Some Thoughts About Socks...Another Post from Home

 

                I brought these socks to Scotland with me, I often layered them over tight-fitting store-bought wool socks from Bass when my rain boots (or “Wellies” if you speak the somewhat proper English dialect known to the United Kingdom that I’m struggling to find a name for) tore in the soles and began to gather all rain known to man. Sometimes I hung these socks to dry in my bathroom or closet for a day or so after pulling them out of the washer.

My Mom knit them a few years ago. Maybe longer, actually.

They were a nice addition to my foot wardrobe.

The socks are long and worn, they're thin in the heel and the toe with fraying bits of yarn up at the top, near the ribbing stitches that hug the ankles before the socks slide down to that place on the lower ankle that I used to tie my pointe shoe ribbons at to avoid the pink knots of satin applying pressure and damaging some crazy important vein down there that controls foot movement. Even today, I struggle in zumba class and most sports to not continually have my feet turned out, or to jump in a way that would cause such an ungraceful-thumping noise that my past ballet teachers might drop dead out of embarrassment.

                My Mom knits a lot. Like, a lot. I think she wishes she could knit even more, but the consistent gifts of hand-knit scarves, socks, mittens, cuffs, sweaters, afghans, and the occasional shirt have kept us all clothed pretty well. It’s amazing though, how long some of the socks take to knit, yet how fast they wear out. Often my Mom experiments with different sock techniques. A few years ago I had some handknit pink socks for a season that had bamboo woven in. Sadly, the socks didn’t last too long. The bamboo just didn't do the trick. They were put aside in the small pile of all things dusty and in need of repair.

Probably underneath my bed. With the cedar blocks to keep the moths away.

It's kind of like a personal museum in our house.

                                     

I brought these socks to Scotland too. They’re my favorite and warmest. I’ve thought for awhile that they’re the absolute most-beautiful and talent-proving project of my Mom’s knitting endeavors. I’d show them to friends often in St Andrews if they were learning to knit, or if I simply took off my shoes at a friends house I would hear the common “Wow! Cool socks!” “And robotically respond a bit too enthusiastically with, Thanks! My Mom knit them!”

Sometimes the winter is just long.