It's OK to be a Biped ~or~ Lessons Learned on Sock Knitting

The Socks are Done.

For once I took everyone's advice, and just sat down and made the second sock. They are a marvelous pair. Warm. Stripey. Ribbed and well-fitting. Easy to make, but maybe a little dull. (I don't say that too loudly. They might be insulted.)

What? You want to see them?


This knitter is so proud.

Unfortunately, this knitter is also SO critical.


When I first moved to Portland, I took myself to knit night at a great shop called Lint. It forced me out of the house at a time when I felt really lonely. I talked to folks. I had a good time. One night, I was making a scarf for my brother-in-law, and someone suggested that I make it asymmetrical. More stripes on one end than on the other. Some crazy talk like that. Crazy.

You see, there is no way I can do that on purpose and not need medication afterwards. By accident? I might like the artistic effect. But on purpose? That's insanity! Why not suggest that I just eat the yarn?

But these socks, here? They were meant to be my "first pair" and I'd sort of resigned myself to the fact that they might not come out perfect, or even symmetric. Self-striping yarn is funny that way. In order to make the socks the same, I'd have to start the second one in exactly the same place in the pattern repeat as I started the first one, so that the stripes aligned. (Is that really the past tense of align? In my mind 'alogn' makes more sense...) And you know, I just didn't want to take the kind of time it would take to make the stripes line up. I was going to be OK with the socks being similar, but not the same. It would be OK. Deep breaths. No judgement. Deep breaths.

So, with this in mind, I just grabbed the yarn and cast on. Lesson 1: give yourself enough room to cast on in one color section. I am unduly annoyed by the 10 stitches of black yarn on the top edge of the right sock. Here's a close-up:




Would anyone ever notice this? No, except that I am compelled to point it out. I can't help myself.

And that's not all? Remember all that yarn that just magically ended just as I was finishing the project, and how I was sure it was going to come back to bite me? Well. Ouch.

If you look at the socks in the first photo, you'll notice that the right toe ends in the black stripe. This was the first sock. But wait! The black stripe is the last one before the stripe repeat starts over, which means that I finished the first sock in the exact spot to make the second sock identical to its mate. I could make the stripes line up without even trying! (Be still my OCD!) I didn't want the black yarn in the cast-on edge again, so I adapted for that, but I cast on sock number two, and things were lining up perfectly. Without me even thinking about it! Perfectly symmetrical socks!

Yeah. Awesome. Until I got to the last repeat of the dark blue, right down there near the left toe. What? You didn't see it? Here's another shot.

There's that dark purpley stripe on the balls of both feet. You can see where the first ball of yarn ran out and the second ball started, because even though I went to the right color on the second ball, they are not the same shade of dark purple. Plus, I had to guess how much yarn it would take to get three dark-but-the-right-dark purple rows before the new yarn changed to brown, and I guessed wrong, so at the toe of the second sock, I have to start a brand new and very large second ball, and the yarns don't even match, and at that point, I just gave up and went back to my original mantra, "It's OK if they don't match perfectly. Deep breath." (I say the deep breath part but often forget to TAKE THE DEEP BREATH.)

Would anyone notice this? No. BECAUSE MY SOCKS ARE IN MY SHOES. But I know. And also, I am compelled to point out my shortcomings.


Am I happy with the socks? Absolutely. Look how happy my feet look together! Look how things (mostly) line up!

And the heel is lovely. Nice and sturdy, but not too bulky.


(I took that outside on the back porch, to give a contrast in background. This made me realize that our living room rug is burnt orange, our porch is avacado green, and yet neither of us is old enough to be "stuck in the '70s. Ah well.)

The specs on the yarn and needles:
Yarn: Universal Yarn Inc. Classic Worsted LP in black heathers (color 11051), 20% wool, 80% acrylic, 100% machine washable (I do not hand wash socks.)
Needles: two 24" US5 circulars
Pattern: Simple Ribbed Socks from Cat Bordhi's Socks Soar on Two Circular Needles The title is misleading. They do not soar. Also, there was apparently no copy editor on this book. Every apostrophe or quote -- including those used to signify inches is replaced by a little box. But other than that, it's easy to follow her instructions.

What's next? I still have other finished objects to write about, plus about 4 things on needles currently, including a vest for John made up at 7.5 stitches and 12 rows per inch. It's a damn good thing he's skinny.