Tag Archives: #socks

Shock socks

Shocks can take many forms. I was just on holiday with a friend and very keen knitter with whom I went to see her local yarn shop. That shop was where I bought the yarn for my red sweater (see previous posts for snaps of said beauty), and I was duly admired for the job by the owner. Both these women – friend and shop owner – have a tendency to hoard yarn, the latter making it a sideline job. When they learned that I refused to be tempted by something specific in her stock though sorely tempted I was, they wondered why.

I told them I’m trying to finish my (small) stash. All of it or as near as possible. Both were incredulous. The owner used the term “scraping the bottom”. My friend thought it highly unwise to use up so much there was nothing around for inspiration. I dream of the extra space it will give me as I plan to change parts of my wardrobe as I finish new things for myself.

The current portion of stash in the process of elimination is my sock yarn stash. Down to enough for two pairs + the one on the needles right now. And they are part of another type of shock:


One would hardly think it possible to dye wool in such vibrant neon colours, yet there it is. 80% wool. The 100 gr. ball proved enough for 1 whole pair and the parts on the needles. The rest will be black for biggest contrast. They are for my daughter who will no doubt wear them proudly. And to the danger of everyone else’s eyes.


Oh yes and for steady followers: I finished the embroidery. And forgot to take a snap. Sorry.

Woolcoholics anonymous

Is washing a craft? Hardly. It used to be tough work whaen it came to cotton and linen and delicate work when dealing with wool. When I was younger I still washed wool by hand because there was no other way. I was never very good at it, got it felted no matter how hard I tried to avoid it. As a result I wore precious little pure wool if any at all and sorely missed this fantastic fibre that keeps you warm at minimal weight.

So when the old washer gave up on us and we had to get a new one my one demand was that it had to have a hand-wash cycle. My husband found it easy to comply with this a bought Ms. Miele who still serves us loyally.

As a scout and the mother of another AND a keen knitter I took advantage of it as soon as possible. It’s been several years now and we gathered us a good collection:


Two items visible here aren’t wool but left from washing black the day before. Five pieces aren’t from my needles. The rest is.

I’m proud to be a woolcoholic!

A single shade of grey

Ah, the innocense of youth. My teenage daughter is into a lot of things important to adults too: Doing well, being liked, being online, dressing nice, fashion, keeping fit and healthy.

Lately she’s also into keeping warm. The reason has a name: January. Instead of dressing with a large eye to just the right look, driving her sister and me to head-shaking frustration when packing “suits” as opposed to merely clothes, she asked – pleaded – to have me knit her woollen socks.

Always happy to comply with such wishes I asked about colour. I like colours and share this feat with her sister to the point of being willing to fasten extra ends for the pleasure of seeing a pattern grow.

But no, she’s still a fashionista. It had to be:


A single shade of grey.

Socking up to friends

As followers of this blog may have sussed I’m no fan of gardening. there are things I flat out refuse to do such as hedge-trimming. I’m no good with odd repair jobs either, and as the owner of a house there are regularly things that ought to be fixed. Things my darling husband used to do and still would do if he were still of this world.

So instead I rely on relatives and friends. Relatives are good, they’re handy and feel the blood-bound duty to help sis.

With friends it’s another matter. I can treat them to good food and drink as I do with family. And then there’s the nice fact that at least three of them like home-made items of clothing.

sokker Such as woollen socks.

This pair is the most recent in a long string of them.

Friendship never sucks.

It socks.