If you’re in the San Diego area and have a bit of spare time this weekend, stop on by! You’re guaranteed to have a great time.

The Pope has a special hat. Rabbis have special hats. Rastafarians have special hats. Why not Pastafarians?

The Spit is Exhausted.

It has performed its tast admirably, and I will return to it again and again. But not for this project! For I have finished! I have… SOCKS!

Yesterday morning, I completed the toe of the sock (part two). I had before me two wrinkly tubes of gold:

What to do? Why, block, of course. But first I needed to make blockers:

Hershey helped. A little Trivial Pursuit didn’t hurt, either.

Eventually, the socks were washed in Eucalan wool wash (which I have on hand for handknit socks and wool diaper covers and which is wonderful), and molded to the blockers:

Look! They look like… like… socks now. I left them there to dry while I watched Battlestar Galactica.

(It was weird to knit something else while watching. I worked on a sweater for Ben, which was this close to being finished when I began the socks and I swear, I was convinced that he would outgrow it by the time the socks were done. Even if I did manage to finish the socks in two weeks. Which I knew I couldn’t do. I figured I’d finish them in June, in time for Ben to wear the sweater as a fitted short-sleeved crop top. Knitting for small children is rewarding because they look so darn cute in handknit items, and easy because they take a fraction of the time of adult garments, but they outgrow them in about 12 seconds. I usually knit Ben hats.)

So I spent this morning touching the sock (“Is it dry yet? Hmm, what about now?”) until I finally deemed it to be Time. I pulled them off the blockers, put them on aaahhhhh so soft sooo soft and wandered off through the dim early morning light with the camera to find Chris. (It was seven in the morning. I’d been up with Ben and the socks for an hour. It was like Christmas. I’d stand at the foot of the bed, willing Chris to wake up so he could take a picture.)

I found him in Ben’s nursery, building a castle with a garage out of blocks. I sat up on the sofa and it was a kind of sunlight-beaming-through-the-clouds-and-angels-singing kind of moment. The light came up over the houses across the street and streamed in through the nursery windows. My poor socks, which had only ever been photographed in the light of a sofa-side compact fluorescent bulb at 11:30 at night, were being blessed by the universe.

We like them.

Know something funny? This whole process began as a lark, inspired by a blog that I read. Knitting the socks was a challenge and it took most of the conscious free moments I had in each day. (That’s conscious _and_ free, not conscious-free.) This means that I have not read any blogs other than this one for two weeks. I don’t know how The Harlot is doing on her sweater, or how anyone else is doing. Now I get to go find out. But boy, what a lot I could do with the time I spend reading blogs…

Like this.

Here we have the latest photo: I’m down to the toe, 27 ever-decreasing rows from the end of sock (part two).

Oh, they do transport me. I curl up with my sock and my pattern–an aside here: I’m such a convert to patterns, oh my yes. I thought that even though I am an intermediate knitter with all sorts of knitting weaknesses that it was a character flaw to knit something from a pattern, that once I’d figured out how to make a general shape it was weak to knit from a pattern, even though what I ended up knitting–well, it was often a) boxy, b) fit badly, and/or c) ripped out. I would use them on occasion; it’s not like all the ideas that have ended up on my needles jumped fully formed from the top of my head. But I would often look at a nice pattern and sigh, “Wouldn’t it be nice if I could make something like that?” _Even though the pattern was right there in front of me._ Because if it is in a magazine, and lovely? Then chances are that someone else is going to make it, and that would make it _trendy_, my least favorite style of clothing, _ever_.

This is a sucky approach to knitting. Let me tell you. I’m giving up ascetic knitting for Lent. I’m a sensualist when it comes to yarn–why waste it on a stash basket and half-baked knitting sketches?

Anyway, I’m a toe away from completion, but stay tuned. Ben’s got That Chest Cold That Everyone Has, and me jumping up every 8 minutes during a nap because he has woken up choking or because I thought I heard him doing so does not make for good intricate-pattern knitting. However, tomorrow is Saturday, so I’m fairly confident that Chris can run interference for me so that I can put on my headphones and listen to Elizabeth Bennett visit Charlotte Lucas and apologize for being an unsupportive twit while I _finish the toe of sock (part two)._ Then, Chris is going to help me make blockers, which in some way involves drawing, a Sharpie marker, foamcore board, packing tape, a ruler, and Math. There is likely to be a photo of at least one of these items! If you correctly guess which one, um… you’ll be correct!

