and the sky is grey

Yeah, yeah, as the tremendously astute Rachel H. noted yesterday, I totally blew the deadline on these socks. They should have been done on Sunday, and on Sunday, I was still deep in the depths of book-work, only coming up for (as Inky called it in the comments…) “some fine looking OCD”. It’s ok though, because the recipient didn’t turn up on Sunday to collect them, so I was granted a reprieve and didn’t even have to beg for it. (I’ll admit, I’d like to see this last of the Christmas presents out the door before February, so I’m not slowing down.)

Sure, the leaves were sort of a fetish knitting item, and sure, I can see how many of you think it was nuttier than Aunt Mary’s walnut bars, and I know a lot of you are shaking your heads sadly my decline in to wee knitty maddness…and more still are wondering how you get 34 leaves on a single pair of socks and have that work out. (It’s going to be grand. Open your mind.)

I have to say though, from where I sit, those little leaves were a lot more interesting than the plain stockinette on the second foot of the socks they will adorn. I’m up to the embossed grape panel again, so things have picked up in interest, which is excellent, because all of this was really starting to get to me.

When I feel ennui with my knitting, whether because of project monogamy (not my natural state), a plain bit or a forced march, I try to suck it up. (Usually. Stop that laughing.) I keep knitting, I finish the thing, I carry on, and I will this time too…but when I’m done with something and it’s not done with me, I do a little something that makes me feel better. Something that speaks to the future. When I really can’t stand it anymore?


I wind sock yarn.


I don’t knit it, I just wind it.


(C’mon. I bet you do it to. Just a little winding to take the edge off? You know you wanna….)

PS Finalists are up in the Canadian blog awards, and there I am, proud and pleased as punch. (I’m in Best blog, and Best Activities Blog. Vote your conscience (you don’t need to be Canadian), should it please you, and thanks a whole bunch if ya do. Deadline is tomorrow I think. )

PPS. Rick Mercer is up for Best Celebrity Blog. While I don’t know Rick personally (and frankly I think he could step it up in the blog department a little bit ) and we are not friends in our waking lives, while I sleep – Rick and I are apparently the best of friends. (Get your minds out of the gutter. It’s not like that between me and Rick.) There was the time that he rescued me when I got myself chained up in the coffee shop…. and then there was my most recent dream. Justin Trudeau and I were contestants on a reality television show, and we were going to live in this house that had been decorated just for us, and Rick Mercer was the host and he was going to live there too, and the three of us were standing around in this open concept nightmare of an architectural oddity, talking about how entirely transparent the decorating scheme was. There was roses and fleur de lis on the fabrics everywhere and we all just about bust a gut laughing because it was just such a transparent and stupid way to suck up to Justin, and then I woke up… and I realized that I totally need to watch less CBC and read less Can-lit, because dudes, isn’t that the most Canadian dream ever? Anyway. I figured that I should mention that Rick was up for a vote, because he must be good if he can even entertain my sleeping subconscious. Carry on.

Get along little doggies

Yee haw. I’m still in editing hades over here. (Now I’m onto the first edit of the calendar, so it’s way less stressful than the last edit on the book. ) I’m perfectly happy though. Perfectly. My hair could be on fire and I would be happy. Why?




All the leaves, all of them, even the one that needed to be inlaid into the toe of the second Vintage sock is done.


Done, and done without incident. Nothing unravelled. Nothing mis-knit, no great honking errors, no wrong counting or gauge mistake, just 34 tiny little leaves for socks. All blocked. All just grand.


Towards the end it was even sort of zen. It was only the leaves. Me and the leaves. Leaves and me. Finish one, cast on the next. As you can imagine, I had the pattern memorized by then so it was a seamless flow of one leaf to the next. I somehow got into a headspace where I didn’t even want to knit anything else. It was as though the leaves and I were one endless being. Leaves. Leaves. Leaves. It was so mind-bendingly surreal that the only reason I stopped was because I happened to mention to one of the kids (the answer to “So, Mum? How many leaves are you knitting?”) that I only had to make 34 (“only”….see how it gets to you?) and they counted and I was done. If they hadn’t have broken the spell I would likely still be knitting. Leaves.


I’ve decided to leave them like that for a while. Just so I can look at them. My leaves. Yee haw.

(First person to mention how many ends there are to weave in gets their smart-ass self banned from the blog. I’m ignoring that, and I don’t want my bubble burst. )