Shameless bragging, that's what this is.
(It's a bit blurry because I'm trying not to drop my needles... I didn't.)
On Sunday, I told Mom that I needed a big knitting project: big. Something to sink my needles into. Who's running from her book? Not me.
And so this afghan was born. It's a gift for some friends of ours--we kept them company at the hospital on Wednesday, as their son had a long surgery. (He's doing well.)
Isn't it comforting to watch someone knit? Probably not if she's me, and has this feverish gleam in her eyes. Are you giving yourself carpal tunnel syndrome? they asked. Let's hope not.
So, Sunday night we grabbed the yarn for it, and I've knitted fiendishly since then. I'm about halfway done, and for an afghan (and for me), that's pretty darn good! A knitathon. What a lovely thing.
(Um, have I been writing? Interesting question. Very interesting.)