If you roam the knitting blogs, you will find that many of them seem to be on a deadline. They neglect their husbands, they say, they give up cooking and housework, they endanger their jobs and their friendships by knitting compulsively. They do without sleep, they snap at their pets, all in order to turn the heel before at last giving up and falling exhausted into bed, their Addi turbos still clutched in their damp and aching hands.

Well, I may be exaggerating a little. But you know the kind of entry I mean.

I am not like that. I am not in a hurry with my knitting. I knit a reasonable amount, and I finish whenever I finish, that’s all. I avoid having any deadlines when it comes to knitting. I start my holiday gift knitting in August (much to Mayflower’s horror) just so that I won’t be rushed.

And then I join a Fuzzy Feet Along and mess up the whole schedule. And there was the dishcloth. And the concert. And the fact-checking (have I mentioned that I have not even opened the envelope for my latest fact-checking assignment?) And this virus.

So now I am thinking that I will have to speed up. I will need to ignore my husband and skip housework and sneak my knitting into rehearsals.

Because I took a different approach to my holiday knitting this year. Apart from a few little surprises, I have made everyone the same thing.

There are advantages to this. You get really good at it. If the first one is a little wonky, you will have it all worked out by the second or third or eighth. You can use up all the materials, by the simple expedient of continuing to knit whatever it is until all the yarn is gone. No one feels that another’s gift is better than his or her own. This method is widely recommended, in fact, in those articles about making people gifts.

On the other hand, if you leave someone out, they will notice. For example, just to take a hypothetical possibility entirely at random, if say seven family members receive a lovely hand-knitted X and the eighth receives an equally lovely store-bought Y, There Will Be Talk.

So today I have a plan. It is largely influenced by the continuing hold the virus has over me. I will lie on the couch and knit and read all day, in hopes of completing the seventh gift item today, and completing my recuperation. I may even stay in my pajamas (this would be more appealing if there weren’t such a stream of boys through the house at all times).

There is a James Bond marathon on the TV and I have several books stacked up. The Schwan’s man came, so that anyone who has gotten tired of Thanksgiving leftovers can turn to frozen pizza. I will call out in a piteous voice for tea at intervals, but otherwise, I will be cabling like a mad cabling thing.

I will also be breaking out the holiday music, to complete the whole lying-on-the-couch experience. Who are you listening to? The Knitting Curmudgeon, who we all know is a bad-tempered old besom, likes William Shatner. Take a moment to let that sink in. Have you heard his “Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man”? Yes, well. If The Knitting Curmudgeon were a sweet old lady, we might think it was touching that she liked to listen to Mr. Shatner’s song stylings, and be happy for him that there was some person in the universe who thought he was “a rare and handy crooner.” Given the source, however, I think perhaps she is pulling our legs.