“Charlotte Lucas has just accepted Mr. Collins,”:http://librivox.org/pride-and-prejudice-by-jane-austen-solo-project/ and I have just begun the foot of the sock (part two). The days are counting down to the completion of the union of the two (socks), and I am feeling the pressure, though I admit my own happy occasion must be one of more perfect joy than that insensible pair.

Guess what I’ve been listening to?

It’s Wednesday night, near midnight, the posting hour. I had wondered when I finished the first sock in lovely Plan-perfect time what I would do if I finished… um… _early_. HA HA HA. No fear. The last four days have afforded me less-than-ample knitting time paired with many a distraction. Chris was gone to San Jose; Ben was unhappy by his absence and then developed a fever and some flu symptoms, which meant that, poor dear, he sleeps badly and wants me with him nearly constantly. In the past few days, when finally sleep would claim him, I found that I could only crawl out from the bedroom and curl up in a ball on the sofa, absently reading old archives of “Baby Blues*”:http://www.babyblues.com/ comics and waiting for the boy to stagger out, half asleep and murmuring pitifully for my company, as he inevitably did, hour after hour, until I gave up and went to bed myself.

Ah, but we are all about the knitting content, right? What this comes down to is that it has taken me several days to finish the heel (four. Four days to finish what took me _one_ last week. This is why projects don’t get done in better time around here. _Life,_ drat it, that’s why). I am approximately half an inch past the heel into the foot.

Such tardy progress requires drastic revisioning of the Plan. I now have three days in which to finish the sock. I must finish the foot and the toe by Saturday night in order to wash and block them that evening in order to have them dry and wearable by Sunday. ARRRRRGGHHHHH! Can it be done? _Can it be done?_

Certainly it can be done, and easily too, if this stupid _life_ business weren’t so, so, so persistent. (Remember that old _Twilight Zone_ episode, the one where the man stopped time and was so happy because now he could read all that he wanted all day long with no one to bother him, but then he broke his glasses and couldn’t see? Well, I can knit by _feel_.**)

So now you must be wondering, “Where is the photo?” Well, Chris may be home but the camera is MIA somewhere in the bowels of his belongings here or at work. And as I remarked upon the reliability of our Trusty Backup regarding photos taken after sunset, you will just have to imagine a long, wrinkled tube of lovely gold-yellow-orange merino with an awkward curve at the bottom. Remember the photo of Hershey monitoring the glory that was sock (part one) in its adolescence?

This, a photo of Hershey feigning disinterest (from the same photo shoot), is a pretty accurate idea of where I am now with sock (part two).

Besides, the tension is mounting, is it not? Three days. Five inches. Two repeats and a toe. Can she do it? With two sickie boys in the house?

Better question still: What about those blockers, anyway?

Hershey may yet have merino popsicles at his disposal.***

———————————————————————————

*Don’t ask me why I’m reading archives of Baby Blues. I suddenly realized that I hadn’t read this particular comic strip in months, and when I found the site I began reading. I’ve had the page open for days now, and when I’m so tired that my brain won’t function I open it up and read a dozen strips, oddly consoled by the knowledge that the entire strip is about parenthood and a resulting lack of brain function.

**Can’t you just feel the knitting goddesses plotting a strike of punishment at my hubris? It’s coming. I know it. I may end up an insect or strangled by my own warping board. If this happens, you heard it here first, tell the police. They need to know the truth.

***I’m pretty sure that “merino popsicle” is not a phrase used much in Austen’s writing. If you know me to be wrong, please correct my inaccurate assumption.

Chris has taken the camera and flown away, leaving me with the old camera with which to document my progress. The problem is that the old camera will not take photos unless the lighting is full natural light. As I tend to photograph and post at about, oh, 11:30 at night, tonight’s entry will be entirely descriptive.

