I don’t want to talk right now

So last night I got the leaf sewn in and even me, the queen of hard-on-herself-land thought it looked pretty freakin good.

Sewiningood11501

I paraded it around. Ken was here for dinner and I showed it to him a lot, because you know, he’s a knitter and he respects the crazy that leaf represents. I made the kids look at it, and since they are my kids and they are teenaged girls I had to force them to pretend to respect the knits, which they did…so that was super-fun. Then I worked the plain foot up to where the embossed grape pattern begins. I did stop every few rounds to admire the leaf, which I think is not just normal, but necessary.

This morning I promised myself that I wouldn’t knit on the sock until I had my word count done, but me and myself are serious with the bargaining, and I talked myself into just doing the attached I-cord leaf stem for the little inlaid leaf. That way the leaf would be really finished (except for the embroidery, which I am not really thinking about right now.) and I could take a super cool blog picture of the leaf with the stem and the everything.

There are three little live stitches at the top of the stem. See them? In this picture they are being held on that length of yarn.

Allsewninleaf11501

To work the stem, you slip those live stitches onto a dpn, then work just a few rows of I-cord, attaching it to the sock foot as you go. It’s deadly clever.

So I picked up the stitches,

Pickedupicordleaf1501

and then I sat at my desk to work the five (I thought five would be good. I like stems) rows of I-cord. I knit the first one, then the second. It was easy. I worked a third. My i-cord was lying flat and beautiful on the sock. I knit another one. That’s four. Damn it was beautiful. Beautiful and clever. Beautiful and clever and I was picking up all the stitches in exactly the right spots and did I mention to you the inlaid leaf that was sewn in so well? Did I mention that it really does look like a leaf and not like an amoeba and maybe I’m a pretty solid knitter? That little stem lay there, knit into the top of the sock in a fetching wee curl and DAMN IT WAS GOOD. It made me want to scream things like SEE THAT YA BOSSY LITTLE SOCK or NOW WHO KNIT YOU, EH? EH? or even WHO’S YOUR DADDY, which I don’t really understand as an impulse, but there you have it.

I was overwhelmed with the glory of a perfectly knit leaf with it’s attached stem inlaid into a sock toe of near perfection. ( Or as near to perfection as you’re going to get with a knit inlaid leaf toe with an attached i-cord stem, which is fine with me.) That’ s right my little knitterly poppets, amat victoria curam. (Victory favours those who take pains) I had one more row to go and I was so hopped up that I was feeling indomitable and using latin phrases, which is so bad a sign that the use of it should be considered foreshadowing in a knitblog. I was poised to do the last row of tiny i-cord when it happened.

I dropped it. I dropped the sock. For no reason at all….it just fell from my hands and landed on the floor.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that it can’t possibly be a serious problem to drop a sock. Perhaps I dropped it in coffee? In the sea? Perhaps it descended onto a landmine and was blown to a thousand bits? Nope. Worse.

As the sock fell, I realized in a horrible crushing wave of nausea, that I WAS STILL HOLDING THE YARN AND NEEDLES. The sock, with which I had only been engaged by way of three tiny stitches, had slipped off the dpn, and my hands still held the working yarn, tensioned around my right hand. This meant that as it fell the short trip to the floor, I felt in my hand the slight and sickening popping tink of stitches unravelling as it travelled.

plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink, plink….

I sat there, yarn and needles still in my hands, frozen in horror. Frozen. For sure the i-cord had unravelled. For sure, but the stitches at the base of the i-cord had been live. Live, available stitches. I stared at it. It had, in the manner of all things that have fallen on the floor, like toast with peanut butter….landed with the most interesting or disastrous side down. Looking at it didn’t tell me of the scope of the cataclysm that lay beneath the smooth back side presenting. I took a breath, which was sort of necessary, since all of the oxygen had swept out of me when my hand felt that plink, plink business and watched the terrible tumble. I breathed. I looked at it.

For one moment I thought about just walking away. Going into the kitchen and making coffee or something. Not looking at it. Just getting on with my day and forgetting that there ever was anything with a leaf on it at all. More than that, I thought about stepping on it out of spite on my way there. I didn’t though. I reached down, I picked up the sock and I lay it on my leg. As I said to Denny on the phone later, I took a few moment to think that maybe it wasn’t that bad. I focussed on how it might not be that bad. I thought “nottoobadpleaseohplease” thoughts, and I flipped it over with a ginger hand.

Bastardleafhole1501

@#$%(*&^%$#@@#**.

It’s unravelled. It’s unravelled back into the leaf. It’s gored. It’s a (*&^%$%^&*ing gored inlaid &^%!!ing leaf corpse sewn into a *&^%$%ing &$%&er of a leaf hole. Rat Bastards. Pig dogs. Son of a (*&^%$%^ing tangled skein of laceweight silk.

I’m going to have a lie down now. Or maybe a drink. Or maybe a lie down AND a drink…..or maybe….

Maybe I’ll have me a smallish bonfire.

462 thoughts on “I don’t want to talk right now

  1. Oh, I had this sense of impending doom all the way through!
    ARGGGGGGGGGGGG!
    But — after a drink or two or three and a lie-down —
    I know you can do it, Steph.
    We’re all counting on you.
    It’s beautiful….

  2. Please don’t drink while lying down. That could be very bad. Why not start the OTHER sock now, just to show this pesky little bit how it should be done?

  3. The leaf toe looks beautiful. I love it when Lisa gets and idea for something and then won’t rest till she can figure out how to accomplish it with knitting.

  4. Nothing to say but, ooooooooooooops…it’s just knitting, you can fix this..go lie down, shovel some snow, knit a plain sock.
    Things will look better…eventually…@#$%#@@!!!
    Tina

  5. some day when you have had suffcient time to mourn, could you please demo how to do an i-cord? so sorry for your loss

  6. I’d go ahead and have that drink or three, then start the smallish bonfire. Take the offending sock and threaten it with the bonfire, perhaps even throwing on some waste yarn to show it you mean business.
    After that, show it who it’s Mama is and fix that sucker!!!
    It’s going to be beautiful, yes indeed.

  7. I have never read a more accurate description of the sickening knitting moment (which we’ve all experienced – regardless of complexity or skill level) or the reaction upon seeing just what happened. Thanks for the grin – sorry it had to come at a price.

  8. It is hard to explain to a room full of 30 teen acting kids why I just gasped at the yarn blog . . . why don’t they get the tragedy . . .
    You and your yarn are in my thoughts and prayers!
    You will kick the butt of this sock . . . We all have faith in you!

  9. And I’m sure it’s no consolation at all to you that, when you make these wee mistakes, you are at least reassuring the mere mortals among us that such things have nothing to do with skill and accomplishment levels…
    All the same, don’t pick it up again until you’ve calmed down (which will happen eventually). As I’m sure you know, it’s better not to knit when you’re pissed off at either the project or the knitting fates. That’s just asking for it all to get worse.
    Good luck!

  10. Oh no! I’m so sorry for loss of your perfect leaf and stem. But get back up on that horse and conquer the damned thing! Let it know it can’t win! (But first, yes. Go have a drink and a lay down – don’t recommend doing both at once due to nasty little choking hazard). Good luck!

  11. Oh. My. Freaking. Unrepeatable…. Oh you poor thing. Oh utter utter utter utter AARGH.
    One piece of me is looking at that last picture and figuring out how you can still save it, because those stitches sticking up are apparently the ones just before the last set of double decreases… but the other piece of me is just yelling at that piece to SHUT UP and offer you cold compresses and strong drink. Ow ow ow ow ow ow!!!!
    Now I’m going to go back and actually *read* the bits of your post that I zoomed past in my anxiety to reach the foreshadowed doom-filled conclusion.

  12. ARRRRGGGGhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!, no no no.
    I feel for you. Had a lace shawl do the swan dive once. Sickening feeling in pit of stomach as I read that.
    It’s called Hubris, is it not, that overweening pride before a Fall in literature. Still, it sucks.

  13. In a word………ACK!!
    Boy, you sure do know how to draw out the drama. I was breathless there for a minute.
    Wine and chocolate is what you need now……….

  14. It was lovely before the plinking. I thought I was the only one to whom things like this happened. I usually resort to chocolate at times like this.

  15. If I were you, I think I definitely would have stepped on it. I actually want to go step on something now just for the sake of it. But please don’t give up! I am really enjoying reading about your adventures with this project 🙂

  16. no words can express my deepest sorrow at your loss…sounds more like a funeral than a blog entry, but really…how awful! I must say though, grief brings out some of your best writing skills. Hang in there, amat victoria curam and all that.

  17. I yelped out loud. (MY kids did not come running. They couldn’t care less about Mama’s distress.) I am so very, very sorry. Stupid DPNs and stupid three little live stitches and stupid leaf sock.
    I have a mostly finished sweater, lacking just sleeves, buried in the bottom bin in the closet in a plastic bag with the offending yarn, all of it, sealed away to think for a good long while about what it’s done and how it ought to behave in the future. There’s room for an uppity leaf sock, if you’re interested.

  18. Ok–sorry to be laughing so hard, but that was FUNNY!
    What a great build to the climax–genius in fact! We were all holding our collective breath, hoping against hope. But no, not to be. If it is any consolation to you, it made my knitting blunders seem insignificant. This was a great catastrophe, just great–thanks!

  19. Did you just hear that loud gasping noise? It was me, with my hands to my face for you. I am SO sorry.
    But, really… if *anyone* can fix this… it is you. Small consolation, I know.
    Time for drinks!

  20. I was counting the “plink, plink, plinks” and thinking, ok, that’s just Icord, it’ll be all right– until the plinks out-numbered the needed I cord rows…
    My pugs, sleeping in the far bedroom, woke to come investigate what was making the strange strangled noise in the living room.
    My condolences.

  21. Gravity…another one of God’s little jests. Piss on ya, little leaf, and your damned 35 cousins! Good luck, Steph.

  22. I offer consolation, and Screech Tequila Gin a chocolate milkshake. That way you still feel soothed but could figure out some way of salvaging everything. I know you can do it – in my mind you are Mrs. Weasely with the knitting needles, able to just wave a magic wand and make things perfectly, needles knitting by themselves.

  23. ack!!! I too have had knitting moments when I thought to myself”This is easy as pie,so easy I don’t even have to pay attention. This is working up so perfectly that other knitters will say to themselves that they wished they had my knitting talent”. Then the proverbial other shoe drops-and I have a dropped stitch or a wrong row or something unraveling. Somewhere I know the Knitting Witch is smiling-no-laughing-no cackeling. That’s what happens to me when I feel the least bit secure(not even near smug) with my knitting. It is not your fault-it is not even you-it is the Knitting Witch. All blame on her!
    Now that you know-go have a lie down and a shot of tequilla(way past wine helping now) and then you will be able to fix the damn thing.

  24. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! i’m soooooooo sorry for your loss. may i suggest that if you lie down while drinking, you use a straw? just so’s you don’t end up with alcohol all over your couch/bed… put it away and don’t look at it for a week, that’s my suggestion.

