I went to Firstborn’s house after Knit Night. She learned that putting on a handknit sock is a little different from putting on an ordinary sock. First you bring it up to the heel. Then you think to yourself, “Oh dear, this will never go over my heel.” Then you wait about two heartbeats and pull it over your heel and up your ankle. And then you grin.
Yeah, me too, about three years ago.
Where am I on this sock’s mate? A quarter of the way up the leg. And much reassured to see that the binding-off does not need tweaking. I just need to secure and weave in the end and figure out what the next knitting project will be, because I have one crazy case of finish-itis.
I asked Fourthborn’s Fiancé if he would rather have a scarf for himself or a sweater for one of his ABJD’s as his birthday present this year. He asked, very humbly, if I would be willing to knit him a hoodie rather like the one I made for LittleBit, only not as heavy and possibly not as textured. Something to wear around the house, not something to stave off tornadoes and blizzards and grizzly bears.
Absolutely! He understands that there will be no yarn-buying chez Ravelled until the dolls in layaway are paid off in November. But in the meantime I need a fairly mindless project to keep my hands busy at church. Time to surf my queue on Ravelry.
Edited to add: I only thought I was a quarter of the way up the leg. Looking at it with fresh eyes this morning, I realized that I had forgotten to start the ribbing. No ribbing = no give = no sock up over the heel. Oye! Caramba!
1 comment:
About nine years ago, I was sitting in my knitting group asking why anyone would ever spend the time to knit socks. One woman working on a second simply silently handed me the first of the pair, and then, Here, put this on.
OH. NOW I get it.
That's right, various heads nodded around me. Yup.
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