Mother’s Day sock knitting (and cheese)

I woke up at 8 am to Greg bringing me breakfast in bed, which was incredibly sweet except that I was actually still exhausted. I kept leaning my head back on the pillow while I ate, until we were both laughing and he just picked up the tray and set it on the nightstand and said, “Why don’t you see if you can get some more sleep?”

So I did, and I dreamt of cheese. My doc is having me do a food elimination trial of going off wheat and dairy. I’m on my third week, and I’ll write more about it later, but let’s just say the lack of cheese is grueling. I think about it all the time. Brie, fresh mozzarella, the lavender goat cheese some obviously genius person sells at our farmer’s market. I’ve dreamt about cheese every night for the last week.

The first cheese dream was me at a party, standing at a buffet table. Except instead of a mix of hors d’oeuvre, it was just a different kind of cheese on every plate, cubed or tubbed or sliced or in a ball. I looked down and began panicking. Nothing but cheese? Who does that? Where are the vegetables? The chips and dip? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? My hands were shaking and I was willing myself not to pick anything up. Then the dream shifted and I was mingling, seemingly triumphantly away from the cheese table, until I suddenly found myself back there. Except that now, every plate was empty. I looked around. Every conversation had stopped. They all stood in stony silence, staring at me. That’s when I realized who had done it. Who had eaten the cheese. ALL THAT CHEESE. And then I woke up.

I’m hoping the dreams stop soon.

The family asked what I wanted to do today, but unfortunately, the CFS/fibromyalgia situation makes days like this especially hard. Every restaurant in Seattle is crowded to the gills most of the time, but today it would have been impossible to get in anywhere without standing around waiting for an hour or even ninety minutes. I can’t stand that long, especially not outside in the sun. I haven’t reached the point of being able to ask a perfect stranger to give up their seat for my invisible illness (who knows, maybe they have an invisible illness). Crowds are also hard. So we decided to have lunch at home, and then go the yarn store, as I’ve decided to learn how to make toe-up socks.

Technically I guess I already know how to knit socks, I’ve knit two pair. One using the pattern from Cat Bordhi’s book, Personal Footprints for Insouciant Sock Knitters, way back in 2010 or so. They worked, beautifully! And I still wear them and love them. But I itched to learn the “normal” way. So I bought Getting Started Knitting Socks, and made a pair of cuff-down socks. I like them only so-so.

What I really want is a toe-up sock pattern, one that I can build myself, trying different heel types, until the perfect-for-me sock pattern naturally evolves. This really didn’t seem like it should be that hard, but I’m beginning to doubt myslf.

Phase 1 is Creating The Toe. Easy enough, I think? I’m using Judy Becker’s magic cast-on. Okay, done. I’m still messing around with how many to cast on at once, but I’ve created two prototypes. In both cases, the sock was way too big once it got over the toes and onto the foot. What I keep reading is that you’re supposed to keep increasing until your sock is just covering your toes. Yeah, did that, the sock was huge. But then my friend James said, “You want to knit until it just touches your pinky toe.”<facepalm> WELL OKAY, that’s what I was doing wrong. So I tried again. This time I stopped earlier. I decided to call these Westworld socks since that’s what I was watching while I knit. Things were looking up.

Before I knew it, I realized I was knitting a tube way too big for my foot. Again. I counted the stitches. I was actually 4 stitches bigger than the first.

Maybe the new books will help. We have:

How to Knit Socks That Fit. I’m told this is very good. Practical. “You’ll want to carry this one with you.”

And:

Knitters Book of Socks The Yarn Lovers Ultimate Guide to Creating Socks That Fit Well Feel Great & Last a Lifetime.  I was told today, “This is the bible of sock knitting.”

We’ll see.

2 comments

  1. E. says:

    Hand knit socks are so cool. If you ever make a pair that are ridiculously wide and too short, they’d fit me perfectly 😉

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