Word: knits
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...tube. At one point, recalls Gagne, 40, "my mother and I had a big blowup, right there in front of the doctor." The granddaughters prevailed, and a tube was inserted, but Svanberg's condition worsened. She died on Feb. 19, leaving a family that was mournful, says Gagne, but knit tighter and united in the belief that it was right to have given Svanberg a chance to recover. "Even the aunt who was hardest on me has become a friend," Gagne says...
...single best work, a painting, hangs at the Samson Projects. Entitled “A Blaze of Glory, Flame Red Double Knit,” it depicts, on a shiny canvas, two women in red, their bodies cropped from mid-thigh to collarbone. The detail is luminous, close to photographic; each wrinkle in the outfits is executed with finesse, while the bodies of the women are mysterious and elegant. It calls into question the status of the faceless females without making the statement on feminine identity and body image too obvious...
While Summers suggested during the now famous National Bureau of Economic Research conference in January that discrimination has become a less significant factor in modern times, the exclusive selection of members from the tight-knit all-white, all-male group for top financial positions demonstrates otherwise. It is difficult for qualified women and minorities to obtain high-powered positions in part because private equity—the field in which the Harvard Management Company president and board members are likely to come from—is a notoriously insular field (which usually does not include minorities or women). Hopefully recent...
...Zakharevich ’06 will rarely come up for air. She’ll still get into hour-long debates with friends over whether Mel Gibson was a one-dimensional character in Braveheart. And by then, every single person she has ever known will have a hand-knit case for her iPod...
This is the sort of anecdote to which I have subjected my sainted roommates on an hourly basis in the six days since I turned in my thesis about Byron. I have also, in that time, slept a lot, returned 43 books to Widener, washed my clothes, and knit half a scarf—all in the hopes of eradicating the Christmas-afternoon feeling that has been haunting me since 5 o’clock Tuesday. It hasn’t worked. I can still feel Byron, poor man, unhouseled and perching on my bookshelf...