As I mentioned earlier this week, the knitting muse has spent a lot of time whispering “Make socks.. Make more socks..” in my ear. (To get the full effect re-read that with a kind of Jacob Marley from A Christmas Carol voice. I’ll wait).
Moving right along.
So that’s what I did. I knit socks. (It’s important to listen to the muse.)
However, occasionally the muse did back off long enough for me to sneak another project in. This little guy for example.
Tony came to be when our 40 something year friend, Mr. R, was over for an evening visiting with The Hubby and I. Mr. R started causally flipping through the pattern book I had laying on our coffee table.
He got to the page with Tony on it and his eyes lit up and he started making little squeeing noises while pointing and shouting “Him! Make me Him! If you ever want to knit me anything I WANT HIM!” I sort of eyed Mr. R for a moment and wondered if maybe he had a few too many highballs of scotch before leaving his house or if maybe there was supposed to be two bottles of wine from him instead of one. I kept those thoughts to myself and instead asked “what colours”.
And then I got to thinking. Who am I to judge one person’s idea of knitted goods perfection from another’s? And if something can bring about that level of almost childlike glee and abandonment from someone, who would I be as a knitter or a friend if I didn’t indulge that for him?
So this year for Christmas Mr. R is getting Tony and a bottle of Maple Crown Royal. It’s two things I don’t really understand but Mr. R does, and in the end that’s all that really matters.
(Just for the record, I still think he may have had too many scotches that day).