  25. Crap.
    However- we have faith…we believe in you.
    You shall prevail. Rest re-cooperate- and then get back to work. (maybe with a little less Latin…)
    And- I will not mention thst you have to do this again…. a WHOLE ‘nother sock? *ducks flying needles and attempts to strangle me with sock yarn….*

  26. NO NO NO. This sock does not own you. You are the master of the sock… its “DADDY” for sure. Get the needles back in your hands and make it behave.
    Remember: The leaves are FUN!

  27. Oh, dear. I was just about to break out a chocolate bar to celebrate your impending leaf success. Now I feel nauseated.
    Stupid leaf.
    Know what happens with projects like this? You’ll finish it after like 600 hours of work, then after you wear them once your husband or kid will throw them in the dryer by accident and they will either unravel or felt themselves into oblivion.
    Some things were just not meant to be, and socks with inlaid grape leaves with I-cord stems sounds like a good candidate to me.
    This does make me feel like sort of a weeny for throwing in the towel after only three complete rip-backs on the hem of a bobble and cable sweater for my two-year-old. I believe the phrase “it’s not like she will appreciate it anyway” was the nicest one I used as I rewound the skein.

  28. Dear Arachne, don’t forget to breathe. Especially while you’re pouring yourself a big drink.

  29. ***AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH***
    She’s moved from writing lovely and funny knitting books to horror books! *runs away screaming*
    I’d go have a wee lie down, then some peppermint schnapps in my cocoa, then maybe some nice Tuesday spinning to soothe the aches.

  30. Fie on you, faithless inlaid leaf sock! Feckless DPNs, for shame to let the sock slip off and tumble tinking to the floor. How could you?
    Heh, heh, better you than me, your Harlotness. You who have the knitting mojo of a goddess. You will work your magic on that sock and needles and overcome the bad behavior of the inlaid leaf sock and triumph in the end. After chocolate and Screech, of course.
    We totally love knitting, when we don’t hates it.

  31. OMG!!! We ALL feel your pain! I couldn’t breath, and could read fast enough, then didn’t want to read, to know, what had happened! After the drink, knit something easy & soothing, it’ll help, I promise!
    I’m so, so sorry!

  32. Oh NO! I had a worried feeling that this post was going to end up in a horrible place. I think a lie down and a drinkie are definitely called for! I hope the re-knit will be just as pleasurable as the first knit!

  33. I was waiting…and then the blow came and I’m wincing and fleeing the room.
    So so sorry….the first picture was amazing and you continue to be a knitting wonder amongst all of us. Promise. Sending chocolate and red wine thoughts your way.

  34. Why don’t you put the remaining stitches onto two needles,and carefully knit the couple of rows that raveled up from right there? that is crazy, but less crazy than unembroidering would feel to me…..
    I still remember the high I got after I used an afterthought pocket type snip (before I’d met EZ) to ravel sides to repair a cable in the bottom of a sweater, perfectly! The hours I spent charting out that twist and reworking it in twisted kitchener stitch were worth it (even if I’d now snip from the row above, ravel a few stitches, work them back up and then do a regular kitchener fix…one does learn 😉

  35. As I have told my kids over the years. “When you re-do _______ (insert Lego’s, block castle ect) it will be even *better* than the first time.”
    You will make the sock even BETTER!!!!
    I have faith in you!!

  36. That is why I love reading your blog/books! Because love knitting even though the occassional collossally (ooh, there’s too many letters in those words) bad thing happens. Last night I threw my knitting needles across the room, but I went over and picked them back up because of you.

  37. Oh my god, I have laughed at your posts before, many, many times, but never so much as this one. I am so, so sorry about your leaf and your sock but I tell you, woman, you have made an otherwise awful day brighter and funnier. At least for me it’s brighter and funnier. Sorry. I look forward to reading about the genius repair job I’m sure you’ve finished by know.

  38. Stephanie, I am not even going to read the other comments. So many times I do that, others have said the same thing, so I don’t comment. But here’s the really important part.
    I have faith in you. I know that once your lie down is over, once you’ve enjoyed your glass of whatever, you will prevail. You will prevail even without the drink and lie down. You are the boss of your knitting – heck, you may be the boss of all of our knitting – you will win.
    It was probably the “who’s your daddy” that made the sock want to throw the hissy fit.

  39. Have a drink and fix it!
    I picked up a dropped stitch 50 rows back along a mitered corner yesterday using surgury methods learned from you. You can do this. You knit that leaf once already. You knit 16 others just like it. You know it. It didn’t rip back to the sewn in part. Pick it up and get it back!
    A steady stream of swear words as you do it helps…
    btw: that stitch I picked up from 50 rows back? I got to the top and discovered I had dropped another on the way up around 6 rows back. 🙂

  40. Steph, while you have my complete sympathy, you also have my utmost admiration as the MASTER (mistress) of Knitting Suspense Writing. If there were a literary prize for the KSW genre, you would be the winner. No question. Brava!! (if it makes you feel any better, which i kind of doubt)

  41. Nuts.
    Okay, after a few cleansing breaths and re-looking at it, I see that it is totally recoverable. I was actually thinking it was all the way back to the sewing part.
    Think of it as knitting a really big leaf with a branch attached to it. You, Harlot, can do this. It seems to be a matter of picking up and decreasing. You’ve got experience behind you, you know the pitfalls, you don’t have to resew (no, you don’t). Have that drink, put on some pretty music and knit the thing and show it who is boss.
    Go, do it now.

  42. Oh. My. Freakin’. God.
    That is such a disaster, and I feel heartbroken for you. The sock definitely needs a time-out, and perhaps it should spend some time thinking about how a proper sock should behave before it is allowed out to play again.

  43. You can totally fix that! I have total confidence in you. Just get out a bunch of bobby pins, DPNs, and crochet hooks. It’s only the last couple of rows, right?
    Looks like you have 3 easily accessed live stitches, put them onto bobby pins or safety pins or whatever. Get out a crochet hook and genty pick up the remaining ones, put them each onto their own little holder. Put everything onto a DPN and re-knit them, decreasing however you’re supposed to do the decrease, all the way back to the little arsing I-cord.
    You can do it!
    Then celebrate with wine!

  44. Last time that happened to me, I stared at the stupid yarn for a bit in shock (these things are shocking, after all). Then I gathered up the whole mess and restored the yarn to its original state. We do not speak of this incident any more.
    Oops – I just did.

  45. Oh no! What a terrible sad thing to have happen. I suspect after a stiff drink and a good reassessment you’ll be able to come up with a clever way to fix it!

  46. I’m laughing really hard (the ‘plink plink plink’ just killed me) and glad that I’m here in CA where you can’t reach me for doing so. But it’s how you put it, not what happened that’s making me cackle. I’m crying on the inside for you. Really.

  47. Aaaiii! That’s horrible. A drink is always good.
    Maybe you should put the leaves in the corner for a day or two of time-out and work on something else like (somebody’s gotta say it) Joe’s gansey.

  48. When I started reading I had an ominous feeling something was about to go wrong. Made me throw up a little in my mouth to actually see it. I hate when you put such hard work into something and then it all goes to hell.
    I will add to the list of encouragements and say, lie down, have a drink (use a cool bendy straw, then you don’t even have to sit up), and then kick it’s little leafy butt for ever even thinking of doing you wrong.
    I also support DragonChest’s idea of a threatening bonfire.

  49. I had such a horrible day that I almost didn’t stop to read your blog, but I’m glad I did. I am really, really, really (I mean really) sorry for your loss. But, you put my problems into perspective and made me laugh.
    Now go kick some sock booty. You can do it! Do it for those of us who are vicariously knitting this dratted thing through you. . .because we are too afraid to try it ourselves.

  50. I gasped…and then I laughed, because I read “landmine” as “latrine”. At least it didn’t fall in a latrine, right? RIGHT? Eternal optimist, that’s me.

  51. oh no….
    you are the master of the sock stephanie, just keep telling yourself that.
    go get a drink (in the middle of the day) and have a lie down…then come back and you will know what to do.
    may the force be with you…

  52. omg, i’m so sorry for this. i’d offer some solace but when you want to fight & cry & scream, nothing will help. the last thing you need is a new knitter (who’s barely made anything beyond a hat or scarf) saying it’ll be alright so i’ll pray that none of them come your way. it might get ugly. i say wait and come back to it.

  53. It’s a good thing you have another leaf to sew in there. Makes it better fast and you have the joy of knitting one more tiny leaf.
    Your sock inspired me to join the sock club at http://www.nysfarm.com/sockclub.htm. I shall be truly challenged.
    BTW, why don’t you ever attend Stitches West? It’s the only show here that I can afford to attend as it’s fairly close by. It’s way fun.

  54. It shouldn’t be funny, and I shouldn’t be laughing. But “____ing _____er of a leaf-hole” was just too much for me.
    Fear not! You are Knitter! You are far too clever to be defeated by a wee bit of yarn and a “_____ing ____er of a leaf hole”! We have faith, Knit on

  55. There are no words. Well, not suitable for mixed company, anyway.
    You have my sympathies. There’s nothing worse than when good knitting turns on you and sinks its little fangs into your hand. (Ungrateful little bastard.)

  56. You can SO fix that. Who’s the boss of your knitting, anyway? Huh? Stick some DPNs in there. Pick those stitches back up and knit away.
    It might be a good idea to sit on the floor while you do it. If you drop it again, fewer stitches will plink.

  57. As I neared the end of this leafy story, I was fearing that what happened. Holy crap. I suggest a drink and perhaps some yarn therapy!

  58. I strongly recommend wood or bamboo sock needles.
    I was knitting away on a sock at a stop light (I only knit when the car is NOT moving) and as the light turned green for my turn lane, I pulled the needles that just gave up it’s stitches into my right hand to become the new working needle – only to find that not only had I pulled a needle out of all it’s stitches, the light was green and I had to get my car moving.
    I pulled over at the first opportunity to try and pick up those stitches on my little sock needle – trying to figure out what to say to a policeman if one pulled up and asked what I was doing.
    I have faith in you – the sock will NOT prevail.

  59. Now Steph, you know it wasn’t the hubris, or the Latin, or even the “Who’s your daddy?” You know that you went wrong when you bargained over the word count. I know–it never fails. I promise myself that I can’t knit until I finish grading, say, 20 papers. But then the knitting calls, I can’t resist, and I make some $@#@%%$ mistake. Bites you every darn time. Get your word count, drink (chablis?), lie down, and fix it later. You’re still the boss, but don’t mess with the gods of either knitting or word counts.

  60. Oh my! I shed tears as I sat here reading this entry. Though I’m not sure if it’s my knitterly sympathy or the peri-menopause talking, but there were tears nonetheless. You’ll conquer that sock yet, I just know it!

  61. “As the sock fell, I realized in a horrible crushing wave of nausea, that I WAS STILL HOLDING THE YARN AND NEEDLES.”
    Nooooooooooooooooo! Oh no! Oh, that’s no good.
    It can’t be any kind of consolation, but The Blog is all behind you.
    Poor Stephanie! 🙁

  62. OH MY. I did sit here with my jaw clenched throughout the fabulous cavorting when it was almost finished, because, as I am completely aware, foreshadowing *is* Your Key to Quality Blogging.
    But…remember! You ARE the boss of that sock! YOU knit the sock…the sock didn’t knit YOU! You ARE the sock’s daddy! (So to speak.) Get back on your knitterly horse and conquer that tiny saucy smirking blot of wool!!! GO!!!!

