Escape!

I am pleased to be able to post this. As many you know, I was recently abducted by a herd of aquatic mammals. It was horrible. I may never eat green leafy vegetables again.

But no matter, for I have paid the ransom. And in fact understand that at least one of the packages has been delivered to its new owner – who tells me that she may tackle the Aeolian shawl with the included skein of laceweight. If she does, I’m hoping she’ll share a picture. I’ve wanted to make an Aeolian for some time as I think it is a stunning pattern – but the sheer size of the project has always made me pick something else. That and the fact that it calls for a truly unpleasantly large number of beads.

While in captivity, I was pleased also to be able to finish a couple of additional Christmas presents. Including this one. I am posting a relatively blurry and intentionally too close-up picture in an effort to obfuscate the true nature of the object (the recipient reads this journal). But you get the idea: cables galore.

But the most significant aspect of my captivity is one which was wholly unrelated to the fiber arts.

For while my captors held me for ransom, they refused to allow me to shave my chin. Indeed, it is now relatively shaggy. But that isn’t the most troubling part.

This torment went on for well nigh a month. Now some of you may say – wait TSMK – the ransom note was delivered less than a month ago. How could you be held captive for that long? The answer is simple. There was a rift in the space-time continuum. And like when Peter, Susan, Lucy and the whiny one walked through the wardrobe and into Narnia they spent years in that magical world only to return to their own and find out that no time had passed, when I was abducted and taken to Cowlantis, time accelerated for me while remaining constant in this realm. Indeed, I now have a full month of growth on my chin.

When I paid the ransom and returned to this world, I naturally expected my family to notice my disheveled appearance. But if they did, they did not mention it. Indeed, Mrs. TSMK in particular seemed not to notice. Not a word was spoken. Not a single word.

Until, that is, last weekend.

I have become accustomed to this growth, and whereas I originally viewed it as a sign of my tormentors, I eventually grew to like it. Call it facial-hair-Stockholm-syndrome. And so I have decided to take care of it. It now gets washed and conditioned just as the hair on the top of my head. And yes, it gets brushed.

And that’s when she mentioned it. For she walked in while I was brushing my chin.

And what did she say?

“Oh that’s so cute! You have to brush the beard!”




Perhaps I’ll shave it off.



~TSMK