For years I’ve knit socks for my nieces and nephews for Christmas. I’m not sure when I started exactly, but I know it’s been at least eight years (I knit a blue pair and pink pair to be ready for what turned out to be a nephew born days before Christmas eight years ago). If that was the first year, that nephew was number 5; and the oldest at the time was 5. Since then, their number has doubled and the size of their feet, according to my very unscientific reasoning, has more than doubled. All that to say, it’s a lot more knitting than it was when I started.
When I began knitting years ago, sock knitting was one of my early accomplishments (a few missteps aside). We were like peas carrots, sock knitting and I. I churned out pair after pair, but last year the pressure of all those little (and no so little anymore) bare feet got to me. It just wasn’t fun. And if it wasn’t fun, what was the point? So I stopped.
Twas the night before Christmas and here on my land
I was tearing my hair, strand by strand by strand
Different I said this year would be
I’d have time to sit and enjoy the tree
But alas you know what it is they say
When you’ve become so set in your ways:
You’ve got to flexible; learn to adapt.
I’ve often thought that was a load of crap
I was going to be ready; my knitting complete
This Christmas the kids would have warm “little” feet.
Generally when I pack for a work trip I make sure I have some type of lounge wear/slob wear in my suitcase that is appropriate for wandering the halls of whatever hotel I happen to be in. I’ve learned the hard way that no matter how quick the trip to the vending machines might be, you will inevitably run into someone you know when you’re making the run in the bathrobe from the room. (True story)
Part of my comfort wear includes flip flops but apparently I had a mental relapse when I packed yesterday morning because when I opened my bag, I realized the only shoes I had were the ones on my feet. While find them comfortable, I’d been wearing them for about 12 hours and the thought of wearing them through our group supper just wasn’t working for me.
So I sent a quick Facebook message to my work cohorts, relatively certain they would tell me that this:
wasn’t really appropriate for the hotel restaurant/bar for the evening.
That wasn’t the message back. So that’s how I went to supper:
My feet thanked me for it. And really, they did sort of match my ensemble.
I’ve never made it a secret that my least favourite part of knitting is the actual finishing. You know, sewing up and weaving in the ends. It’s not hard, or complicated. It’s just one of those things that it’s easier to throw in a pile and move on to actual knitting.
A couple of weekends ago, I collected up all my not-quite-finished projects. I have to admit to some shock when I saw the pile: