Heelless Sleeping Socks Done; a Letter to Lucia

Heelless Sleeping Socks Done

I finally finished the other Heelless Sleeping Sock. I know, I said that these socks knit up quickly, but, as so often happens with me, the second sock takes forever. I don't know why.

The first sock is always about discovery--seeing how a new yarn knits up, feeling surprised that, yes, your knitting is resembling the pattern, taking pride when the sock is complete and of human dimensions.

The second sock is dreadful, always dreadful. When knitting the second sock, all I can ever think of is: what sock yarn will I knit up next? When it comes to the second sock, I feel guilty. I'm the impatient listener who isn't listening, but rather formulating what I'm going to say next.

These Heelless Sleeping Socks, from Nancy Bush's Knitting Vintage Socks, are absolutely delightful. You must must must knit up this pattern. I'm planning to make a variation of it for my sisters and maybe for myself. The sock has a round toe, the first round toe I've made, so that you really can stick your foot in anywhere.

(I suppose the second sock was also slow going because, alas, the Irish lost to USC. They didn't just lose; they were badly crushed. I can't knit when I'm upset.)

A Letter to Lucia

Dear Lucia,

you are my dearest friend from undergrad. I love you, love you, love you. Twice now, you have asked me to knit you socks. Twice now, you have said, "If I buy the yarn, will you knit me up some socks?" Twice now, I have replied, "Well, . . . I think I would rather teach you how to make socks." Twice now, you have said, "But, dude, I don't know how to purl yet."

Well, Lucia, the time has come for me to make my dearest friend a pair of socks. I have the yarn all picked out. I ordered it from the far-away Netherlands. The yarn is so you, and it's so natural, part bamboo, part wool, and still machine washable! It's all natural--even the dyes. I know you; I know you will love these socks when they are done.

Lucia, all I ask is that you understand that we sock knitters are a very fickle breed of knitters. We have a difficult time doing what we intend. We'll often buy up some sock yarn with such a frenzy and dream of knitting it up with our whole beings, and then we'll keep that same yarn in our stashes for a long, long time, forgetting it's there. Sometimes, a certain yarn or a certain pattern calls us, and we forget everything. We're as helpless as sailors upon hearing the Sirens' song. We forget our dissertations, our grading, our reading, our dishes, our boyfriends, and yes, our dear friends who have been asking for socks.

So, Lucia, please know that your yarn is on its way to me. I'll hold it like a little baby for a few days when it gets here. Then I'll put it in my stash, where it will stay until it starts its little song. When it sings, I will pick it up again and knit you up some socks. I ask that you give me at least a year, maybe two. I know that sounds dire, almost crazy, but really, it's just the way it is with sock knitters.

Yours w/ much love,
the Lone Knitter

p.s. While we are on the subject, I would like to know your shoe size. Also, can you trace your foot onto a piece of paper and then measure the tracing from heel to toe? And while you have the tape measure out, will you measure the circumference of your leg, just under your calf muscle?