Socks

photo by Terri Royea

An accomplishment of which I am most proud is my ability to knit socks. I love socks. My feet are often cold, so socks are a requirement. They have to be comfy, of course -- fit well. They can't be itchy or saggy. The perfect sock is a real treasure, especially if it's visually appealing. I love pretty socks -- striped socks with lovely colors -- muted tones, jewel tones ... whatever blends nicely and draws the eye. But comfort is the most important attribute. Comfort is a gift I like to give; comfort is a gift I like to receive.

I learned to knit when I was really young. Like 4 or 5. My dad's mother taught me. She didn't knit a lot or knit garments or afghans or anything -- she just liked having something to do with her hands. My two earliest memories of needlecraft were button-sewing and beginning knitting. I remember trying to sew a button onto my bright blue winter coat. This was a mad exercise in frustration for this Virgo first grader (though I could have been a Kindergartener -- I was advanced, you know). It was a regular old button -- with four holes -- not a shank. I was fairly successful with the in and out, up and down, share the wealth between the holes, etc. but when it was time to take the thread to the back and knot it, I just could not figure out how to do that!! I had the thread coming out over the edge of the button and then down to the back. This drove me crazy. When my mother showed me the error of my ways, I was equally stunned at its simplicity and annoyed at my stupidity. I was maybe 5. Okay.

The second memory I have is of knitting on these queerly-colored plastic knitting needles -- a sort of robin's egg blue maybe -- and bubble-gum pink yarn. I was just knitting knitting knitting -- sometimes knitting two stitches together because it made a neato hole! ('Mom showed me that, but never explained the concept of adding that stitch back ...) so my little misshapen swatch of pink knitting just grew and grew until I became bored. I remember this very clearly ... so clearly that it's kind of weird (in this case, meaning fantastic; bizarre). Both memories take place in a hexagonally-shaped conservatory that housed a baby grand and many books and that my dad painted a drab olive green right over the wall-paper. It was a comforting color in a comforting room doing a comforting thing -- needlework.

Since then I have learned the craft of knitting, including the yarn-over increase-a-stitch technique. I learned to crochet from my other grandmother and was inspired to learn the art and puzzle of filet-crochet and doilie-making. I learned to sew and to quilt. I even dabbled a little with cross-stitching, though that is simply not quick and dirty enough! But I had always been intrigued and a little fearful of the art of sock-knitting, but one day a few years ago, I barrelled right on in.

Typically, someone lovingly shows you how to do these things, passing down the tradition from one generation to the next -- or across :-) They teach you the craft. This had always been my experience and had become my "way." But nobody I knew could teach me this. Thank goodness for the internet! I simply googled "sock knitting" and "free sock knitting videos" and hit pay-dirt. One website was more or less a blog of a woman who was a bit obsessed with making socks. That worked for me, though. The picture that graced her page was a clothesline bearing dozens of beautifully colored striped socks. I was hooked. (Her step-by-step basic sock pattern is still the one I use.) Of course I had no earthly idea how to use double-pointed needles, let alone FOUR or FIVE of them at once! so had to do a little more research. I found a great website that had free videos for some techniques, including the ones I needed! (Amy sold instructional CDs, too -- but thankfully she freely shared the stuff I needed to see. Just hearing her voice and seeing her hands work with the yarn and needles made me want to meet her :-) [http://www.knittinghelp.com/]

I methodically began -- acquiring the requisite degree of obsession -- and in a day or two, I had knit a sock!! It was great-looking yarn -- one that I had used to crochet my niece a funky-cool-jay poncho -- but a little bulky for socks. Nevertheless, I made the second sock. This is the important part: Make the second sock! I still have that pair of socks and I still wear that pair of socks. Though bulky, they work with birks AND, more importantly, are very warm in bed on cold nights.