  63. The perfect way to make it better is just to do it again. It’s painful, but you’ll be able to do it without tears.
    Oh, and while you’re moping, find a net and hang it right underneath your hands. That way if the sock drops, the net will catcht it!
    Go play with your yarn. Yarn fumes make the world go round.

  64. Sad to say, I have to laugh! I feel like it’s one of those situations where that might be the only thing to do. Of course at some point you’ll have to rebuild it. But I think this is the sort of thing that causes me to go back to sewing for a while.
    Good luck. Have a drink. Or 2. And a bonfire.

  65. What a thing to happen on Tuesdays Are for Spinning.
    (I give you the plinks. The plinks were excellent. But the blogosphere weeps while I know damned well that you’ve fixed it all, secured the end and are knitting bobbles to your wee black heart’s content.
    Or maybe spinning…)

  66. I think perhaps you should stay away from knitting for the rest of the day. Spin something. Spin something nice and soft and beautiful with colours that make you happy. Not gansey yarn. Today is not the day for gansey yarn. It is Tuesday though.

  67. I see why you stopped at the most bloggalicious moment, but the leaf is no way dead! A dpn or two, plausibly a crochet hook and you can have that sucker revived pronto. I have faith.

  68. So far everyone’s got it wrong. It was not gravity or hubris or Knitting Witches/Goddesses. It was the spinning wheel yelling “It’s my day, damn it. Get over here and spin or else!”
    I feel your pain – I’m only beginning to knit socks (after 40+ years of knitting) and try to control my pride at simply turning a heel. Thanks to you for a great and easy recipe for socks.

  69. Working the slippery side of Everest today, eh? Is there a knitting equivalent of belay?
    They send liquor with sheep dogs, don’t they?
    Skip the yoga; have a snort.

  70. Clearly the universe/knitting goddess/karmic leveler is saying, “Tuesdays are for spinning.”
    Maybe you should listen.

  71. Oh my goodness, that’s just enough to make you sick. As a matter of fact, my stomach is churning at that last picture. I’m SO sorry! Have a rest and a drink!!

  72. You know who is responsible, right? Annoia, household goddess of stuck kitchen drawers and other domestic mishaps (must credit author Terry Pratchett for that one). She can be appeased with the sacrifice of a large wooden spoon, usually, although I suspect in this case some small bits of handspun may be required…

  73. You can but remind the sock that: nemo me impune lacessit! (No one provokes me without punishment.)
    (It can’t be the Latin….)

  74. Fie upon the DPNs (one reason I need two circulars, which however, I can still drop) so I support the drink plan THEN the lie down…or it may dribble into your ears…and that’s just messy.
    Thank you for sharing your human-ness lest we think yon Harlot belongs on a pedestal. It’s much more fun down here with the rest of us. Even when we scream.

  75. The thing I find most heartbreaking is that you have two “before” pictures, meaning you were planning on showing us the wonders of the finished sock toe step by step, and I can imagine how excited you were – and then the dropping, and the gasping (at least, I gasped), and the unravelling. Poor poor you.

  76. Oh NO!!!! I don’t know what I would do if I were you. Honestly, I’m more of a “modify the pattern” girl because it completely breaks my heart to rip back. Generally, I find that I’m unable to re-pick up the stitches after ripping so the whole thing has to come out. If you could manage it, I’d go with the suggestion for reknitting the leaf while in the sock. It can’t be any harder than some of the lace repairs you’ve shown on here. . . can it?
    Good Luck! You’ll be in my thoughts. . you’re uber committed to these socks–and they are your kind of crazy–just keep that in mind as you are teeth gnashing.

  77. Oh NOOOO!!! I am sitting here with my hand clapped over my mouth, sick with the horror of it all. Urgh. It’s got a hole in it. It’s dead. But it will be OK, truly! It’s knitting, and you *like* knitting, right? Well, maybe not this very moment, but you will like knitting again, I promise.

  78. That little leaf was so beautiful, knit into the toe of the sock like that. Just gorgeous. My heart hurts just looking at that last picture…after a drink and a lie-down maybe it won’t seem so bad! I never outgrew the idea that a nap fixes most problems. Or at least it helps our brains come up with the ideas we need to fix the problems. 🙂

  79. Breathe. Another one.
    You are loving the challenge, and it will be quicker to redo than it was the first time. It will be beautiful and when you are done you can reward yourself with a little adult refreshment or a lie in.

  80. Oh. My.
    Remember — that which does not kill us makes us stronger. Having said that, I vote for the bonfire.

  81. It must be the day (or week) I’ve cast on and ripped back a Baby Surprise Jacket no less than 5 times this week. I even went so far as to throw the entire thing across the room last night. To give myself a break, I thought I’d knit a nice easy fingerless mitt today on my lunch break. I got cocky and added a cable, and it’s been chaos ever since. Thanks for the tip on how to correct cables from ages ago. It’s proved to be invaluable. I feel your pain, maybe not as acutely, but I feel it nonetheless. It’s days like this that I question my abilities as a knitter (or counter – I mean really… 1, 2, 3… it’s not that hard, right?)
    Have a glass for me too, since I’m still at work, and drinking on the job is generally frowned upon.

  82. Oh, No!!! I gasped and then kept saying OHNOOO!!! Oh Dear!!
    Oh that sickening little pop pop feeling… So sorry, but you describe it too well; I could feel it in the pit of my stomach!
    Hope you salvage it once again after you take a break…
    *hugs*

  83. Ouch!!! I swear, knitting projects and yarns have their own personalities and They Can Hear Us! I hope it’s repairable!
    And I must say that “Son of a (*&^%$%^ing tangled skein of laceweight silk” may be my new favorite cursing phrase. Can I steal it? =)

  84. LOL – I couldn’t stop laughing. Glad to see someone else did too. I will say if it had happened to me I would have been screaming bloody murder and swearing a blue streak.
    I will have a drink later for the now unraveled leaf that was oh so perfect…

  85. ok, dropping an i-cord stitch is bad enough – I can NEVER get those effing stitched lined up again on my needles… but that just makes me ill. It reminds me of the first time I worked a top-down hat starting with 4 stitches and slippery Aero DPNS. It felt like I was knitting dental floss with greased horse legs. Awkward, slippery and gory.
    Apparently knitters should work more like amateur trapeze artists: With a net.

  86. If it were me, I’d have thrown it across the room, rescued it from Carmen the Bad Cat, and shoved it into my knitting bag while cursing violently, of course! Then I’d go have a big glass of red wine or three, a lot of dark chocolate, and knit something else for awhile. (How goes your grey Must Have Cardigan, or are you wearing it?) THEN I would rip that uncooperative little _____er of a _____ing leaf right out of there and sew another one in, if it won’t cooperate!

  87. Yes it’s bad but you can fix it. I know that you can although you may not want to right now. It might be fiddly, it might need much swearing all the way and a big glass of beer (not wine, there may be leaves on the bottle) at the end of it but you can do it. It will still be lovely and this time you might decide to do six rows of icord or three and nail it down quick.

  88. You see, now the truth is revealed – the socks are not named Chianti or Chateau Neuf du Pape or whatever they are because of the wonderful grape leaf and grape designs….no, no….they’re called that because knitting them makes you want to drink a vat of the stuff!!!!!!!!

  89. Oh the freaking humanity. Steph I am so so so sorry, I can’t begin ot tell you the knot in my stomach waiting to see that picture, and I haven’t even knitted the thing!! UGH I am so sorry!!!

  90. OMG. I was on edge from about your first sentence. HOW AWFUL.
    However.
    You are the knitter who can overcome, this I know.
    Go have a drink and a lie down, and things will be better.
    (Maybe…but I’m still thinking the yarn for my Koolhaas hat is jinxed, so you might not be able to go by anything I say!)
    (((hugs)))

  91. I need a drink after that! I would have been biting my nails the whole time I was reading that if I hadn’t just put lotion on my hands. Lotiony fingernails are not conducive to suspenseful nail-biting.

  92. So when is your first horror book coming out. You obviously have the talent. I read on with bated breath knowing that in the end something would die.
    And I have to say I probably would have left it on the floor for days before picking it up because I would have been so mad. I once dropped a cooked artichoke on the floor and it splattered everywhere (it was overcooked). I was so mad I watched TV for a few hours. Then my boyfriend walked through the kitchen and was thoroughly confused…

  93. That’s horrible. Those moments are the worst. A lot of my knitting disasters are my cats fault, blame it on the cat. Hand to God, my cat once pulled a sweater OUT of a ZIPPERED bag and unraveled 25 rows of intarsia. How he figured out how to work a zipper i’ll never know. He’s also adept at drawstring bags and some velcro closings. He knows which project bags have which yarns in them and when he loves a certain type of yarn (angora, fuzzy yarns, and anything from SWTC are his faves)he’ll kill himself trying to get at it. I extracted my revenge by making him a pink sweater and making him wear it for several hours. Once you have successfully finished the sock you’ll have your revenge too! Good luck! =^)

  94. I see rams has reminded you about what day it is, so I will gloss right on over that and use another swear word: crochet hook. I bet that leaf’s retrievable if you use one. But go have that drink and that lie-down first.

  95. Must control fist with lighter! Don’t burn it with anything but eyes of flames…. Don’t let it win! Beat it into submission… after a long break.

  96. I HAVE THE SOLUTION!!!!! Just pretend it’s an after thought leaf and that you were supposed to add the stem after you put the leaf in. Better yet, just knit the leaf in and go back after you’ve completed the sock and then put the stem in. Hmmmm…wonder how EZ would’ve handled this?

  97. A small, but audible sound of pain came out of me when I got to that last picture. Oh! Oh, oh!

  98. I’m taking a beginning sock knitting class and my teacher told me that some knitting projects benefit from swearing at them. (I like her.) I think you didn’t swear at your sock enough. I would give it dirty looks too, just to be sure.

  99. I’m so, so sorry. That’s just awful. But on the bright side, you created the most riveting blog post I’ve read in a long time. You built tension, then evoked horror. As awful as losing your leaf is, you should be darn proud of that piece of writing.

  100. Good lord. You need to stop writing horror – it’s much, much too effective.
    But if there is truly no way you can reknit the leaf in situ, wouldn’t it make sense to unembroider the leaf (urgh), unravel what you can and set it aside, then reknit the leaf (the clever, pretty, compelling leaf that you already know you can do in a charmingly graceful sort of way), block that sucker, set it back into the beauty, and wham out the rest of the sock? I mean, lets face it – you kick ass and you have these witchy, sneaky fingers that do things to yarn its never dreamed of. This is unnerving, yes, but this sock has no idea that its screwing with The Harlot. It’s already thrashing around in startlement from the future buttkicking.

  101. Oh no! The horror! My stomach was tied up in knots as I read through to the last paragraph! I am so sorry for this leafy disaster:( I hope you are able to recoup soon and find the strength to re-knit it:)

  102. I knew what was coming and purposefully did not scroll to the picture so I could appreciate your full description of the disaster.
    What terribly wonderful blog fodder you create for yourself. Don’t ever go into therapy. What ever would you write about then?

  103. Ouch. But wasn’t it you who told us (repeatedly) that the great thing about knitting, as opposed to, say, driving, is that you can always have a do-over? Just repeat to yourself: acubus texo ergo sum.

