Lost: My Sock Mojo
I used to knit socks. Lots of socks. I had grand aspirations of knitting my way through Cookie A's first book from cover to cover. I got through the first two and then...radio silence.
I used to design socks. Lots of socks. Two socks for the annual Sock Madness knitalong, one of which was difficult enough (read: effing fiddley) to be the final sock in the competition (the other was the second-to-last round). Socks inspired by the Tour de France. Kids socks. All sorts of socks. But then...the well dried up.
The last pair of socks I knit: started a year ago today.
They are lovely socks, toe-up, from handspun superwash Corriedale dyed by the fabulously talented Amy King of Spunky Eclectic. No patterning or fancy stitch work, just plain stockinette socks.
And since that fateful day in late March 2012 when they were finished? Not one single solitary sock has been cast on, or even contemplated. What's happened to me? It's not like I don't have truckloads of sock yarn to play with. Or enough sock books to sink the Titanic, full of fabulous, inspiring, gorgeous patterns. But I'm finding it incredibly difficult to even consider casting on for a sock, and inertia has me in its deadly grasp. What's a former sock knitter to do?
Last week may have given me the solution. We were gathered for our monthly spinning night last week, and our hostess was not feeling inspired with spinning. So she disappeared for a few minutes and came back with a bag of leftover handspun and some needles. Within a few minutes she had cast on and made measurable progress on a sock toe.
Just like that.
Clearly the answer to my missing sock mojo is to start baiting the trap with handspun. First on the docket is this:
Gobbler Cheviot that I spun up in February. To be followed closely or even simultaneously with this:
Turkey Day Cheviot that is being spun up now (singles are done and need to be plied). Both these yarns have been spun specifically to create fantastic stripey socks, so all I need to do now is wind up the yarn and cast on.
Can someone please hold my hand???? wanders off whimpering...
I used to design socks. Lots of socks. Two socks for the annual Sock Madness knitalong, one of which was difficult enough (read: effing fiddley) to be the final sock in the competition (the other was the second-to-last round). Socks inspired by the Tour de France. Kids socks. All sorts of socks. But then...the well dried up.
The last pair of socks I knit: started a year ago today.
They are lovely socks, toe-up, from handspun superwash Corriedale dyed by the fabulously talented Amy King of Spunky Eclectic. No patterning or fancy stitch work, just plain stockinette socks.
And since that fateful day in late March 2012 when they were finished? Not one single solitary sock has been cast on, or even contemplated. What's happened to me? It's not like I don't have truckloads of sock yarn to play with. Or enough sock books to sink the Titanic, full of fabulous, inspiring, gorgeous patterns. But I'm finding it incredibly difficult to even consider casting on for a sock, and inertia has me in its deadly grasp. What's a former sock knitter to do?
Last week may have given me the solution. We were gathered for our monthly spinning night last week, and our hostess was not feeling inspired with spinning. So she disappeared for a few minutes and came back with a bag of leftover handspun and some needles. Within a few minutes she had cast on and made measurable progress on a sock toe.
Just like that.
Clearly the answer to my missing sock mojo is to start baiting the trap with handspun. First on the docket is this:
Gobbler Cheviot that I spun up in February. To be followed closely or even simultaneously with this:
Turkey Day Cheviot that is being spun up now (singles are done and need to be plied). Both these yarns have been spun specifically to create fantastic stripey socks, so all I need to do now is wind up the yarn and cast on.
Can someone please hold my hand???? wanders off whimpering...