Knitting needles have greatly improved since my early grade school knitting days. I taught myself to knit while I was in grade school - I think around third grade. I made a sweater for my Barbie doll, and I think it has survived with the other Barbie stuff I made - mostly by hand because I didn't get my own sewing machine until fourth grade. I remember those first needles were plastic, I think I got some metal ones later. Anyway, I have accumulated a bunch of old knitting needles. I tend to buy homemade felt rolls of needles at garage sales and there are usually a few old needles and some broken-tipped needles, and a few stray single needles. Like me, the old owners of the needle collections just couldn't bear to throw them away. So I decided to give these old and orphaned and injured needles a new purpose in life. Sewing room decoration! My red buttons (favorite color, remember?) are the perfect keep-them-standing-up-straight material. I swear I saw the yellow needle with the red head smile with delight. Jerilynn
Hi, me again! I re-read this post and a couple of thoughts came to mind. One, is a story about my dad's second day at assisted living. I arrived this afternoon to move in more stuff and help them get settled. I noticed the center's van parked in an odd spot, full of people. What was blocking the driveway to the front door was a white van. Hmmm, I thought. Odd that someone would just leave their van in the driveway. They must be inside delivering a quick something. I parked, went to their apartment and began to make a long list of what they still need. Knock, knock. "Does anyone here drive a white van?" "No, oh! Wait! I drive a white van", says Chuck, the new resident. "It is blocking the driveway!" "What?" (Chuck is hard of hearing, you see) "Oh, oh, let me look!" Their apartment overlooks the front of the building and driveway. "Oh, that is me!" As I look out, I see the activity director get in the van and drive away. It seems that Chuck also left the keys in the van. So, he hops on his Scooter Chair and heads off downstairs to reclaim his keys. I fear the nice assisted living place will never be the same. The other thought I had after reading the blog title was: maybe that applies to my parents. Too old/broken/mismatched to discard....too crazy and colorful to ignore.