  104. I feel your pain. More wee drams would be in order just to unknot the kinks in the knitter neck. The knitting goddess needs to bother some other knitter for a minute as well.

  105. Ouch. What a shame. Crochet hook surgery? Lifeline next time? Bamboo or circular needles? Cus’ this is sock #1, right? This adventure continues for some time to come. No bonfire, please.

  106. Wow, that’s such a graphic account it was like reading a horror novel! I’d recommend the lie down and then maybe some wine before re-tackling the sock. I’d recommend the bonfire, but I don’t want to anger the knitting goddesses as I’m working on my own sock at the moment!

  107. HOLY CRAP!!! HOLY CRAP!! OMG !! What to say ? I’m at a complete loss for words. All that time and effort gone POOOF!!! HOLY CRAP. Have a lay down , have a dinkie poo, don’t look a the sucker for a few days–maybe then it will behave. GOOD luck to you .

  108. Oh, Stephanie…I’m so sorry. A moment of silence will be had in our house for the perfect little leaf complete with icord stems…
    🙁

  109. My brain is working hard to parse an excuse that my boss will accept, because I don’t think I can keep working today. “Please let me go home; the leafy tragedy is more than I can bear.”

  110. Please …. don’t wait until tomorrow (unless of course, that’s how long it takes you to recover from the leaf, and the screech that you consume to console yourself)… SHOW US your mastery….
    dont’ let it win!

  111. Curses!!! Foiled again!
    Such suspense you built with your writing! Even if you didn’t write about my favorite thing in the world, knitting, I would still read your blog just for the pleasure of enjoying your writing style!
    Better you than me – that sock would go to the land of UFO’s in my humble abode!

  112. I vote to place that “#$%^” sock into the naughty basket and shove it in the corner for a time-out!
    Then go drink a glass of wine and wait for tomorrow.

  113. Awwwwww…
    anyway, you make me feel better about frogging my (first) sock heel flap and gusset three times.
    Rip ‘er back. Do ‘er over. What else is there to do? Oh — and never, ever, EVER start thinking about how smart you are. The Lord has a way of bringing us to our knees in an instant.

  114. Have you ever seen the Fawlty Towers episodes where Basil thrashes the car? You could try that.
    But seriously, please no bonfire. Strong drink, lie-down, rest for a few days … yes. Bonfire, please no.

  115. Oh no, that’s terrible! I’d be tempted to superglue the leaf parts of all the other leaves as a precaution. But then they’d look weird. Damn.

  116. It’s already sewn in; don’t waste that. Pick up the stitches and reknit the leaf and stem. When you begin the i-cord, put in a life line. 🙂

  117. Oh! Just to tell you the kind of person I am, I had to scroll ahead to see what happened. I couldn’t wait for the story to unfold.
    That stinks!

  118. OMG! And then to have the strength of character to pick the damn thing up, look straight into the belly of the beast (or leaf) and and take its picture for us? Man, you’ve got some serious moral fiber (Oooo fiber – yarn…but I digress…)
    Good luck -slog on!

  119. The foreshadowing was working, oh it was working. However, you are KNITTER, and we shall hear you roar! You will, (after a temper tantrum and swearing) pick up those tiny stitches, live and clinging to life, and reknit the leaf. It will be better than it was, better, stronger, leafier.
    I am so sorry. The muses were not kind today, but it will turn out. It truly was beautiful, and stopping to admire it, as the foot was knit, yes, totally understandable and necessary. It was/is a work of art to be admired. We, The Blog admired, we, The Blog feel your pain, and we, The Blog are rooting for you.

  120. Parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. (‘Mountains will be in labour, and an absurd mouse will be born’, which really means ‘all that work and nothing to show for it.’)

  121. OH MY GOD! @!#$^%&*?>}*~ doesn’t even cover what I said outloud as I was reading!! I say have a drink and a lie down! What could it hurt now!?! Besides, I’d feel so much better myself after a nice zinfandel; much more relaxed about the obsenity in my hands. I do have faith in you however, as an amazing knitter and wonderful person to be able to conquer sticks and string! You can do it, Steph!! Godspeed – Shawn

  122. Wait, though, wait! It’s really just a lost leaf right? The amoeba wasn’t live, so you just unravel the leaf (of which you have more right?) sew in a new one in the still good amoeba shaped space, and you’re off to the races! See, not sooo bad. (although I probably would’ve cried :()

  123. Oh dear. Next time (because you and I both know that there will be a next time), might I suggest leaving that scrap yarn holding those live stitches as a life line until the thing is 100% done?
    (easy for me to say with my 20/20 hindsight vision, I know)

  124. I’m sitting here at work (not supposed to be “surfing” the internet…), and I actually have TEARS in my eyes. I’m so sorry! How truely awful this is! I don’t even know if I could have blogged about it! Can you pick up now, and finish the leaf as it sits? Not having done them, and realizing that one of the challenges is to try to figure out what row you’re on, but … well… maybe?
    Thinking good knitterly thoughts in your direction!

  125. Oh MAN ALIVE!!! I don’t even knit and I exhaled when it fell plink, plink to the floor… (wondering what plink, plink sounded like, actually.)
    I’m so sorry!!
    Can I do anything to help? I feel like I need to bring you a casserole or something. Do you like fresh warm bread? Can I bring you some bread?? Oh man… I’m so sorry… so sorry…
    I’ll just pat your arm awkwardly and turn suddenly and leave the room, because I’m at a loss…
    I’m sorry.

  126. Villa est villa Romana! You can do it! (Ok, I didn’t get very far in Latin….)
    And hey–if the knitting thing doesn’t work out, have you ever considered, um, a career in writing?

  127. Ummmmm Definately have a drink…..
    I am feeling your pain, and I gotta tell ya, I would be having a nice stiff drink and put the sock in the time out corner for a bit

  128. I am rather good at reading symbols – and those were some pretty strong words you used on that sock. I have a feeling it should behave now. Of course now you know exactly how I feel when knitting a plain ordinary boring sock.

  129. Oh, I’m so sorry, but I laughed til I cried. Two tissues worth! I just love that the title of the ruined leaf picture is “Bastardleafhole”. My deepest sympathies.

  130. oh my …
    I swear these things only happen to you (or maybe you’re the only one who has the patience to write about them). Deep breaths …

  131. Lots of chocolate, just enough red wine – and then I’m with hollyk – knit the other sock and stick this one in deep dark closet for a bit!
    Nancy

  132. Oh Stephanie!!!! I was a few clicks away from buying that sock kit……I thought I was up to the challenge. I now know I am not worthy!!!!!!!
    I would definitly drink a bottle of a good Syrah before you show that sock who is master…..that’s all I’m sayin’!

  133. Gasping cringing face in hands mouth in big O like Munch…or Mr. Bill…Ooooohhhh noooooooooooo!!!!!

  134. Oh no!!!! My sympathies. Show that sock whose boss, put it through sock boot camp! Let it know that that was unacceptable ma’am, yes ma’am!

  135. I have a bright side. (dodges several thrown DPNs)
    It looks like all the care you took with the sewing in of the leaf kept it in a state that you can fix. Don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t look like an easy fix, but at the same time, you can probably knit those leaves in your sleep by now, so I say try picking up the stitches and work it back into leafy goodness. All does not look as lost as it could be. You practiced on what, 17 other leaves, and inlaid the leaf like a master in preparation for exactly this challenge, you just didn’t know it at the time.
    Good luck, and I am sending you psychic moral support.

  136. OH NOOOOOOOOOOOO…. we ALL need a drink after that. when this happens to me, I bury offending knitting project in a bottom drawer, or the back field depending on just how offended I am. Good thing it’s Tuesday!

  137. ooohhh noooooo!
    I felt everyone of those little plinks…right down to my toes…which were curled into little tight balls…
    Drink, cuss drink cuss lie down, far away from the socks.

  138. Oh god. That is horrible.
    And the knots of horror in my stomach are a testament to your amazing writing skills. I feel as though I dropped that sock!
    And it was horrible. And now I will drink.

  139. Oh man. I felt myself turning green at the plink, plink, plink… have yourself a good lie down and for God’s sake stop using Latin!
    That being said, do you think you can pick up the loose leaf stitches and salvage it from the hole? Or can you unsew the leaf, reknit it and then resew it to the hole. You don’t have to rip it back… do you?
    *waits on tenter hooks*

  140. How can you make something so traumatic sound so funny? Why was I laughing out loud at the “plink plink” thing when I know just how sickening that sound is?

  141. Couldn’t you just take out that leaf and go get another one off that pile you already made?

  142. Ohhhhhh. It’s like when men see someone getting kicked in the family area on television: knitters everywhere have just felt that plinking in their own hands as they ready this. Can we do anything? Maybe send wine or a nice casserole?

  143. Hey! what about a nice pile of pre-drafted merino in those autumn colors that you like, maybe 300 grams of it, left alone to answer the door…coming back to it, HORROR!!! THE CAT HAS RE-PRE-DRAFTING IT AND IS NESTING!!!
    yep, took the bundle away and drowned my sorrows in a few glasses of Pinot.
    Steph, you need at least a few hours to digest that tragedy. I feel your pain.

  144. Oh, Harlot Goddess, you make me feel so much better about the horrible, awful things I do.
    Laughing about them doesn’t make them better, but at least (so far) it’s kept me from killing anyone (anything). Thank you for sharing your foibles and catastrophes with us. It gives me hope, in a sick, twisted kind of way.
    Karen

  145. I laughed so hard I splurped coffee up my nose. That will teach me to drink while I’m reading your blog. I’d be better having the coffee lying down…except for all the warnings I’ve just read not to do that. I know laughing out loud doesn’t sound very sympathetic…but, really, if an unraveled leaf in the toe of a just-begun sock can make nearly 300 people respond in whatever way they have…well, you have to be doing something right, Stephanie. You bring us together, and we all know you’ll be up on that horse and riding into the perfect oak leaf forest any minute now. Well, maybe two minutes.

  146. I know that sinking, nauseating feeling too well.  I last experienced it when opening the washer to look upon my black alpaca shawl which had stretched and I wanted to shrink just a little bit.  There are very few people I’ve shown or admitted this to (and they can’t control the laughter).You’ll recover it dear, and please do bring the lovely sock with you to Madrona next month.

  147. OMG — there are no words. I feel the need to bring you comfort food, even though you’re in the frozen north and I’m in the south.
    Have a toddy, put the sock in the naughty corner for a while, and knit something mindless using a beautiful yarn. The sock will be jealous and will behave itself from this point on.
    (apparently there were words …)

  148. Oh, oh you. Oh I want to get on a plane right now and fly to you wtih a bottle of whisky and lead you to a tiny little dark cave where you can huddle over a pot on a fire, sipping whisky, stirring potato soup and forgetting that knitting exists at all.

