a foot of snow.
I watched a squirrel doing the breast stroke through it to get near the bird feeder. He looked so hungry, I couldn't resist --
So, I pulled out a skein of Trekking XXL and started on another pair of wool socks.
Which brings me to this -- my profound philosophical ruminations on socks, knitting and the nature of the universe. I bought Cat Bordhi's book, New Pathways for Sock Knitters, on my birthday last year. It's a great book --I have deep, deep admiration for the way this woman's mind works. I'm glad I have the book and I would recommend it to everyknitter. So, yesterday, I sat down to make socks and looked through the book to decide which pattern I'd like to try.
Here's the thing -- the socks are great, the "engineering" is amazing, but I found that I don't want to actually make any of them. I knit a lot of socks; I love knitting socks. I really love wearing handknit socks. But, for me, part of the joy of making socks is the almost total mindlessness of them. They are the vanilla ice cream, black coffee, white bread of my knitting life.
Sure, I may put a stitch pattern in the leg -- note the spiral rib in the Trekking socks. But basically, they are just socks. I don't need to think about what I'm doing -- knit the cuff, knit the leg, make a square heel flap, turn the heel, knit a foot, make a toe. Et voila, sock! And they are perfect because just when one part gets boring, it's time to do the next part.
So, no disrespect to Cat Bordhi, but I think when I want challenging knitting, I'll stick with the Shetland lace shawl I'm making from Sharon Miller's Heirloom Knitting. I think it will be beautiful, and I won't wear a hole in its heel.