A Modest Proposal

Okay, I forgot one thing about Thanksgiving I've always liked: the Macy's parade.

Yes, I know. It's nothing but a gigantic ambulatory commercial for toy companies and for the corporate behemoth that sponsors it. However, when I was kid it was a chance to see New York City (where I dreamed of living some day) and one of my two chances to see numbers from whatever was running on Broadway. I was a mild-mannered little boy, but you did not get between me and the television set on Thanksgiving morning or Tony Awards night.

I still watch it, half from nostalgia and half out of genuine interest. Because between the crappy pop music acts and commericals you get local high school bands, and those Azalea women from down South who dress as toilet tissue covers, and the kids who for one reason or another get to ride on the floats. I like to think of families all over the country sitting and waiting for a loved one to pop onto the screen for two seconds, so they can scream "There she is! There she is!" and dine out on the taste of celebrity for an entire year.

One thing lacking, though, is knitting content. This thing is supposed to kick off the holiday season, and what group is more hypersensitive to the approach of the holidays than knitters? This morning you could hear the collective gasp reverberate across the time zones as knitters awoke and suddenly realized what's facing them in the coming weeks.

Not all of us celebrate Chrismahannukwanzawalisolstice, of course, but enough of us do that we should be represented. Our yarn and needles represent the season far more strongly than Hall and Oates, for heaven's sake, and Macy's gave them a slot in the line-up.

While assembling the relish trays I've been brainstorming. Here are a few things I think would make a fine start toward redressing the imbalance. Feel free to add your own ideas, and maybe we can build up enough mass to shake things up next year.

1. Five hundred synchronized knitters in spangly costumes, marching and working fair isle in unison.
2. An animated float, sponsored by Schacht, featuring fifty lucky knitters (one from each state) riding round and round on a giant Matchless while Raven Symone lip-synchs to "Carol of the Bells."
3. The cast of Sesame Street dancing down Broadway on a float celebrating the release of the new movie Elmo in Unfinishedobjectland.
4. A 100-foot-tall Elizabeth Zimmermann helium balloon.

Of course, if we're going to make this happen we need star power either at Macy's or NBC. Does anybody know if that nice Meredith Viera knits?

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all, wherever you happen to be.

Love,
Franklin

Farm Report

I am not and have never been a fan of Thanksgiving. I know it's heresy for an American to say so, but try as I might I can't help myself. I associate the holiday with frenzied travel, day-long confinement in a hot kitchen, and liver attacks brought on by overconsumption of pie. Upon reaching adulthood I rejoiced in the idea that I could, henceforth, skip the whole thing.

Right.

I've since learned that nobody believes you when you say, "No, honestly, I'd rather spend the day quietly, by myself," any more than they believe actors who say they don't mind losing the Oscar because it's honor just to be nominated. And I'm not enough of a misanthrope (yet) to be able to turn down a kindly invitation.

That's why I'm writing from Indiana, to which my parents relocated this summer. Normally I won't travel for Thanksgiving, but when your mother and father say "pretty please," how can you say no?

Mind you, to get here it's only about three hours from Chicago by bus, but it might as well be the Other Side of the Moon. There's a cornfield in front of the house. And another behind it. And two more, to the right and left. Are you getting the picture?

They have a yarn store, though. It's right next to the place where my father gets haircuts, and he asked if I'd like to browse today while he went in for a little trim. As the local butter churning festival has been postponed (the cows are all in Washington, DC, staging a protest against Lactose Intolerance), my social calendar was suddenly wide open. Off we went.

Here's a thing to remember. In the future, when visiting yarn shops run by timid older ladies in rural Indiana, it might be best not to wear my usual Chicago ensemble of faded jeans, biker boots and black leather jacket. When I walked in the owner turned white as a sheet and, I swear, immediately went to her cash drawer - whether to lock it or surrender it, I can't say.

She needn't have worried, mind you, because if I ever decide to knock over a yarn store it won't be one that primarily stocks acrylics.

After that I did a fair amount to help with preparations for tomorrow and now I'm taking time out to work on some stuff for Yarn Market News and that sexy chick who runs Knitty.com.

Cartooning is so marvelously portable. I have my ink, paper, pencils and eraser, and need nothing else. In this way it is a far more practical career than blacksmithing or animal husbandry.

Oh, listen - if reading my whining about the holidays is not enough, you can actually hear me whine about the holidays in the next episode of Cast On: A Podcast for Knitters, which goes live on Friday. Not that you have to listen or anything. But I worked hard on the essay, and got up at 4 a.m. to record it, so I just thought I'd mention it.

I think I just heard a wolf howl outside the house. Seriously. No, wait. Neighbor's dog.

As this post was going nowhere, and has now arrived, I think it's time sign off. As the locals say, "Moo."