Borrowed Thoughts on Sock Knitting
The following is a entry made by a member of Socknitters.yahoogroups.com It pretty much sums up my feelings about knitting in general and socks in particular! It has not been edited.
First let me say that I love yarn.
I love the visual beauty of its colors and textures. I love the
tactile feel of it's softness in my hands, how it makes me feel warm
and cozy just thinking about the garments it will become. I love it
in all its forms: yarn, roving, fleece and sheep. My computer
wallpaper is a photo of yarn from www.HelloYarn.com. My house is
full of it. I knit scarves and hats and sweaters and socks. I make
freeform knit and crocheted purses with it. I felted it, sewed it
used it to tie bows on packages and in little girls hair.
I love yarn shops, brimming with purpose and possibility; the smells
the colors, the nearly infinite variety. I love the tools of
knitting; the warm bamboo and wooden needles, the slick shiny silver
ones and the exotic hardwoods. I love the swifts, the ball-winders,
the stitch markers and holders. Hooks, darning needles, gauges,
cable needles, measuring tapes and an emery board are part of my
every day tool set. I need them all because I knit every night.
Mostly socks, as they are the true royalty of my repertoire. Oh
sure, I can knit complex Aran and lace with more air than yarn. I've
done fair-isle, bottom up, top down and in the round in every garment
I mentioned above. But socks are pure special. I knit them only for
the people I truly love and for charity and for me. I don't care if
no-one ever sees them on my feet. Turning the heel on a sock stuns
me with its magic every single time I do it. When I slip the
finished sock over my foot, I feel safe, and warm, and loved. When
someone I love opens a pair of socks I have knit for them - usually
in a beautifully variegated, incredibly soft hand dyed merino that is
usually out of my budget, their eyes shine.
And when I knit, all the cares of the day melt away. I sit cozy in
my bed, a movie on, with my yarn and my needles. I am not thinking
about this wholesaler, or that tire that needs replacing or the
computer that is badly in need of an upgrade. I'm not thinking about
getting older, or how much work I have to do the next day. I'm
knitting with that $18 ball of yarn and turning it into something
useful and lovely. And I feel better.
Sometimes I feel a bit guilty about the prices I pay for such beauty,
and I do often pay even more than $18, but when I stop and think
about where else the money would be going; a movie, five cups of
Starbucks, a dinner pizza dinner, I feel justified in my decision to
grant myself two or three hours of peace every night and countless
hours of pleasure shopping for that one special skein that someone
loved enough to dye with her own hands. Peace or pizza. I'll take
that $18 skein every time.
Cheers!
Claudia
First let me say that I love yarn.
I love the visual beauty of its colors and textures. I love the
tactile feel of it's softness in my hands, how it makes me feel warm
and cozy just thinking about the garments it will become. I love it
in all its forms: yarn, roving, fleece and sheep. My computer
wallpaper is a photo of yarn from www.HelloYarn.com. My house is
full of it. I knit scarves and hats and sweaters and socks. I make
freeform knit and crocheted purses with it. I felted it, sewed it
used it to tie bows on packages and in little girls hair.
I love yarn shops, brimming with purpose and possibility; the smells
the colors, the nearly infinite variety. I love the tools of
knitting; the warm bamboo and wooden needles, the slick shiny silver
ones and the exotic hardwoods. I love the swifts, the ball-winders,
the stitch markers and holders. Hooks, darning needles, gauges,
cable needles, measuring tapes and an emery board are part of my
every day tool set. I need them all because I knit every night.
Mostly socks, as they are the true royalty of my repertoire. Oh
sure, I can knit complex Aran and lace with more air than yarn. I've
done fair-isle, bottom up, top down and in the round in every garment
I mentioned above. But socks are pure special. I knit them only for
the people I truly love and for charity and for me. I don't care if
no-one ever sees them on my feet. Turning the heel on a sock stuns
me with its magic every single time I do it. When I slip the
finished sock over my foot, I feel safe, and warm, and loved. When
someone I love opens a pair of socks I have knit for them - usually
in a beautifully variegated, incredibly soft hand dyed merino that is
usually out of my budget, their eyes shine.
And when I knit, all the cares of the day melt away. I sit cozy in
my bed, a movie on, with my yarn and my needles. I am not thinking
about this wholesaler, or that tire that needs replacing or the
computer that is badly in need of an upgrade. I'm not thinking about
getting older, or how much work I have to do the next day. I'm
knitting with that $18 ball of yarn and turning it into something
useful and lovely. And I feel better.
Sometimes I feel a bit guilty about the prices I pay for such beauty,
and I do often pay even more than $18, but when I stop and think
about where else the money would be going; a movie, five cups of
Starbucks, a dinner pizza dinner, I feel justified in my decision to
grant myself two or three hours of peace every night and countless
hours of pleasure shopping for that one special skein that someone
loved enough to dye with her own hands. Peace or pizza. I'll take
that $18 skein every time.
Cheers!
Claudia
Comments