From the skies above, from the mouths of lambs, from the cocoons of silk worms, from the air all around, thunders this into my ears:
"What is this I see before mine eyes? What folly, what fickle heart? Wherefore, O Katherine, wherefore thy base abandonment of the fiberart of the gods, lo, verily, even knitting?"
And my heart replies:
"I beg your forgiveness and your mercy, O Great Goddess of Knitting, thou muse of needle and skein; do not curse me for my wandering heart. I toil on but a small quilt--it will only cover part of my nakedness in the eyes of womankind, and still will I need the grace and favor of the knitted sweater, sock, hat and scarf (though never, no never, a knitted bikini, else shall mine eyes be plucked from my head by the craftharpies). Do not desert me, for lo, my heart remains true unto thee, O Knitterly One! Do I not knit, at a minimum, three rows on the Endless Blanket of Baby every night before I retire? Do I not still travel with a faithful sock in my purse, lest I be caught in a long line at the Post Office with nothing to do? Goddess of Knitting, hear me now. You shall remain the first, and the foremost, of my desires. Ever shall I seek your favor, even until I am hobbled by old age and decrepitude and in my senility knit acrylic afghans with hearts* on them and toiletpaper cozies that look like dolls wearing hoop skirts. This quilt is but a dalliance. I am still married, O Goddess, to thee. (Besides, my sewing machine kind of sucks and is SO touchy--who knows if it will be working tomorrow? And the quilt store DOES sell yarn too.)"
*Props to Aima--firm instructions to assasinate the other if ever either of us decends so low.
6 comments:
*lol* We should all pledge this :)
Okay, that made me laugh.
I hope she accepts your pleading and you are not cursed. Quilts can be cool too though. I guess.
You are just *SO* crafty, Lady K! :)
Verily, let it be said, let it be known, unto these all the children of the True God of the Knit: I am the the first and came before all the others, the small ones, the pretenders, the false gods. Yet, you may worsip at other altars, but you, the True Children will remember and return unto me always at the End--of the skein, of the day, of your wits, of your tether....
Another in the continual parade of things I find so interesting about you.
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