By the way, I’m working on the heel of sock (part two).

(Warning: knit-technical content to follow. Wink wink.)

So I thought, for those of you interested in knowing these things, that I’d describe the actual stitch pattern that I’m using for the sock. I’ll then note something I realized in knitting this pattern.

The sock begins with a twisted rib cuff. The pattern is a purl 1, knit one through the back loop, repeat pattern. What this means is that it is (at least for me) _fast_. I am able to create the pattern while moving the needle shorter distances between stitches.

Then there is the lace pattern. It’s sixteen rows, with no plain knit rows in-between. However, each row places the yarn-overs and the knit-two-togethers in a different place, and there is only one of each per row (of the pattern–I repeat each chart “row” four times per knitted round), so that the plain areas above and below essentially do the “smoothing out” function of the plain-knit rows in patterns like Old Shale. The repeats are bordered by purl stitches, so there is a 13-stitch pattern and then three purls, more 13-stitch pattern then three purls, and so on. Therefore, if -I go screwy- the knitting goes screwy at some point, I know that I should be okay if I go back to the last set of purl stitches.

The fun part was, for me, realizing that all this means that the sock goes faster than I’d ever have hoped. How can that be, when there is no memorizing of a pattern that is different for each row? It goes fast for me because I don’t get bored. I always have a short distance to go before the next “design element” is to be executed, so instead of “knit eight rows, then a row of yadda yadda,” I have “knit eight stitches, then k2tog, knit one, yo, knit 2″. This is a joy for me. By row four of “knit eight rows” I’d be setting aside to pick up something else, make a cup of tea, etc., because I’m sure a) I’ll not lose my place and b) it’ll be a while before I get there. With this pattern the little steps add up, and before I know it I’m done. I also continually want to finish a row before putting it down so that I don’t lose my place, so more gets done in an individual knitting session.

I think that understanding this is helpful for me, and not only in knitting. As a rule, I _do_ bore easily, but I also value hard work and labor-intensive detail-oriented projects. I have little staying power but admire it in others and in myself when I happen to have shown some. Understanding what to look for in a pattern (or a project, or a job, or or or…) is very helpful in lengthening my staying power a bit. This is not to say that every project must be ornately detailed. I have a sweater that is completely stockinette, in the round, and I work on it at the movies. I can knit it in the dark and not pay any attention and the only down side is the occasional inadvertent yarn-over or dropped stitch. (It’s going slowly, but that’s just as much due to a lack of theatre-going activity as it is to slow knitting.)

It’s interesting to me to know that the projects we choose to knit can be such personality tests. Do I want to pick up the detailed lace socks, the plain 2×2 rib socks, the sweater that needs the fiddly bits completed but could be all done in an hour, or do I want to start a new one, with all the planning and daydreaming and swatching and first-date-with-a-new-project excitement? What does this say about me, and about me right now?

Right now, I’m liking this Knitting Olympics challenge idea. I’m enjoying it to such an extent that I’m beginning to think I might set myself another challenge after these Games are over. (I wonder why…?) What does my personality yearn for right now? Perhaps a sweater… a lace-type sweater, mind you, with lots of _holes_ that don’t need to be knit. Something scarily challenging. Hmm… any ideas?

Tonight, I knitted while Chris contemplated importing labor from Romania.

The lighting was low, the patter of rain was audible inside, my sweetie was with me. What’s not to get a girl in the mood?

See?

This is all quite necessary. Prescriptive, one might say. For you see, I have fallen victim to that most dreaded ailment, Second Sock Syndrome. For those non-knitters out there, this is a real thing. “Look.”:http://www.google.com/search?q=second+sock+syndrome&sourceid=mozilla-search&start=0&start=0&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official

I’ve considered… um…losing the project. Calling it quits. (Okay, so I didn’t, really. But so many have decided that their projects are too big, too complex; their goals too lofty or unrealistic. Falling at this point would not be failure. It wouldn’t be shameful. Would it?)

