It’s December 1st and the pressure is on. I’m not talking about my recent book deal and impending deadlines, or my annual stupid caroling party and its attendant insanity, or the pressure of buying things for people who don’t need anything.  No, two people less than a year old will have me working my fingers to the bone this month.  Max and Ruby need their Christmas stockings pronto, and I need to knit them NOW. http://www.amazon.com/Max-Rubys-Christmas-Tree-Ruby/dp/0448446855/ref=sr_1_13?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1259675962&sr=1-13

My pals Max and Ruby aren’t bunnies, but I bet they are as cute as Rosemary Wells’ sibling characters. In real life they are cousins to each other, born a few months apart, just kissin’ cousins to me, but trust me when I say this, in my family, that’s close enough. Though I haven’t met them yet, I do groove on the fact that once I’ve knitted their Christmas stockings, Max and Ruby are stuck with me. Every December for the rest of their lives they will be forced to think of me–not exactly the founder of the feast, but the knitter of the sock. And they might even think I’m sweet, thoughtful, and kind, no matter what their parents and grandparents (who know me much better)  say to the contrary.  Knitting speaks louder than words, thank goodness.

Here’s a link to the first thing the Christian Science Monitor published of mine,  http://www.csmonitor.com/2001/0921/p22s1-hfes.html

badly edited, I must say, that underscores the point that not all who knit are nice. We’re all nuts though, especially at this time of year. If only I could type and knit at the same time.

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