Summer arrived. I know this because we had our town road race (no member of my family looked this cute across the finish line, btw) and the daylilies bloomed.
School ended, and the concept of "working" from home went down the drain faster than you can fling a fully loaded backpack across the room yelling "DONE!". Until camp and summer programs start.
We headed south to the beach in Delaware for some family togetherness, since attempting anything productive during this limbo period is futile .
Before I left, 3 more miters and one started in just slightly more subdued tones. Couldn't take it along, since that'd reveal the surprise to my parents. In truth, my dad wouldn't notice if you were knitting an atom bomb but my mom'd be all over it, wondering what stitch you'd chosen to convert the plutonium.
Funny thing happened on my way to the magic loop. Before I cracked the pamphlet I decided to knit my stitches from the dpns, where I'd knit about an inch of cuff, onto the circs. Predictably by the time I got to the third needle, things were getting tight. I figured I'd pull up some cable to ease it, then I'd figure out what the "magic loop" procedure was all about. Well, duh, that was it. I offered the pamphlet to my mom who was looking on skeptically at the whole operation.
My mom is an ace knitter. She should be, her mom owned a dry goods store in the South Bronx in the 1930's-50's. Grandma gave sidewalk knitting lessons, with neighborhood women perched on milk crates. (and yes, I wish I could go back in time to that). But she doesn't love knitting in the round and hasn't knit socks since she was a teenager.
One quick bike ride to the lys, and look what happened.