Surely Christmas can’t be ruined by an owl.
My second time in the ER, for the kick-in-the-back pain, I had my first encounter with IV painkillers. That’s when the owls started to bite. Small, baby owls, politely biting me under the covers. Ian thought that was funny, but I thought it was hilarious. I still wake up some nights here at home from unexplained prickly pains (very mild) in my legs and I think of the baby owls.
I am so thrilled that Janelle Schlossman has allowed me to express my whole gall bladder experience thusfar through knitting. Until I learn to knit melancholy pears, anyway, I have this owl dishcloth. Not everyone knows about my slight hallucinations, however, everyone will be receiving an owl this year in addition to whatever magical item also fits at that intersection of my skill level and budget and their taste. Since everyone’s getting one, I figured a few pictures couldn’t hurt. The new laptop leaves me without the ability to edit my photos to my taste, but gives the added efficiency of lighteningly speedy uploads. So quantity, not quality is what we’re about.
Red may seem an odd choice for kitcheny things, but our living room/kitchen is red and blue and orange and I have four skeins of Lion Cotton in cherry. Enough for several of these, and hopefully, a bucket hat, to tide me over until Smiley’s next sale, when I can diversify my cotton stash.
