Sock you!

I will admit the Village of Hawk Run Hollow blog post was just something to keep the non-knitters among you believing that this is a stitchy blog, while, of course, it has steadily been morphing into a sock-knitter’s journal. This sock-knitting thing is not a fad, honeybuns, even though I wish it was. It guzzles up all of my time, it takes my attention away from stitching, raising a child, eating, sleeping, reading, personal hygiene, work (housework, and more importantly, regular work), and what have you. What I like about knitting socks, so far, is that I don’t have to use a chart or pattern to do it. I can just make a sock up as I go along, using information from all sorts of sources. Sometimes it doesn’t work and I have to rip it all back, – and here comes the worrying bit – it doesn’t even bother me. Now, in stitching, if you were to tell me to undo my work and start all over again, the frogged project would never see the light of day again. In knitting, I find this isn’t the case. Look at this wee sock:

Only yesterday, this was an over the knee stocking. Do I mind that it has been reduced to little more than an anklet? Not in the least. The first version wasn’t good enough, so I took out the needles (YIKES!), pulled at the thread (double YIKES!!) and undid everything except the foot and the heel. You see, I am a little delusional when it comes to my body shape, or, more accurately, the shape of my legs. I had read somewhere that a stocking in a 3x1 rib (that’s knit 3, purl 1) does not require any shaping (no increases or decreases along the calf). No shaping means no maths. Maths is for nerds, honeybuns, and I am no nerd. No siree Bobby. No maths for me.

So, no-shaping ribbed stockings were the very thing for me, I thought. Except, of course, I have the weirdest shaped pins in the history of ever. My feet are very slim, long and narrow. My ankles are slim, long and narrow too, but after that – above that, my legs become rather… oh, what’s the politically correct term? Shapely? Curvy? No. I think the correct term, politically uncorrect though it may be, is elephantine. So yesterday I realized that the lady who enthused about the no-shaping qualities of the ribbed stocking was either a) lying, or b) blessed with a rather more slender physique than me. I tried on the sock as I went along, but by the time I got to the top bit, where the cuff starts, I found that the sock was actually cutting off my blood stream. I wouldn’t have minded that, only it made the ribbing look all weird and unattractive.

So I ripped it all back. I’m starting over again, maths and all. And still I love the sock.

Pantoef sends warm purrs. And so does Pelle. As well as some warm snot and drool, because he's poorly.

Yours unraveledly,
Annemarie.