  149. Dear Knitting Gods,
    I humbly thank you for accepting my offering of Stephanie and her knitted leaves socks in exchange for not smacking me around for knitting Shedir in a different yarn with a different gauge and a two sizes smaller needle…

  150. You already made so many leafs and I am sure the structure of the stiches are copied in your head. You can fix this!!
    I am sorry for this accident but I really enjoyed the blog 🙂

  151. So….I just got finished reading all the Archives (I started reading your blog about 4 months ago) and I cant help but thinking ….”IS THAT IT!!!” and “NOW WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WHILE TRYING TO AVOID HOMEWORK!!!” Any place where I can catch the posts further back then 2004 (I think thats the first year listed…)
    Also my mom was one of those “no TV durning summer” people. Except she’d put the thing in the closet when school got out and it didn’t come back until after school had started and the weather got cruddy. You could always use that as a threat next summer to keep it off durning hte day…
    Thanks for the entertainig distractions,
    DeLaina in Fairbanks, AK

  152. Oh. Oh oh oh.
    But you took the first step. You picked it up off the floor. That’s more than I could have done. 🙁
    knit on

  153. It’s really remarkable that everyone reading this cringed at exactly the same moment. Now I’m afraid to go home and knit on my Hedgerow Socks!
    You definitely need to give the sock a talking to, and make sure the rest of the project yarn hears you–you wouldn’t want the second sock giving you that kind of guff.

  154. “Plink”? No, I think that’s just the sound when you *intend* to tink. When accidental, it sounds much more like the drums of the orcs summoning the balrog (only much faster), although I’m not completely sure because when it’s happened to me the sound has always been drowned out by the screaming.
    How did the leaf repair go? While horrifying, the damage appears reparable without having to rip the whole thing out (temporarily satisfyingly self-destructive though that might be).

  155. The Husband suggests that you have a nice big cup of hot chocolate with a nice big swig of Chambord in it. That way you have a drink with some chocolate and that can only help.
    You have our condolences.

  156. well gol darn henry
    well what is the harlot
    up to now doesnt she
    ever go to bed
    she dropped her knitted leaf
    on the floor it had a fit
    and fell apart realy got mad at her
    then harlot got ticked off
    she been talking in unknown words
    has to count words or what ever
    joe is out of town place is just
    falling apart
    i could lend her my leaf rake
    i really feel sorry for her
    do you think she will go to bed
    early tonight all those falling
    leaves it’s not even september yet

  157. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo……………………………..

  158. well, it looked beautiful before the plinking. You can redo it without undoing the sewing, right?
    I had a similar experience yesterday, having *just* finished a big ol’ entrelac scarf that took me forever and drove me nuts – I had that last cast-off loop in my hand, stood up to get scissors to cut it, dropped the scarf and my last triangle unravelled. Gah!
    I fixed it and it’s done and it’s all fine. Except for all the ends I need to weave in. It will take you no time at all to redo your wee leaf and make it look lovely as before!

  159. I don’t watch movies or TV because of the horror factor…so I was holding my breath in suspense and my heart sank when I saw that beautiful leaf…now knitting blogs are too exciting and traumatic for me too! Damn!
    I know you can fix it. You are good. But damn!

  160. This pattern you’re doing must be for people who have alot of time and patience on their hands. Alot of patience! There must be some kind of time/patience ratio that would apply here. Good luck!

  161. Whoa, you were high on the wool fumes there, weren’t you? And then, and then…oh dear, I think I forgot to breathe for a paragraph there. Well, you’ve managed to fix scarier things before. I know you’ll manage beautifully. You just need to allow yourself time to get over the shock. Sure you don’t want some tea?

  162. i weep for the leaf, and for you; and suggest you knit something plain until your heart rate goes back to normal. phew. that was even hard to read.

  163. And you wonder why we love you?! Honestly Dear Harlot, if you started charging admission to your blog I would subscribe for the sheer entertainment pleasure… nevermind the joy of fellow knitlovers as they unite!

  164. Ohhhhhhhh, you POOR BABY!
    Who knew, I mean WHO, in a million bleepin’ years, would think you’d want a freakin’ lifeline on a stoopid I-cord?!
    I imagine by now, you’ve already taken a second look at it (without that initial horror thing) and seen you just might be able to salvage it anyway, while still on the sock. Damn.
    will be checking for updates,
    Nan


  165. This is so tragic and dramatic that it needs its own soundtrack.
    🙁 🙁 🙁
    But you’ll persevere! Show those leaves who’s boss!

  166. oh I just had to comment – this entry actually made my stomach hurt… the doom was palpable. here’s hoping that some hours/days will provide a renewed focus. but seriously, that $%@*ing stinks.

  167. Wow – three of the professional commenters – Rams, Rachel H, and Presbytera, mentioned Tuesdays are for Spinning. Talk about kicking a gal while she’s down….
    If this is how your friends treat you, imagine what the squirrels could do…?

  168. Luctor et emergo (I struggle and emerge). You can do it! You’re right descending into real Latin shows a certain level of untethered insanity.

  169. It can be fixed… I won’t say it will be easy, but I think you can pick up those live stitches and figure out where they are in the pattern and reknit that bit. You are amazing and creative and you’ll figure out how to do it without having to undo the rest of what you did today. Go have you a lie down, and it’ll come to you.

  170. oh crap! i knew about half way down that it wasn’t gonna be good but i was hoping against hope that you were just messing with my emotions and that it would all be okay and i could just breath a sigh of relief. guess not

  171. It’s not even my sock and my heart sank when I saw the poor gored leaf. Those kinds of things just should not happen to knitters. Especially knitters who just conquered a leaf shaped hole and managed to sew in said corresponding leaf.
    Condolences…and I know you can fix it!

  172. Deep breaths now. Don’t panic.
    We have the technology. We can rebuild it.
    Better, faster, stronger.
    Just as soon as we have a little drink or two…

  173. But you liked knitting the little leaves, remember? What’s the difference if they are attached to an amoeba (I mean leaf) -shaped hole while you knit them? And for future icord knitting on leaves attached to socks, may I recommend a lifeline? Meanwhile, go lay in a bathtub full of Screech and congratulate yourself on inventing a few new “Latin” phrases.

  174. There’s fearless knitting, and there’s kamikaze knitting. I know which category fits that sock, with its suicidal dive to the floor…
    Sorry, dear.

  175. I’m virtually sending you a keg. A drink or two probably won’t touch the pain at this point. Don’t give up – it will drive you crazy for the rest of your life!

  176. oh how frustrating! i hate when i drop things and mess things up!
    but i think with some fresh, rested eyes, some bitty crochet hooks, and another leaf to compare with you’ll be able to fix it up in no time.

  177. Oh, so sorry!! I get that gut wrenching nausea just reading about it. Go have a drink, a lie down, a hot bath, a paint the air blue rant. It will be more manageable after that.
    amy in ne

  178. Oh, Steph, I feel your pain. I am so sorry. I feel like sending you flowers in remembrance of your loss.

  179. I feel your pain. Once upon a time, I knit a lace shawl out of silk ribbon yarn, and dropped a stitch about 10 from the final bound off stitch. The yarn is STILL sitting, face to the corner, in my yarn closet, on a time out.
    Have a scotch on me.
    Get a good night’s sleep.
    And show that @#$%^&*())(*&^%$# sock who’s boss, first thing tomorrow morning!

  180. The toe and inlaid leaf looked lovely. I’m sure you can rescue it without as much trouble as I would have. It *can’t* be all that bad….I didn’t even gasp like I did with that photo of the lace someone had ripped back after your cable explanation – so it can’t be *that* bad….right?

  181. there’s creepy vibes in the air, because my latin phrase-o-th-day calendar said Nil homini certum est, or nothing is certain to man, which I took to be ominous in regards to life in general…
    …who knew ovid was so clairvoyant?

  182. hmmm ….. I call that plink plink plink noise/feeling a ‘crochet hook moment’.
    A tiny sized hook is most excellent for picking up tiny sts. Especially to save a carefully attached & most beautiful autumn leaf.
    Good luck!!

  183. y’know a WHOLE LOTTA knitters have just decided that if *you* are having problems with this sock, *they* have no hope of making a pair! (We call it Buckley’s in Oz – no hope or Buckley’s – ie totally impossible.)
    At least we know the pitfalls if we still lust after the kit…

  184. i’m feeling for you- really i am!- but this is another prime example of why i refuse to tempt fate by using slippery, slidey, needles when i’m knitting anything this delicate.
    grippy bamboo all the way!

  185. Yeah, I’m for starting the other sock right now. It’s a matter of lifting a possible jinx. If that sock is cursed, there’s nothing for it but to change the luck.
    You could work the other sock, or change needles, or try putting your shirt on inside-out. Just change SOMETHING.
    I’m really, really sorry. This reminds me of my summertime Sockapalooza4 nightmare.

  186. >>>
    Oh man. I felt myself turning green at the plink, plink, plink… have yourself a good lie down and for God’s sake stop using Latin!
    That being said, do you think you can pick up the loose leaf stitches and salvage it from the hole? Or can you unsew the leaf, reknit it and then resew it to the hole. You don’t have to rip it back… do you?
    *waits on tenter hooks*
    >>>
    sue, i think you’re the first person i’ve seen online who knows that the expression is, in fact, tenter hooks- not tender hooks!

  187. You know I was inclined to buy this for myself but seeing all the problems you’ve been through… you are a pro at this. I think it maybe to big of a project! It was looking awesome! I hope you can recover and not have to start over!

  188. sigh and major sigh. I sure do hope by now that you are a bit calmer, or drunker, and can look at the bright side of this. It must be somewhere in there. I also hope you warned the girls that with this on your plate, or knee, and with Joe gone, that they best step lightly.
    How about blaming the gol’ darn metal needles that allowed the stitches to slip off in the first place? Maybe do the next one on wooden dpns? I know they’d never let this happen. Never! Really, I promise.

  189. Wow. You are amazing. I’ve never been the type to laugh at horror movies, but I finally get why people do! It’s dread and doom and gored leaves…and so flipping ironic that I had to “rewind” and read it twice more so I could laugh my diaphragm sore.
    Bless you.

  190. My eight year even understood the drama of the sock dropping… He said… “but it came apart!” with true dismay! That’s just wrong!

  191. I personally think the first picture of the leaf looks much better then the one with the center missing. Just my observation though.

  192. You, my dear lady, are a fanTAStic story teller. You pulled me right into yourself and I felt my heart jerk as I realized about the leaf and that sick, knowing feeling still sits in the pit of my stomach. I have that same sick, knowing feeling also sitting under a table in the corner of my knitting room as I’m still very cross with it and refuse to give in and frog it back and do what needs to be done.
    I wish you best luck with the next try.

  193. I’ll bet it happened in that awful slo-mo(in your head) as it hit the floor. Try it again…recall the joy of those first little leaves.
    But after that stiff drink & a brief lie down…..(((Hugs)))

  194. Res ipsa loquitor—or as my husband says, res ipsa lockyourcar. The thing speaks for itself. IT SUCKS BIGTIME. So sorry.

  195. HAHAHAHAHHAHA!!! Sorry. I know it’s mean to laugh at your misery, but I just lost a scarf that I made and it was beautiful and it was warm and it was comfortable and everything.
    When I drop something I’m working on, I drop the yarn with it. As I realize that it’s falling to the floor, I let the yarn that I’m working with fall too. Keeps it from unraveling too bad. *patpat* It’ll be easier the second time around.

  196. In the movie “The Last Shot”, there’s this one scene where Matthew Broderick’s character is telling Alec Baldwin about this horrible, life-changing moment. As he finishes, AB looks like he’s going to say something really profound, opens his mouth, and says a long extended “f*—*k.”
    Yeah, it’s like that.

