I finished sewing on the buttons, weaving in the ends, and putting on the cardigan yesterday. And I'm in love. My secret shame has been that, ever since my first sweater turned out, I had been cursed to never knit a garment that fit. Many sweaters got close, but there was always something wrong, even if it wasn't as dramatic as the Pin-Up Queen debacle. Like Poppy, which will soon be put to the knitting project graveyard to later be resurrected as something hopefully useful. But this sweater fits! It fits just the way I want it to! And it's cute, and flattering, and everyone is suitably impressed and surprised when they find out that I made it myself. Even though I screwed up a few of your design elements, Ms. Avery, you managed to come up with one fine sweater.
And on to darker matters. What is there to write about the tragedy at Virginia Tech that hasn't been written, or recorded, or photographed already? It's a tragedy for all these brilliant, loved people who lost their lives, and a tragedy for their families. It's also a tragedy for society, that a place where you're supposed to be safe, even coddled in an intellectual community, can be destroyed so easily. And it's chilling to think how precarious our lives are, and how they rest so terribly on the secret life of other people. I went out to a party last night, and had a good time, but before I went to bed I couldn't help but think, in spite of the wine I drank, of all the tricks of chance that separated me from the victims. And maybe the chill in my room wasn't from the weather last night.
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