So what would I do with this new ability? The ability to make socks! A gift! An art form! The first hurdle was yarn. Using acrylic worsted weight yarn was not the best plan. I was going to have to move away from my fiscal comfort zone and spend some real dollars on better yarn (for truer comfort). Wool blends -- self-striping yarns -- finer weights. So I visited a local yarn shop and was immediately intimidated by the hoity-toity ladies in there. If I had told them I had made socks out of Red Heart yarn, I fear they would have swooned on the spot. I had to play the part -- just browsing -- no, I didn't need any needles, etc. I almost swooned over the prices. Thankfully, my handy sock-obsessed webmaster guru had recommended a brand that didn't break the bank. I bought a skein and proceeded to make a pair of wool-blend socks for myself. They came out perfectly. Now it was time to knit for others :-)

I believe my husband was the first to be gifted with hand-knitted socks. They were a lovely brown heather wool blend with the ribbing going all the way down the calf. By the time I gave them to him, sadly, he was unable to appreciate them. A few years prior, I think he would have danced -- but the brain chemistry had so alterered his spirit by that time that his reception of my gift was lukewarm at best. This was crushing to me, but I persevered. (My son now has those socks ... he, too, is not quite in-tune with their distinction, but I hope one day he will be.) I believe both kids got socks next. My daughter's were made of a beautiful yarn -- but it created too slouchy a sock. She still wears them, but they're kind of hard to utilize (she understands the emotional nature of the socks). My son's socks were made to match a beanie I made for him and they are too bulky unless he'll be going snow-mobiling, so these were not my best efforts. SISTERS!

I found uber German sock yarn in a weight that I could work with in great self-striping colors AND that was machine washable -- very important with socks! (I should mention that I won the yarn on ebay and paid about half of what it retails for, so fiscal comfort requirement met.) I set-out to make my sisters each a pair of socks for their Christmas gifts. They were so nice! I wanted a pair for myself! I think they liked them! Then I decided to make socks for some friends. I am blessed to have a LOT of dear friends and I am still working through that list of wonderful deserving women (I hope you will each receive a pair of socks at some point!) but nieces moved-in and took precedence. Two nieces and then my daughter joined the Phi Mu sorority. This is particularly funny for my daughter who hates pink -- their colors are PINK and either black or white or whatever they feel like. A birthday was approaching so I made a niece a pair of Phi Mu socks. Her sister was a little sad that she didn't get a pair, but hers were already on the needles for a Christmas gift! Then daughter had to have a pair! There's one more niece who is thus-far sockless. I hope to eradicate that dishevelment post haste.

What is is about sock-making that gets me all excited?! First of all, they are pretty difficult to make. Figuring out how to manipulate the multiple needles is a challenge. I like a challenge. (Remember ... I'm advanced ;-) Discerning the pattern is challenging, too. So sock-making is not for dummies. If anyone talks down to me about my "little hobby," I just snort. I double-dare you to make a freaking sock!

But it's mostly about comfort. A sister confessed to me that she was so very ill and the socks I gifted to her were like chicken soup -- and could I make her another pair ... Hmmm. This isn't something you turn-out in a day! But how could I possibly not respond?! I made her a second pair -- this time with a little heavier wool and they were in a heather green, not a stripe. Her joy and thankfulness was palpable. My love for her -- shown through my gift of comfort -- meant a great deal to her; her gratitude, in return, meant a great deal to me. Socks can be healing, not unlike unconditional love. That is a gift worthy of beholding -- and worthy of bestowing. Imagine such a simple, small "thing" having so much power to grace -- to heal -- to shower with love. That is truly why I get excited about making socks. Making them brings me comfort and joy -- and gifting them brings those I love comfort and joy. People really need joy in their lives and so often need true comfort.

That sister expressed her gratitude to me through a gift of six wonderfully hand-spun, hand-painted and hand-twisted skeins of alpaca yarn. The colors are magnificent and the texture so soft and lovely. I finally decided that socks would be a perfect way to express my joy in her gift. I have one sock finished ... but really need to get the second one started!

I've been on the receiving end of unfathomable comforting -- prayer, notes, gifts, visits, food, TIME. Do you know someone who could use a little comfort? or a touch of joy? What can you make -- or say or do -- to comfort someone right now?