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Broken Record

My brother’s like a broken record.  He tells me about how we used to bike around the neighborhood pretending we were race car drivers, and how we’d gained multiple knee scrapes from turning the curb too fast. He’ll tell me this story twice, thrice, or even four times in a row, and laugh about the good ol’ days. I laugh with him, because though he doesn’t remember that he’s already told me this story for the fourth time in a row, he does remember the fun we had. My brother’s like a broken record, but I don’t mind one bit.
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Knitting Nightmare

I sat on my bed knitting with the roll of multicolored yarn. The sun set, and the moon rose as the scarf grew longer and longer. Father’s scarf would be done by midnight. Happy but tired, I pulled too hard.

Five loops slipped off the needle. 

No, no, no, no! My heart pounded. I tried to corral the loops back onto the needle. The more I moved, the further the loops went down. They’d be gone and the scarf would be ruined!

I got one loop back on. Two. Three. Four. Finally, five. I sighed, calmed myself, and kept knitting. 

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