read from one of his books and his enthusiasm was infectious, his reading dynamic and expressive; his whole heart was in it. In the selection, Hank was struggling with spelling. Asked why he was hitting himself on the head, he said, “I think that the words are holding onto my brain. I am trying to knock them into my mouth.”

The passage was funny and insightful. Having read one of the books, I would highly recommend them, and not only for kids with learning disabilities, but for anyone who enjoys humorous books about growing up and coping with daily life. All sorts of kids and adults populate these books: brainy kids, bullies, good pals, rigid teachers, understanding teachers, and strict parents. Winkler told us his parents used to call him “stupid.” How wrong they were.

Winkler helped during the auction too, taking over from the professional auctioneer when his-and-hers Harley Motorcycle jackets came up for bid. Knowing that the VIPs weren’t exactly the leather motorcycle jacket-wearing type, Winkler, whose own leather jacket from his Fonz days now resides at the Smithsonian, beguiled and cajoled the audience, pushing the bids up by offering to autograph the jackets, until they finally sold for $1,700.

His big contribution came a little later when he auctioned off a set of autographed Hank Zipzer books and the opportunity to have a character in a future Zipzer book named after the winner. Bidding opened at $500, offered by Monica Rizzio of the band Tripping Lily, who wanted the character to be named Tripping Lily. It quickly rose, as Winkler charmed and coaxed the bidders, asking their names so he could personally them to bid higher, and keeping the audience laughing. Bidding finally closed at $5,000, just as one of the other bidders was prepared to go higher. Winkler resolved the problem by offering two identical prizes, bringing in a total of $10,000.

Another of the big auctions of the evening was a hand-made Nantucket basket, which sold for $2,600. Even the auctioneer was surprised at how high the bidding was going, saying at one point, “This is a lot of money for something that will sit by the toilet and hold Sports Illustrated.” He later suggested it should go in the guest room, asking, “What the hell is in this basket?” When the bidding finally ended, the auctioneer announced that the basket-maker, who was at the auction, would make a second basket to that the two highest bidders could both receive a basket. “You should have mentioned that earlier!” said one of the winners.

The big item of the evening, the Pops by the Sea painting, “Sea Notes,” by John Friedman, was auctioned off for $13,000, and two signed lithographs went for $500 each. The painting is a beach scene, showing eighth notes floating among the clouds.

Other items included four box seats at the Red Sox-Toronto Blue Jays game on August 17 for $1100, tickets to the Tony Bennett concert at the Melody Tent for $900, a lithography of Edward Kennedy’s boat Mya, to be signed by Senator Kennedy himself, for $2,300.

All told, the auction brought in $42,800 (by my calculations, which do not include numerous $100 contributions) for the Arts Foundation of Cape Cod. The audience had been advised to “bid with reckless abandon; this is not about saving a few dollars, this is about philanthropy.” The bidders had the right spirit. And a good time was had by all.

At the end of the auction, the Arts Foundation thanked the 507 volunteers involved in the Pops by the Sea, and Maestro Winkler was presented with his own conductor’s baton for the next day’s performance. He expressed his thanks, saying “I figure a chicken could conduct them.”

Perhaps, but we would all much rather have Henry Winkler do it.

Rising Star: David McTiernan provided piano music during the reception. He is shown here with his parents Judy and Paul McTiernan. David attends New York University; the family lives in Falmouth.