My own neck worm
It’s only things of great import that are written here, but looking at the neck worms I mentioned the other day reminded me that once upon a time I did knit something like that myself.
It was when I was at L’Abri in Switzerland in 2001. In the evenings we’d all sit around in the big living room on the ground floor of the five-story chalet, the spectacular snow-covered mountains outside, the fire burning inside (or maybe there wasn't actually a fire in that room, but it sounds nice), engaged in cerebral conversations about theology, philosophy, or any other topic, some girls would knit and crochet, some guys would strum guitar. Those were wonderful times. Anyway, while there I started a scarf from some hand-spun wool an English girl and I found in a Salvation Army shop down the mountain in Aigle. I then finished it on the train from Basel up to Nassjo in Sweden. Well, sort of finished it. It turned out a bit too stiff and scratchy to make a good scarf, and I never dealt with the ends. But I have dug it out and think I might finish it off and hang it on a rod for some narrow piece of wall somewhere. I’ve never gotten rid of it because I feel quite sentimental about it.