  197. I wish I lived closer. I could so fix that for you in about 5 minutes. I’m a way slower knitter than you, but I rock at fixing knitting problems. That’s actually my main job at the lys I work at.

  198. I thought Tuesdays were for spinning?
    Anyway. I held my breath the whole way through, to see what would happen. Then I couldn’t stand it anymore and scrolled down, and saw the plink plink line…oh my.
    I know you can fix it. If you can’t, who else?

  199. Oooh, I know that feeling, it’s a mix of wanting to cry, wanting to laugh, and wanting to vomit all at the same time. Yep, have a drink and a bonfire.

  200. Oh my. I could tell something bad was coming, but good lord, this was cataclysmic! The sheer terror of it all sent me into a hysterical fit of laughter – I hope that you, too, can find this happy place soon. Best of luck on your next attempt 🙂

  201. Um yeah, that was like a horror movie. After all those takes with the leaf and all those takes with the inlay hole and all the takes with the two together and then joy of joys along comes the i-cord stem and then, as I read, I hadn’t scrolled quite far enough down, and I wanted to see in that sick want to stare at the car accident way. So, I took a quicky quick scroll down, but it was bad. Bad, in a look away from the movie screen quick kind of way. So I scrolled back up to the text before it. Read it. Took a deep breath, scrolled back down, had a quick cry, okay I just cringed, and then had to look away.
    I know you’ll fix it just righty-tidy. But you’ll need a bit of a break first, don’t push it.

  202. Crap. I knew something was coming but still I was speechless when I saw what had happened. I feel for you, empathize, sympathize, heartbroken, bummed. We all know you will fix it, but I think a good old-fashioned dose of self-pity is warranted right now. Do what you gotta do!

  203. If you were a mere muggle, I would expect the bonfire solution. However, we know you have enough flue powder to beat this set back, Steph! (And perhaps enough wine as well…)

  204. Oh my goodness! I literally felt waves of nausea roll through me while reading. Is there any way to pick up the stitches and knit the leaf from the toe; thereby saving you the anguish of ripping everything out? (I ask because I want to knit these socks and dropping things is very common behavior on my part.)

  205. The last time something like that happened to me (on the very last stitch of a sweater) I threw the whole thing in the trash and then dumped lasagna all over it so I couldn’t go back in the middle of the night and get it back out.

  206. Oh dear. Been there, done that, got the BLEEPING t-shirt. I hate when that happens.
    Hang in there, Harlot. Show those socks who’s boss.

  207. Well, you have long admited to acceptance of the fact that crazy is part and parcel of your existence, so seeking it out in the form of teeny leaves was certainly no surprise to any of us.
    Now that you’ve been pushed under the bus, you can get on with the project. You know perfectly well that all great artists must suffer for their art. The Sistine Chapel gave Michaelangelo pause more than once. (As did his patron.)
    As you have no doubt noticed, the blog is behind you and expects great things of you.

  208. Oh no. My sympathies.
    I have faith in you though! And of course, we’d all understand if the leaves took a little sabbatical in your closet for awhile.
    Rock on.

  209. aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhh
    omigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigod
    how can you write with such composure in the face of such unbridled horror?!?!?!
    aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhh
    oh, the agony.

  210. oy. the agony.
    But you are a Clever Woman. I know you can fix it 🙂 After all, you are the wone who taught me how to fearlessly drop back all kinds of stiches to mend “oopses” rows back!
    I toast you. And await the outcome.

  211. Yesterday I posted a suggestion, which you maybe did not try. Today I may have a better one. It’s just knitting. I hope you try yesterday’s or today’s just for grins. Today’s thought: the leaves are knit from the outside cast on edge and worked inward. Cast on twice the number of stitches needed using Judy’s magic cast on. (magic loop this)Pick up a second circular to magic loop the rest of the knitting of the leaf, leaving (ha!) half the cast on stitches to be babysat by the original needle – you are using this as a provisional cast on. Later, graft the leave into place – your resulting seam will be a smaller ridge and therefor more comfortable. Follow? Wish I had the pattern to play with.
    Lorilee Beltman
    City Knitting

  212. Those leafs are soooo attractive…even with a hole in the middle. You. will. figure. it. out. Maybe not today, but soon. Soon.

  213. (wince) Talk about a major OUCH!!! Almost as bad as the last migraine I had… The one where I puked up all freakin’ day. For. The. First. Time. EVER!!!!
    (BTW, the site doesn’t like when I try to post two comments in a row…)

  214. How do these things happen to you?? I never thought I would give the advice to put a lifeline in three stitches but there you have it. I’m so sorry you dropped your sock. Maybe a non-knitter could laugh at your plight but I just can’t. I feel bad for you. Can you repair it ?? I hope so.

  215. Sue is right…only a knitter can feel your pain. And right now my knitting cojones are stinging for you.

  216. Yep. This post requires that even I, who hardly ever adds to the millions of comments here, send the 314th condolence message. I’ll bet you didn’t meet your word count either did you? I think I need a drink.

  217. Oh no. No. That did not just happen. I actually feel a littl sick. And also am laughing in the way you do when horrible things happen, because really…what else CAN you do?!
    Does it make you feel less alone in Crazyville to know I more-or-less promised my FIVE girlfriends that if they wanted them, I’d make these socks for them (oh, and a pair for me, in the interest of Sisterly Solidarity)? Because I have a level of crazy and also a lack of understanding about my actual time + knitterly skill that transcends understanding?
    No, it doesn’t. But take heart: I’ve learned that a lifeline is a good idea, even if it’s only three stitches…

  218. It’s just sticks and string….sticks and string….sticks and string…..
    I bet the second toe is gonna be as perfect as perfect can be.

  219. Mother of God.
    I feel your pain, and I suffer your nausea. I think I need drink after hearing the plink plink plinks. I’ve never felt such sympathy for a knitter as I have at this very moment, and although I used to have a special fondness for autumn, I think I’ll shed a tear now each time I see a leaf fall to the ground.
    After a few drinks, a good night’s rest and a few more expletives, you will get back on that proverbial knitting horse and turn that yarn into an amazing piece of art!
    YOU GO GIRL!

  220. Do you think that maybe you get more of these stories to tell, because you can tell a story of angst better than any other knitter? It seems either you get more of these than some of us, but maybe it’s just you have the courage to tell the tale.
    I am sure you can recover from this disappointment (not the right word but it will have to do). I am sure that you will triumph over the toe-leaf.
    On the other hand, I totally get the need for words that are unspellable, too! Tomorrow is a new day, thank goodness.

  221. Dearest Stephanie,
    I believe you have an enviable stash at your house and a few patterns/ideas that have been screaming, begging, pleading for you to bring them life. Take one zip lock bag, insert contents of offensive sock and it’s accompaning friends/leaves and place in most excellent hiding space (you know, like the one you use to hide presents for teenagers)walk away feeling intensly satisfied with self that you are saving the environment from harmful fumes caused by barbequeing offensive matter.Voila! You are still the queen.

  222. Oh, girl, I can SO identify! My last blog post is entitled, “Meditation, Mirth, Mistakes, and Mohair.” The socks, by the way, are absolutely gorgeous–way too fancy for me even to attempt! Go Stephanie!

  223. I think you need to stop and go squeeze some alpaca, cashmere, or qiviut if you’ve got it. Take both wine and chocolate with you. Remain there eating, drinking and squeezing until you feel better. A couple of glasses and pieces of chocolate later and you’ll be ready to face the world again. OK, so maybe you’ll just be ready for bed, but think how much better you’ll sleep!
    My sincerest commiserations.

  224. Have you considered that particular leaf didn’t want to be on the foot of the sock? Perhaps its desire is to be one of the leaves around the top.
    You should remember that knitted items have minds of their own and a sense of their own destiny in the universe. Put that one on the under layer at the top. That will teach the little brat to complain about its location!

  225. Thank you so much for that warning! When I attack the socks (which will be whenever the kit arrives) I shall run a lifeline through the bugger before attempting the i-cord.

  226. You are a marvelous writer and certainly in the groove tonight. Great post. Now you get to have the fun of the leaf all over again.

  227. So sorry to hear about your ordeal, and best of luck on the do-over – I hope it’s possible to reknit, or recreate stitches with the crochet hook, with it in place. I’ll look forward to your account of how you’ve outwitted the sock (after a short vacation from it).
    I think the planets were not in alignment today – I had a bad run-in with a skein of Cascade 220 that I was trying to wind, this evening. It got in such a bad knot that it took me about an hour to get it out, and finally wound.
    And I, too, recommend wood or bamboo DPNs for the next I-cord leaf stem!

  228. Oh!!! That’s all I could say once I got over the initial shock of it all. I’m so sorry! It’s just staggering to think about! The only bright spot on the horizon is that I KNOW you will kick this sock’s ass (or would it be heel? Hmmm…. I’ll have to think on that one.) I think you need to go and mourn, and then you seriously need to kick it’s ass! We all know that our beloved Knitting Guru, The Harlot, will conquer both leaf and stem, and then the whole sock, and then the other sock. You are such a brave and talented knitter. Some people would say that you take on seriously scary projects that are just out there waiting to unravel at a moments notice, but I’m not one of those people!?! Go get em Steph!

  229. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!
    But you know you can do it, so that has to be some consolation. I echo the sentiments of those above me when I tell you to go kick its ass (or arse, since I’m British!)!

  230. Feeling your pain. Hope by now you have returned to the scene of the crime and made repairs. Best to attend to such things in the morning when you still have the strength. Question: Will you be wearing these socks (one day) with open-toed shoes or will the world never see the $*%#* that you have a broken heart over??? Poor Stephanie. Feeling your pain.

  231. First, I feel your pain.
    Secondly, I am going to remember that if I ever need someone with primo cursing skills, I want YOU in my corner!!

  232. Ouch. You may want to consider getting a set of Celtic Swan’s Bronze Needles. They have ridges which hold the knitting. Not sure if it would have helped here, but in future cases, they might. (I love my set of them!)

  233. Even the non-knitting-I-could-care-less-about-it guy sitting across the hall from me at work was horrified! You are the KNITTED SOCK QUEEN – YOU WILL PREVAIL!

  234. oh gods, Steph. My heart just stopped. Good luck with fixing that. You can do it, you’re good. Me, I’d hide it. Forget I ever saw those cute little leaves.
    I cleaned my stash and sorted out all the yarn (and brought 2 huge bags down for my mother and daughter so they could do some stash enhancement) and found all my UFO’s. Many of which were in a similar state to that sock. All of those, I frogged. Poof! No more swearing.
    Of course I didn’t tell thousands of people that I was knitting my UFOs.

  235. we learn so much from your knitting “challenges”, i have full confidence that you will be able to adjust and adapt to this new development, and you’ll show us how to survive such disasters as well- look forward to seeing how this one goes-after all you are a McPhee aren’t you?

  236. That just made me a little sick. I just sucked in my breath when I saw the picture. My dogs think something is wrong. Deep breath woman . . . carry on. You are a geneous. You will fix it perfectly and have a lovely picture to show us.