Oh, heck yeah. For me it would. For this project it would. For a sweater, or a shawl? I could see re-evaluating goals halfway through. But _socks_? This is a doable project. Sock (part one) showed that. Okay, okay, perhaps I got cocky. Perhaps I spent a whole day working on other things. Perhaps the knitting goddesses are smirking and sending very tiny bolts of lighting at certain synapses, altering my receptors and inhibiting production of happy hormones that are normally present when knitting this particular project. Knitting goddesses can be so cruel. (But I’m sure they have their reasons! Really!)

I also considered knitting a different sock, _with the same yarn_, so that the two socks would be a pair and would look similar enough to wear together. We are a visual species, attracted by color most of all. Who’s going to look that closely at my socks? (If you are that close to my feet, you’d best be buying me alpaca.)

This is something I may try in the future. But not now. Oh, no. I cast on the sock and I will persevere. Sometimes, however, you need a little something to get you going. Something tasty to grab your interest and get you over the tough spots. (Remember the joy in the golden stitches, the glowing definition, the fun pattern that was just random enough to keep you on your toes? Yeah, yeah…)

Call out the big guns. It’s time for… “Eurorails.”:http://www.mayfairgames.com/mfg-shop/0450-0479/qps/0457.html I love this game. You get to travel all over Europe laying down track and devising strategies to get your train with its loads of coal, oranges, and sheep (among many) from one city or another, and then you get paid, buy a faster train, or one with more carrying capacity, and lay more track, and rent your track, and generally act like a robber baron until you get stuck and have to wait eight turns before you have available cash or a doable job. It’s very keen, and I enjoy it immensely, especially when Chris and I each pretend to be two people and then try to keep them separate and in order.

So, there was lots of time to knit, while Chris tried to decide whether the track to Sarajevo was _ever_ going to pay off and I had to use his track to carry sheep from Cork to… well… Sarajevo. (Those of you with better eyes than mine will note that the sock-to-be is laid very cose to the sheep icon in Cork, in Ireland. I am a stickler for details, if nothing else.)

Knitting a sock while Ms. Red carries flowers to Lodz and chocolate to Naples tends to put one in a more _receptive_ state of mind. I knit a whole 10-row repeat while Chris drew track to Porto and delivered oil to Stuttgart. He may have won the game, but I have regained the love and respect for my little came-second sock that was, for a moment, lost.

A little effort is always worth it, to keep the romance alive.

For those of you counting, there are nine days to go. To be precise, as of this writing there are 9 days, 11 hours, 54 minutes, and 10 seconds to go. Nine seconds. Eight. Seven…

However! We have documented progress! Behold:

The completed sock (part one).

Pretty special, isn’t it?

Okay, so it looks like a newborn baby. Not in the aww-isn’t-she-beautiful kind of way, but rather, in the are-all-newborns-wrinkled-and-funky-looking-with- odd-proportions-and-bits-poking-out kind of way. I’m honest. I can take it.

Besides, I’ve “read”:http://www.morehousefarm.com/Knitting/Tips/LaceYarn/ that “[m]ost lace knitting… looks limp and unattractive before blocking. To show off the pattern clearly, the garment needs to be stretched out and blocked properly.” (This is called research. It’s very important to know what you are getting into when knitting stuff that has a tendency to curl up and go wonky _as a result of you doing exactly what you are supposed to do._ Chris and I were watching the special features disc for _Revenge of the Sith_ and I kept thinking, Gee, my sock looks like “Tion Medon.”:http://members.shaw.ca/david.p.z.888/star_wars/tion_medon.html , because it was long and wrinkly and awkward. Even though Tion Medon was graceful. Which my sock is not. Yet.)

The more brave among you may suggest that I block the sock to remove the wrinkles. Block? Are you people mad? Did you read the first paragraph? I have nine days. Nine. Okay, okay, so I finished this first one and it’s been… um… seven days. But! But! I swear I think this was due at least in part to the fact that I was sick, and Chris is nice and took Ben to the park a lot last weekend and I sat on the sofa and hacked and phlegmed and knit. I don’t have another weekend like that to look forward to.

You know what I mean.

I just, for a brief moment, in all the excitement about writing this, forgot where the sock (part one) _was._ But I found it.

