Yesterday, I realized that — aside from the llama — my Christmas knitting is rectangular.  I noticed that whenever I picked up something to knit, there was a rectangle hanging from my needles (well, okay, one piece is triangular at the moment, but it is rapidly expanding into larger triangle that will then decrease down until it is a square-ish diamond whereupon it will live out its days as a rectangle). 

Well, rectangles make good Christmas gifts. Useful things like scarves, stoles, coasters, placemats, table-runners, afghans, blankets, throw pillows.  Rectangles are “one-size-fits all.”  Pretty much.  And they don’t require difficult-to-acquire-subtly information like head measurements and bust size. 

I live under the illusion that rectangles are faster to knit than anything with shaping.  At least, rectangle progress is easily calculable:  one counts inches.  A rectangle does not mess with your mind.  It is straightforward.  And you can stretch it during blocking if you have to.

All this might make my rectangles sound cold and impersonal.  As if my Christmas knitting was merely a hyper-efficient grind-out-the-inches affair. 

No, no, no!  For me Christmas knitting is highly personal – even if (nearly) everyone is getting a rectangle. 

A rectangle is like a sonnet.  Within the bounds of four right angles, the possibilities are myriad!  Trust me on this – I have bags full of wildly delightful rectangle-makings.  I propose that (for knitters, at least) a rectangle, rather than a heart, is the shape of love.