Time Warp Fiber

I am a sock knitter. I always have at least one pair of socks on the go, two or more is more common. Now this was not always so, early in my knitting career, I was actually afraid of socks. All those tiny stitches and three=dimension thought processes made me shiver. Now socks are my mindless knitting, for trains and cinemas. This goes to prove that the knitting goddesses are not without irony.

So, sock knitting. I have enough yarn on hand currently for about twenty to twenty-five pairs of socks, maybe more, as I like short socks that take less yarn and incidentally, time. I also have in my drawer nine pairs of completed socks. I know this precisely because I counted. You see, the temperatures are now (occasionally) dipping into the frigid reaches below 65, and this indicates to my californian soul that it is now winter, and my need for wool socks is desperate. (why yes, it will be 80 degrees over the weekend, why do you ask?) So I counted up my socks, the days in the week, factored in my willingness to do laundry and the horrifying information that socks do indeed wear out. The result? I need more socks. Lots more.

About this same time, I received an email from my sister. Said email was an unabashed request for socks. It was even titled as such. It came on the heels of my mother-in-law gleefully telling me that her husband was in despair at his lack of handknit socks, and that she gloats at every opportunity. I should digress a moment here and mention a few things. First, in addition to my own sock hoarde, I have knit socks for a few other people, whether as intentional gifts, or because the wearer happened to have feet the size a pair turned out. I give these willingly, that others might know the joy of lovingly handmade footwear, but blithely unaware of potential consequences. Point two, I established a system whereby, in general, knitted gifts are given upon request only, particularly around the holidays. I found this a brilliant system, as I suspect even those most effusive with their thanks are secretly weirded out and never wear these items, and also that few people would be so interested and audacious to actually requested said items. Remember that divine irony I mentioned? Yep, so despite my personal paucity of socks, and my brilliant precautions, I now have gift socks on my docket. Rather a lot of them.

A few things add insult to injury. My sister know how to knit. You'd think she'd be self-sufficient on the sock front, but you'd be wrong. I shall remedy this soon, you know, teach a man to fish and all. But she at least likes relatively short socks and doesn't care about color, so I can pick what I want to look at. Also, her socks are without deadline, just so long as she gets them before the end of winter. She lives in Ohio, I've got time. The other pair, for my mother-in-law's husband, however, I would like to get done for solstice/yule/festivus. (Also, these are a surprise, but I feel confident that he doesn't know what a blog is. Just don't tell him, ok?) And, because of aforementioned irony, the man wears a size 11D, prefers very thin socks, also quite tall. Oh yeah, and he wears only navy blue or black. Grey is pushing it. According to size and yardage, just one of the gargantuan creations is as big as a whole pair for me.

Photos? No, I don't have any photos. I have, as yet, not cast on. Hope springs eternal, you see, and I shall not be deterred by the dwindling number of days before the giant socks must be shipped across the country, nor by the fact that it usually takes my a month to knit a pair of me socks. Holiday knitting and the accompanying denial must be a communicable illness. I blame the yarn harlot. (also, I have just cast off a pair for me)

disclaimer: For the sake of world peace, let me state explicitly that this post is tongue-in-cheek. I don't actually knit things I don't want to.