And so, the blocking. Blocking is crazy talk right now. Why? Several well-thought-out reasons.

1. When the new sock is -born- finished I want it to look just like the old sock, so that I know that I’ve either screwed up on both, or they’re both just puckered and wonky in the same way.
2. Blocking at this point is too much investment. I feel I have maintained my detached emotional state in this process. Blocking means that the wadded handful of wool in The Spit’s box becomes a sock, and therefore a member of the family, with all the privileges that this entails. Specifically, if it’s under a certain size, I have to wash it. Or, let Hershey play with it.
3. I don’t have blockers.
4. I could put damp wrinkly socks on my own feet as blockers, but I don’t want damp wrinkly socks on my feet. It’s cold, and Hershey would eat my feet.
4. I could make blockers… I have all that cardboard in my box stash…

The sharp-eyed among you may notice that I have _already_ cast on for the sock (part two). No getting past you. Here’s a close-up of the cast-on, since you missed it before and it’s positively gorgeous, glowing with goldy health:

Mmm.

The non-knitters among you will note that it is a stick, with bumps on. But you can still note the glowing goldy health part. It may help to note that this, too, is destined to become (in 9 days, 11 hours, 18 minutes, and 10 seconds… nine… eight…seven) another Tion Medon. I hope.

Because if it doesn’t? Ben will have one funky sock puppet.

The sock, a work in progress, as adorned by Hershey:

This is the only shot in which he did not a) lick the sock, b) chew the needles, or c) grab the sock with a deadly-inaccurate claw. If it had been alpaca, y’all would be reading a somewhat expletive-heavy account of the official Knitting Olympics cat toy.

I had a couple of nice comments, which make me all blushed and squirmy-happy. To you I say, Thank you. I’m enjoying this a lot–and I’m not sure if I’m enjoying the knitting or the writing more. Even if the writing isn’t getting done until oh-dark-thirty.

It’s funny. The response of some of you to the thing about which I wrote yesterday seemed to be, “Um, yay for you, but what did you do?” (and the gentle, implied, “why bother, when most of us can’t see it?”). I am actually a big admirer of “process as art”, of seeing the fingerprints in the clay, the brushstrokes in the paint. But with knitting there’s a difference between just doing it and doing it to the best of your ability. I’m not trying to make something that looks store-bought; rather, as a competent knitter attempting to strengthen my skills, I’m trying to make something that looks like a _good_ knitter made it.

More important is the fact that I saw the error. (I’m so happy that I did!) If I had not seen the error, then had finished the sock, I’d go on my merry way and love them. If I’d seen the error, but didn’t know how to repair it, I’d have done some research and done my best and chalked it up to experience. (There are actually four stitches along the line I mentioned that I had to leave that are like that; they were inaccessible to me, because they were in an awkward location that I didn’t know how to recreate using this method.) But I _did_ see the error, and I _did_ know how to fix it. Therefore, I had to do so. To _not_ do so would be to dishonor the process. (Far better to dishonor my need for sleep.)

I was visiting with some friends and I attempted to explain what I’m doing with this Knitting Olympics thing. “There’s an Olympic sock?” one asked. “You’re knitting a sock _why?_” wondered another. I began to wonder myself what it is that I’m doing here. Um, needles, yarn, pattern. A project. A way to keep busy? A variant on the crossword puzzle craze of the 1920′s? Have I surrendered to utter vacuity and a sort of numb domesticity? When knitting a sock has become a challenge and an imaginative focus, have I lost my ability to carry on a conversation with the over-two set?

Friend A: “So, I was reading this article in _Ethos_ yesterday…”
Me: “See? Sticks! Tiny sticks and wool. Did you know wool comes from sheep? But it isn’t yellow like this–actually this is more of a yellow-orange-gold color.”
Friend B: “Yeah, was that the one about motivation and authority?”
Me: “But, yeah, it’s naturally more white. Or grey. Or brown. So I can make these pretty pattern things with the yarn. It goes around and around like this…”
Blank looks.
Me: “But, see, people have been doing this _forever_. Just like this.”

