In 1973 I was 23 and engaged to be married. I thought that bedjackets were a bit frumpy, so I crocheted myself a shawl to wear when sittting up in bed, reading. We didn't do the modern living-together thing so sitting up in bed together was a new phenomenon and I was anxious to look all right.
Thirty-six years later, the shawl is still on the go. I've used it every night. It and I have become middle-aged together and we both sag a bit. And over the last couple of years it's become even more scruffy because Sirius joins me in bed in the mornings and luxuriously kneads it with his claws.
For Christmas this year, Daughter 1 knitted me this shawl. It's immeasurably more beautiful than mine ever was: soft and lacy and warm.
I love it. Isn't it pretty? Thank you so much, Daughter 1!
I'm not going to wear it in bed, though, and Sirius isn't getting to exercise his claws on it.
Can you tell that it's a bit chilly at the moment? Could they be tied in tighter knots? How wonderful not to worry about the size of one's bottom. The cats often copy each other's body language, either symmetrically
or in a mirror-image kind of way. So you didn't think Tim Vine was funny? Ah well, it must be the British sense of humour, I suppose.
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