First known knitting picture of moi, circa 1984. Taken in a very cold apartment in Parkdale, in which I slept in hand-knit sweaters from September 1st on to stay warm. The landlords were cheap, and one year the furnace conveniently broke and wasn't turned on until December (that was the month of sleeping in a sweater and a hat). I was knitting a pair of mittens in this picture, some burgundy silk/wool tweedy brit yarn, flecked with fushia. My boyfriend K took the picture. At the time the only sweaters I knew how to knit were some variation of a lopi icelandic sweater, body and sleeves on a circular, decreasing to neckline. I knit him a "like" sweater, with a coarse blue wool flecked with white (like little snowflakes). Our relationship was very on and off again, for many years. When I was reacquainted with him twenty years later, for another round of on/off, he told me had just lost the sweater in a divorce. Tossed in a box into the basement with all his other belongings after his leaving the family home, the sweater had likely been tossed by a pissed-off ex-wife or disappointed mother. But it lived for twenty years after we had been together. He held hands with his wife, walked his children in ravines, tossed the frisbee, raked leaves, skated outdoor rinks and smoked a joint in the backyard while he wore that sweater. Which is a question I and many others have posed to ourselves, where do all the other old boyfriend sweaters go to die?