This is the Christmas stocking my mom knit for me when I was small. She knit one for my brother, too, though I can’t remember exactly what his looked like. I have a better memory of the dog’s, though: it was smaller and had a steak on it. Now that I’m knitting again, I love this stocking even more. I have a better appreciation for all the work that went into it, the intarsia and the fair isle and kitchenering that toe and so on.
This is the Christmas stocking I made for my mom twenty-some years later. She gave me the cross stitch kit after deciding she wasn’t going to complete it. One of us really needs to sew on that hanging loop one of these years. Good thing we don’t have any small children in the family right now; those pins could be dangerous to tiny fingers.
Two years ago, I reminisced about October.
Three years ago, my stockings were hung.
Four years ago, I worshiped.
Five years ago, some books annoyed me.
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