  237. Damned all the problems that sock gave you… You SHOWED that stupid sock who is BOSS, that is what you did! Now just breath deep, gather your thoughts on everything you learned, and start the second sock, knowing full well that it will be better than that other naughty one. A “dry run” was all that first sock was. You were knitting that first sock as nothing more than a test swatch. Bright side, you get to make another pretty leaf!!

  238. ;( Feeling for you. Karma is an evil mistress.
    Inside I cry for you – but outside I’m laughing like a bastard! The quality of your writing makes it so vivid – I’ve been in the same ‘crisis in slow motion’ situation. Mine was lacework.
    You. Can. Fix. This.

  239. Oh my, that actually made me physically nauseated. I DO THAT CRAP ALL THE DAMNED TIME.

  240. Go ahead and pour yourself that drink and remember that time heals all wounds. (Sorry, no pun intended.)
    A.

  241. It’s probably too late, since this was posted yesterday, but here’s what I would do:
    1)Open a bottle of wine.
    2)Start a smallish bonfire
    3)Lounge in front of smallish bonfire, warming feet (if that blasted sock won’t warm your feet one way, it sure as shootin’ will in another!)
    4)Begin another, completely unrelated sock, perhaps some nice k2p2 ribbing in an absolutely luscious yarn. No stress.

  242. Oh, I hate when bad stuff like that happens to good knitters! I have to say your traumatic leaf unraveling makes me realize crazy knitting crap like this doesn’t just happen to me. If it happens to you too, then I know I’m not alone and that’s a good thing in a knitting self-esteem way.

  243. Dear Stephanie, I hope you enjoyed the wine, screech, chocolate and other restorative measures employed yesterday to lessen the blow — and that you head doesn’t hurt too much this morning. Now, knowing you, even long-distance, I’m sure you’ve taken up the challenge and grabbed another leaf to replace the damaged one. I suggest that you a) remain seated the entire time you work on the sock from this point forward and c) stop the i-cords at, say 3. Five appears to be tempting fate.

  244. To Mary of 9:30pm, Jan 15:
    If you are being paid to edit what someone has been paid to write, it is necessary to point out gramatical errors.
    If you are reading for pleasure what has been posted for free, however, it’s bad form.
    When you take into account that the unpaid blogger is paying out of their own pocket for the bandwidth that allows you to read the unpaid post, it’s really quite rude.

  245. Oof… that physically hurt me to read. Sending positive thoughts and good wine vibes that this sock saga will end well! (And if it doesn’t, I’ll bring the matches)

  246. Oh, I don’t know. That doesn’t look like too much of a problem to me – it’s just a little bit of a hole. I’m sure you’ll fix it no problem.
    Signed: someone who doesn’t knit.
    🙂
    Seriously, I don’t knit, but I love reading about it on your blog, and I sort of feel that I know exactly how much feel at times like this!

  247. Aaaack – I actually counted the “plinks”. Twelve would have just been the I-Cord, but twenty spelled real trouble.
    Breathe deeply, wipe away a tear or two and declare that you are stronger than a piece of yarn. (But maybe not stronger than gravity.)

  248. Oh! I was literally on the edge of my seat whilst reading that post, I could see the dark clouds rolling in right from the start. You have my sympathy, but at the same time it is reassuring to hear that even people who knit professionally have these things happen to them!

  249. Now I feel bad about suggesting you thump the yarn.
    *yarn does not like suggested abuse* 🙁
    So, I say you HUG the yarn, yeah that’s the ticket. Hug the yarn. Loved yarn is pliable, friendly, do-what-its-supposed-to yarn.
    Then again maybe it was the needles…

  250. Heu, at least the amoeba leaf-hole survived? it did right? right?
    They are so pretty, I am sure you will find a way to fix them in no time.
    *big inappropriate hug*
    Adeline

  251. Only solution is to make a offering to the knitting Goddess in hopes that the curse of the difficult pattern will be lifted. Ouch…I’ve had projects like this and it makes we want to take up sword swallowing or fire walking as a hobby instead. Just remember…this too shall pass.

  252. I think you have the beginnings of your next book… Knitting Horror Stories To Be Told Around a Bonfire! Grab the marshmallows!

  253. Words completely fail me.
    The only thing I can think of doing is going and buying yarn and patterns and needles and beautiful things to make that little sock so madly jealous that it’ll be begging and pleading for you to pick it back up again.
    And petting beautiful, soft, colorful fiber is always soothing. Do you have any Dream In Color stashed anywhere? . . .

  254. Oh, how frustrating! I bet you can save it though! Don’t you cast on those leaves at the outer edge? We have faith in you 🙂

  255. Isn’t it uncanny how the knitting deities inevitably choose to smack you down right when you are at your most vulnerable? You have my sympathies.

  256. I feel your pain!!! I’d have punished the sock for jumping from my lap with a small trip to the frog pond, to give it some time to think on it’s bad behaviour. Then I would lecture said sock on who exactly is in charge of the ripping back process at any given time, and that the decision is ALWAYS mine …
    And then I’d take a nap/drink/walk and a deep breath and start all over because knitters who take on challenges know deep in their hearts just what they’re up against – and we do it anyway.

  257. Gotta tell ya Steph – I ’bout wet my pants reading this. Yes, I was laughing (for me) AND crying (for you). There just ain’t no justice.
    You might want to dab a little gasoline on it before you strike the match.
    Judy

  258. Aiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee!
    I am so sorry that happened to you. If I ever manage to make or acquire a time machine, you can totally borrow it.

  259. Lesson learned: leave scrap yarn in even after you pick up stitches for I-cord in case of dropping-sock syndrome. Will do.

  260. This is just The Universe giving you another chance to really prove to your knitting how YOU ARE THE BOSS OF IT. This is not a disaster – it is an opportunity for you to fully understand the leaf and have a little discussion with it, and then beat it with dpn’s until it resembles the beautiful leaf once again!
    Okay – drown out the optimism with a few drinks first, I maybe watched a bit too much Evan Allmighty this weekend!
    Oy, I really am speachless as I stare in wonder at the picture. I am confidant that you can “make sock go”, though!

  261. I am ASHAMED, totally ashamed, to say I laughed…hard enough tears came!!!
    This is like beads falling off the string when you were about to put on the second closure because one dropped it, or stood up and it pulled off the work table and one forgot to put on a clip, it is like when my little guy decided to help Mom with her knitting when he was 3 and started winding the yarn back onto the ball, and unraveling the knitting from the needles and a needle fell out so stitches could NOT be picked up; it is like a just inked card falling face down on the carpet! My EXTREME sympathy!!!

  262. It was my first shawl and my first real lace knitting experience. My oldest son was about 12 and, obviously, not thinking when he threw the football across the living room….. I feel your pain!

  263. Yup. It was the squirrel. Most definitely. That totally stinks. But I have faith in you. You WILL prevail!
    Oh, and Barbara, I’m so glad that I’m not the only one who knits at red lights.

  264. I can’t be the only one who, after the heart and lungs picked themselves back up, wanted to slowly and deliberately plink, plink, plink each and every stitch of that stinking little leaf?

  265. It must have felt like an out of body experience, the sock free falling and the plinking. That plinking-could just feel it in my fingertips. AARGH! It’s a wonder we keep knitting when we have these disasters. Get back in that saddle missy-as we say here in horse land.

  266. I am not usually a quiter, but I say GIVE UP. They are really ugly, impractical socks anyway, go knit something pretty or useful. I think they look very uncomfortable. Sorry.

  267. OH NO!!
    I hope you have rested, had a stiff drink, and are recovered from the sockly sense of doom. If not, I’ll distract you.
    Today, I showed my Plant Anatomy professor my handspun bamboo yarn and he tried to figure out what part of the plant that came from. I’m not sure he did, but he was fascinated by the whole thing. My only problem with that yarn is that the dang thing leans to one side when it’s knit up. I don’t know what to do about that.
    All may yet be very well. I send loving knit-recovery vibes your way.

  268. I think my sister has the proper phrase for that (though she usually applies it to driving through lake effect snows) “Oh, crap, crap, crappity, crap, McCrap, crap.” I think it applies here too. Best of luck when you can look at it again.

  269. OMG. I cannot say more at this stage, other than I had bad vibes on this sock from the beginning.
    Btw, COMMENTS EXPLOSION!!!!
    You have more comments than I have had total visitors to my blog. Feel the sock-supporting-knitterly vibes. Hell, I can feel them, and I haven’t even read them all, AND I’m in England!

  270. My eyes bugged, my breath became shallow, my mind suspended as I read slowly, I gasped, I groaned, my heart sank. I sent best energy for the solution and refreshment of your energy for the quest. I know these will be sumptuous, artistic socks and worthy of your extreme skills. I still love those leaves.

  271. And right there is when I would have walked away, raided my stash for something bulky and soft, and made myself a basic something–scarf, hat, baby blanket–and then jumped up and down and screamed, HA! SEE THERE!!! I CAN SO KNIT! And then, having proved my complete mastery of the craft, I would have shown that sock whosisdaddy.
    Or thrown it away.

  272. You are the MacGyver of knitting, and if anyone can fix that frigging leaf it’s you, MacHarlot! You probably will have already figured it out by the time I’ve writen this. A couple of drinks, a little lie-down, a paper clip and a wad of gum…whatever it takes! I’m rooting for you!

  273. At first I laughed (your way of telling a story is genius)…and then I almost cried. I can feel your pain Steph, but I have to agree with everyone, if anyone could fix this, it’s YOU!

  274. What a nightmare! I’ve been on hooks and needles all day, wondering what you’re gonna do, Stephanie! Will she pick those stitches up and re-create the leaf in place? Will she pull the whole leaf out after all that sewing. I’ve got to know!
    Whatever you do, you’ll ace it, girl!

  275. Oh, oh, oh.
    Since there’s nothing I could possibly say that would undo the horror of those plinks, I will, instead, provide a little company for your misery.
    I’m in Philadelphia this week, at Momerina’s. But the story starts in November. Around about (US) Thanksgiving, I miscrossed a cable on the Alice Starmore Dunadd wrap on which I’m working, realized that I would need to tink over 300 stitches to fix it, swore, wept, shoved it into a closet, poured myself a brandy and called Momerina to see whether her LYS could teach me a private lesson in cable-fixing. I may have poured myself another brandy. The details are fuzzy.
    Fast-forward to today. I go to my lesson, at one of the nicest yarn stores on the planet. LYS employee/fabulous knitter and teacher teaches me how to read the cables, how to determine what needs to be ripped down and how to reroute the cable. It takes the better part of an hour to rework a seven-stitch cable repeat, but in the end we do it, and the cable looks only a little worse for the wear. Momerina and I celebrate at lunch. I might have had a little wine.
    We run our other errands, we come home, I pull the Dunadd out of my bag and finish the row. As I come to another cabled knot, I pick up the pattern, start to knit, realized that when last I worked on it, I miscrossed *those* cables, too. At this point, my heart sank only a little. Hey, I’d had a lesson! I could do this! Admittedly, I didn’t think I’d need to do it just yet, but I can do it, yes, I can! And I did. An hour later the cables are recrossed correctly, I knit across them — and only then do I realize that I was looking at the wrong row on the pattern. I corrected a mistake where there was no mistake to be corrected. I now have to put the cables back into the position in which I found them.
    I think we’re going to need a bigger bottle.

