Penguins are on an endangered list somewhere. I knit this sweater for my daughter Hope. She's crazy about penguins! My companion Fred predicted (in his deep-authoritarian radio-announcer's voice) that: "She'll grow out of it one day." But it hasn't happened yet! Hope really likes penguins. I get somewhat disturbed when I visit Hope's apartment. All those little tiny beady eyes staring at me from almost every cranny of the room. I'm not sure ("Yes, I am") that I shouldn't have discouraged this penchant of hers at a formative age.

But I didn't.

She's not a great housekeeper either, my baby Hope. The clutter and the penguins are too alternate-reality-of-it-all for me to get them firmly lodged into any synapse. However, I like visiting my daughter. It just doesn't happen often enough for me to get used to all those penguins.


I'm proud that my baby Hope really likes penguins. I believe penguins need all the Hopes they can get. But I feel sad for the penguins having to reach all the way through Pandora's Box. I sure am grateful though that Hope's there for the penguins. Even if her way does take some adjustment on my part.

I guess that's the problem with the penguins.

They're just not willing to adjust.