I set about knitting the Glencora Shawl on the train yesterday morning and dropped one of my point protectors. It's of the rubber, bullet-shaped variety. When it hit the floor of the car, it bounced and rolled. I sighed and gave it up for lost.
Then a man sitting nearby, a man I would place with utmost confidence in the "straight" category, leapt out of his seat, got down in the aisle, and then presented me with the protector, which he had gallantly saved from oblivion. "I figured you must need this," he said. "You looked pretty upset when you dropped it."
"Thank you so much," I said, and meant it. Without that protector, I would likely have lost a dozen or more lace stitches on the way to the office.
"No trouble," he said. "Just being neighborly. Whatever that is you're making, it looks pretty cool."
Miss Van Hoofen, please file this one under "Hope for Humanity."
Today is the blessed anniversary of the birth of a friend and hero. Blogger, knitter, spinner, quilter, underwear model, all around mensch.
I'm a fan of occasional verse, so I have composed the following haiku in honor of the day:
See the queer man knit.Dolores will be by with the cake later on. She may possibly be inside it.
Swift needles go clickety.
And check out those buns!