God Save Our Royal Mail
February 8, 2004
Saturdays can be a bit of a blur around here. I would hate for somebody to drop in unannounced around 2 o’clock and find the family zonked out in front of Cartoon Network (alas, Joseph now corrects me when I call it Cartoon Edward), in a living room littered with the New York Times, coffee cups, and jigsaw puzzles in various stages of abandonment. We try not to move a muscle until 45 minutes before somebody has to be at a birthday party or something.
Today the fog cleared unexpectedly, with the arrival of the mail. I know that you have experienced the giddiness that overtakes one when one’s trembling hand is holding a brown paper parcel covered with ‘SMALL PACKET’ stamps. The joy of seeing a friendly return address, whence delicious surprises have come in the past. But can you imagine the rapture, upon reading this Customs Declaration, specifically the words: ‘Knitted Socks’?????
For no reason except friendliness, Emma sent me these beautiful socks:
(I know this is a strictly-enforced no-no in the Mason-Dixon Stylebook, but I could not resist a live-action sock-on-foot picture. So I guess we’re even now for that Kitty pic you posted a while back. )
Believe it or not, this is the first pair of handknit socks I have ever had, in my entire, bleak and deprived existence. Finally, I know what all the fuss is about. They fit perfectly, and I believe they even have the mysterious Eye of Partridge stitch on the heel. Emma has never met me, but she made me a pair of socks that is a perfect fit. Perhaps she has spies.
Emma also sent me some lovely stitch markers that she made. Another un-dreamt of luxury; my knitting career has witnessed a cheerless parade of orange and green plastic stitch markers. Emma’s glass-bead creations are so nice that I put one on my charm bracelet. But Emma wrote ‘USE THEM’, so I will, very happily.