Knitting Needles of Doom

Years ago, my brother and I realized that we had very different views about gardening. I love plants and watching them grow, but the edibility of the plant has very little bearing on whether I like it or not. In my opinion, beautiful flowers, interesting leaves, and fruit are all an equally good reason to grow a certain plant. However, my brother couldn't be bothered if the plant doesn't produce something he can't eat or use. If it doesn't put out for him, he won't put out for it.

I have been a bit reminded of this discrepancy since my mom has been up north visiting us. She has been more or less knitting constantly since arriving. She has started, stopped, finished, and changed countless projects sometimes all in the course of a day. Usually the projects are leaning into the bizarre realm, like the Wizard of Oz themed blanket(?) that she is making at the moment.

Possibly I don't get the joy of creative knitting; to me it should be strictly functional. You make a sweater, pair of slippers, or hat. You do not knit the whole royal wedding. Maybe one day, 35 years from now, I will pick up knitting and realize that I only have the desire to knit little fluffy Cthulhu dolls, wooly parasites, or internal organs, but for now I wonder what it will take to get my mom to make me a simple cable knit sweater.

On the other hand, Theo has been loving the weird knitting. He has been enjoying his dozen doughnuts, little flying pig, and rat. I must admit that I do like my TARDIS Kindle cover and Dustin has been pushing for a little felted Yoda hat for William. However, I think I might start hiding her knitting needles if she starts knitting things like this:

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