essay by Franklin

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    Knitsy Bitsy

    ByFranklin Habit

    I blame it on Beatrix Potter. Specifically, I blame the library copy of “The Tailor of Gloucester” that fell into my pudgy hands when I was five years old. That book, so far as my infantine taste was concerned, had everything. Pretty language. Pretty type. Colors so inviting I wanted to–and once did–lick them. And…

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    Socked

    ByFranklin Habit

    My first sock was the product of peer pressure. Everyone else was knitting socks; they felt that I, too, should be knitting socks. By way of encouragement, they began to give me skeins and balls of beautiful, expensive sock yarn. I hadn’t been knitting seriously for very long, so I didn’t have much of stash…