So when my boss brought in a number of Jean Greenhowe books, is it any surprise that I was fascinated by them? It ought to surprise no one that I am tickled pink by these. I mean just have a look. The Christmas special? How does one resist the breakfast special?
There is this. Seriously, how could any sane knitter, knowing full well that Christmas is coming up, with a passel of grown-up sons, who don't need more hats or mittens not just fall for the little cave men (scroll to the bottom)? In a band?
I knit all the sensible things. I knit dishcloths and pot holders and socks. I knit mitts and hats and scarves. I'm knit some lovely lace and I am just starting to really get into sweaters, but sometimes, somewhere in the world there just has to be a little foolishness, a little whimsy. (Heaven knows, we don't find it on the news.) If whimsy comes off my knitting needles, so much the better.
This be foolishness perhaps, but life needs just a little foolishness. That at least is as true at 51, as it is as 51 and a half.