  276. I think if that had happened to me I would have to join you in the strong drink. (First I would have to go buy some, though, and I don’t think I would be in any condition to drive.) Thanks for the heads up, again. Maybe when I get to that point I will figure a way to tether the sock to my hand. I hate plinks. I would go to great extremes to avoid them.

  277. It must be something swirling around in the ether: A Bad Knitting Bug that’s going around, because I’ve got it, too. I had a bad knit yesterday and a (dubiously) good rip today, and an Adult Beverage is most definitely in order. But forego the matches, fearless leader. Tomorrow is a new day.

  278. Thank you for sharing your knitting disaster with us. I could just picture you, looking at the sock while it was on the floor, hoping against hope that the leaf was intact. That story will make me feel better when I mess up the strange cable again on a scarf I’m knitting but not notice it for many inches. Then I glare at it, hem and haw that it’s not so bad but end up ripping back. Knitting lows. You gotta have them to balance out the highs!

  279. Ya know, as I was reading that…I saw it coming and was completely helpless but to read to its inevitable, tragic conclusion.
    …now there are these 5 stages of grief…

  280. We’re all crying with you! But then, you may well have it fixed by now. I’m sure if you could knit and insert one leaf, you can knit and insert another.

  281. You know what makes the bonfire idea so perfect? Toasted marshmellows!!!
    You actually wanted a different colored leaf on the end of your sock, the sock knew that and was trying to do you a favor. You just didn’t get the hint when it first told you “I look like an amoeba”. Have a drink, some roasty toasty marshmellows.
    Hugs

  282. Oh crap!
    It’s the Dark Side. It’s the Goa’uld. It’s the squirrel.
    However, due to this, and the sympathy you have received in the blog, I now have learned sixteen better ways to express deep and profound anguish and several new swear words. As always, Harlot, you have provided a valuable service to the world of knitting.
    Hope you had the drink -or two.

  283. good gravy. my condolences.
    now who was it that said all ripping, accidental or otherwise, should be met with a delighted cry of
    ‘oh joy! more of my favorite hobby!’
    although i admire this pioneer-ish optimism, i wonder if this person died an early, gruesome death, julius caesar style, at their lys from a flurry of double points tangled in lace weight silk.

  284. *sigh* so sorry, i say have the drink. Then maybe..just maybe, go back and tackle it. So very sorry, how frustrating.

  285. You just made my week look not so bad, Stephanie. At least my life is just crazy chaotic, not soul-crushingly disasterous. Enven my 7:30AM bus to the airport tomorrow seems less onerous in perspective.
    I’ll raise a glass to your recovery as soon as I get home from collecting membership renewals at Guild tonight.

  286. Golly. I could feel the flames. But I’m sure you can come up with a brilliant fix once the screech kicks in.
    And I second Rachel H of 10:56 am, heartily. What are you, the Dreaded Human Spellcheck?? Go edit your own bloody blog.

  287. Some are blaming the squirrel…instead, I vote you scare the sock and the leaf by telling them quietly, but firmly, how, if they EVER do this to you again…they will sleep with the squirrel. Forever. Make it an offer it can’t refuse.
    Kick its butt, Steph!

  288. oh wow – my eyes are filled with tears. Poor sad little leaf-that-was! As I was reading I could feel my heart tightening up with fear, then yelling ‘Do Not Want!’ when the leaf fell. Thank goodness you’re you so you’ll sort out I’m sure.

  289. Oh, merde! Maybe you should put it down for a few days or continue knitting the rest of the sock and leave that part on a stitch holder. I’m sending you all my patient thoughts.

  290. “Son of a (*&^%$%^ing tangled skein of laceweight silk.”
    This is my new favourite curse. Thank you, Ms. Harlot.
    Re the sock: I read the entry, and actually let out a weird little strangled gasp/scream (gaream? scrasp?) of horror. The Boyfriend just looked a little worried. I so totally feel your pain, and I offer you a virtual pat on the back. A little Screech will (I hope) make it better.

  291. Oh dear. It is not a good sign at all that 24 hours have passed with no new post since the unraveling disaster. Speak to us. Need we come with needles and wine???

  292. See, this is what happens, when we knit instead of doing what we were suppose to be doing.
    I think it’s salvagable. Not to jinx it or anything I thought for a moment that you were going to tell us that you knit the heel on the wrong side and the leaf was now on the sole of the foot.
    Hey, remember when you knit two left (or was it right?) mittens? Yeah, good times, good times.

  293. I’m so sorry. If it makes you feel any better I just bought one of your books on Amazon. And I’m also a bit worried that you have not posted ANYTHING today. At least let us know that you have not gone screaming into the woods.

  294. I hope you are surviving your leaf-induced situation (breakdown? problem? tragedy?). Hope things are all picked up and sewn up soon.

  295. Somewhat randomly, your post made me think about i-cord. What does it mean, anyway? I mean what does the “i” stand for?
    Good luck. Remember that you get more entertainment hours from your dollars when things take you so long.

  296. That’s a terrible sad Stephanie. I was horrified as I read it! I am sure, however, with your yarn harlot-y skills you will conquer the leaf, but now I’m begining to worry that you haven’t posted. Let us know that you haven’t succumbed.

  297. …tried resisting. couldn’t. I gotta put my vote of “you go girl”…to Mary.
    some of us can’t resist the grammar correction. it’s the way we’re built.
    (although I have definitely seen rude corrections, and they are certainly deserving of smacks. I just don’t think this one was.)

  298. Just so you know: I smashed something for you. I was so mad for you that I broke a bottle. A small one. Nothing too smashy.
    Just, y’know… Something that frustrating deserves a smash. And a swear word or two.
    So there. Now you don’t have to.

  299. Stephanie, I hope you’re OK … we all await your next post! And if it makes you feel any better, I’ve preordered your newest book. Please come to Philadelphia on your book tour! Or somewhere nearby! I’ll be the redhead NOT knitting a sock.

  300. Excuse me? Correcting someone in public is rude. If you “can’t resist,” the proper medium is a private e-mail. Flawed orthography is always preferable to incivility.
    (Better post, puddin’ — it’s getting tense in here, and we’ve all got double-points and know how to use them. Generally. Plink. Plink. Plink.)

  301. I think we should be looking at this from the leafs’ perspective. After all it was sitting there minding its own buisness when it was rudely dropped and had its guts ripped out. One minute you’re whole and happy, snuggled in your toe and the next, wham! Face down on the floor and there’s a breeze up your stem. Poor baby, I think the leaf is owed an apology. And a drink.

  302. Much against my knitting will (I’m not the sort of knitter who would ever take on such a fussy, exacting project), your leafy sock has drawn me to its beauty and I simply must see the finished product (vicarious knitting is wonderful:) I know you won’t let me down…when your inner calm is restored you will redo the I-cord, you will not drop it, you will not drop it, you will not drop it…

  303. You’re not posting again until you have a tutorial for how to fix it, are you?
    Either that- or you have a life….or the flu…. or have killed the girls and are offering their bodies as a sacrifice to the all-powerful furnace God- aka Octopus- God of knitting doom…in a feeble attempt to have the sock be fixed in your sleep by a furnace octopus God…

  304. I don’t get it. What is it about knitting? Every time I get the teeniest bit of confidence; disaster strikes. You can never rest on your laurels, congratulate yourself, or coast. And still, we pick up those stitches and start over. In the meantime, sorry for your loss.

  305. Ah–hem, give me a moment while I turn my box upside down so I can stand on it. there. “I hereby offer the Yarn Harlot’s story as further evidence why circular needles (preferably bamboo)are superior for knitting socks, or anything. Tiny I-cord stitches do NOT fall off circular needles. Toss those straight double points. Use them for chicken and veggie kabobs. I rest my case.”
    Nevertheless, I am very sorry for your loss. My condolences.

  306. I read the “plink, plink, plink…” with what could only have been the tiniest fraction of the horror you must have felt. But face it, you’re a slave to those socks. They had you at the first leaf. You’re powerless to resist and you’ll do anything they ask. Thanks for letting us vicariously ride your rollercoaster.

  307. As a writing teacher and former professional proofreader/writer/editor…I *do not give a damn* about this entire grammar debate. It is a blog, upon which a published writer is giving it away for free. Frankly, we’re lucky if the writing is recognizable as English. Cram it sideways, Mary et al. GOD.
    What I do care about is the sock. I am waiting anxiously for an update. If you managed to fix and reknit the leaf without removing it, Steph, I WANT PICTURES. (Please.)

  308. OH.
    Put it down, walk away. Give it til tomorrow.
    Something like that will make me fall out of love with a project. I can enjoy a challenge, but not when it fights back.

  309. And THAT’S why I gave up socks after 8 mos of everyday, everyday, sock after sock after sock. Socks became my squirrel.

  310. And for this, you blog-so that we can all sympathize with and empathize for you! All I was thinking as I read was, Dang! She’s gonna have to do a whole ‘nother one, still, she MUST know THAT!? So two and a half it will be!

  311. Now I have to ask myself after reading all of your posts about this sock what in the world is possessing me that makes me feel like I just have to try it too!

  312. None of the above, AlisonH. I’m guessing that right this minute she’s taking pictures of both completed socks artistically draped over a snow-covered shrub.

  313. You know the line about always leave (no pun) them wanting more? Well you are a master of it. I am having a great time reading the comments. The anticipation of it all is both painful and exquisite, on one hand I want the sock to be whole again with its sweet leaf nestled snuggly in the toe, on the other hand the fact that you have so many of us checking in on the progress of the SOCK is incredible. ( Run on sentence from hell) And to explain this to someone who doesn’t knit, just won’t cut it. They can never understand the pain of be right there and bammmmmmm, having it taken from you.. Can’t wait for the new book…

  314. The suspense is killing me.. did she set the sock on fire? Did she drink too much to blog today? Have the leaves finally driven her ’round the bend? Did she bury the offending sock and leaf under a tree in the park while laughing hysterically, only to be carted off by the local police?

  315. I think that after your leaf experience, I will fully convert to wood or bamboo sock dpns. Know anyone interested in some metal size-1s?

  316. It’s times like this that crocheting looks better and better…at least if you drop a hook and the work unravels it’s really easy to fix.

  317. I think The Glenfiddich, 18 year old with a little Dagoba Chili Chocolate and an easy project with Cashmere and Silk is in order. A plastic bag for the sock project and when the scotch, chocolate and Cashmere/Silk has done there magic, resume knitting leaved socks.
    Or not, after a night with “Glen” who cares…….

  318. Oh. No.
    I was getting a bit anxious with the Latin, it does it every time. (Though I’m about to write that phrase on my wall, since my son is learning Latin).

  319. Hmm… Maybe I should stop feeling the same level of disaster when a garterstitch scarf falls off my needles … Then again, a garterstitch scarf presents me almost the same level of challenge that the leaves must present somebody who can actually work cables on that gray sweater.

  320. I am so sorry. That tragedy does pale in comparison to my knitting an upper jaw on the lower part of a knitted toy’s face. (All is well now, just ends to weave in and extremities to sew on. Too bad I hate, hate, hate sewing.)

  321. Stephanie, I need to send something to you. Can you please send me your snail mail address. Many thanks and best regards. Cheryl

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