This isn’t about the sock. It’s about a set of skills and a goal. It’s about having a reason to make myself take time for myself when my purpose and reason for being from the moment I wake until the moment I’ve put him to bed is keeping my son healthy, fed, and read to. It’s about an activity that requires extremely fine motor manipulation, focus on the small and finite, and reading of intricate, reference-here-while-doing-this-and-keeping-this-place instructions. These are all things that, until he is asleep and I make the time, are not part of my day.

I miss them.

For me, the Knitting Olympics have become a tool, or perhaps a metaphorical construction crew, building for me a small window into grace.

Please do not think I am whining. Not at all! In Christopher Alexander’s _A Pattern Language_ he writes about the “Zen View”:

[A view is] a beautiful thing. One wants to enjoy it and drink it in every day. But the more open it is, the more obvious, the more it shouts, the sooner it will fade. Gradually it will become part of the building, like the wallpaper; and the intensity of its beauty will no longer be accessible…. [M]ake a special corner of the room which looks onto the view, so that the enjoyment of the view becomes a definite act in its own right…

So knitting has become my zen view. And the Knitting Olympics have become my daily reminder to go look out the window, and be glad. Because as beautiful as the view is, one of its best benefits is that when I turn around again, I’m so glad to be home.

So today began the fourth day. I’m feeling it in my upper arms. You laugh? You try to grip sticks of wood half the diameter of chopsticks in your fingertips and maneuver string with them for hours at a stretch.

Sorry. I’m a bit testy. You see, it’s 12:31 in the morning. In five hours I will begin nursing a child who will pop up, bright and shiny-eyed, and demand, “Time for a snack? Pretzels and cheese and crackers?” And yet. I am sitting here, writing this, after performing what, to my untested mettle, was the scariest task so far.

Sock surgery.

So, I’m bopping along, I’ve knitted a fair bit on the heel of the first sock (I like that. “First sock.” Sounds like there might be more than one, eventually, doesn’t it?) and I’m thinking that I might actually reach my goal of finishing the heel tonight when my happy progress jerks to a sudden and very unhappy stop.

“Chris,” I say, “Do you see this?” I hold out the sock.

“This here?” he replies, pointing exactly to the spot I was afraid was glaring like blue eyeshadow but had hoped, deep down, that his non-knitting eyes would miss and, therefore, that I could deem the… blemish… acceptable.

But no, Chris _saw_ the blemish, he saw the _bad thing_ I had made and then he capped off the comment with the kiss of death. “But it’s a handknitted sock, it’s okay.”

No, no, no. This is not how it works. If it looks homemade, somehow to me that conjures up construction-paper-macaroni-and-glitter art and unidentifiably shaped ashtrays made of clay. Patronizing or bemused responses to my happy, femme gold feet. This is _not_ acceptable.

I considered the issue. In front of me scenes from the Mustafar fight scene of _Revenge of the Sith_ played out, lightsabers flashing. I contemplated ripping out the inch of heel I’d meticulously fashioned.

Here’s the problem:

See? See? Right there. If I could Photoshop in an arrow I would. That line of twisted stitches, about a third of the way up from the needles, created when I connected the sides, top and bottom of the heel into a round of continuous stitches.

Chris goes to bed. It’s late. I stare at the blasted object. I consider just beginning another sock. I consider leaving it until tomorrow. I consider ignoring it, but I can’t do any of these things, and I won’t rip back, for fear of losing a tiny, pattern-reliant stitch in the mayhem. I take a breath. Rummage through my crochet hooks for one tiny enough to pass as a dental tool. Pop off the first stitch. And rip down.

It’s more like sock physical therapy than surgery, really. I use the needle to catch and untwist the errant rebel stitch and begin remaking the row of stitches above it. I do this for about twenty rows of stitches, finding my rhythm and becoming one with Sage’s voice as I listen to archived episodes of “Quirky Nomads.”:http://www.quirkynomads.com

Then, it’s done.

I finish the remaining six rows of the heel, and tentatively pat myself on the back for having reached my second goal of The Plan, and then stop. Blast. I gave myself _two_ days for the heel, didn’t I?

I may be a crabby Valentine, but I’ll be a Valentine with a _completed heel._