The Sock of Defiance

It was really only a matter of time.  When a person, who is also a knitter, has a rebellious streak a mile wide, it matters not against WHAT there is to rebel.  In this case, I'm knitting in defiance of my publisher's deadline.  Totally delusional time-management expectations?  No problem!  I'll just make my mom a lace birthday sock.

Maybe it's to do with the realization that the number of birthdays I have left to celebrate with my mom is dwindling.  Maybe it's a backlash against all the colorwork I've been up to.  I just really wanted to make a sock.  And while a PAIR of socks would be preferable, and undoubtedly more useful, there is a distinct possibility that I will be forced to wait a while before starting #2.  My mom, who has never been known as a finisher of projects, will be the first to understand if she only ever receives this single.

Not that I wouldn't like to make another.  In fact, for the first time in memory, I'm sorta jazzed to start the other one right away.  Which makes perfect sense in light of the fact that this rebelion knitting, and not sanctioned, career-advancing, bill-paying knitting.  Of course this is the first and only time I've eluded the dreaded second sock syndrome.
 

The fact is that I've been pounding my head against the wall with a roaring case of writers' block.  My friend Jill says it's because I'm not dealing yet with the loss of my father.  She might be right.  I can't deny that a little quiet time at the ocean would be good for my perspective about now.  But that's just not in the cards at the moment.  So I guess I've been taking the only vacation I can:  Defiant Sock Knitting. 

All that aside, I have a pressing need to return to my regularly-scheduled book knitting.  And "pressing" here means Urgent and Undeniable, even by a world-class Deny-er, such as myself. 

Time to go back below and pull on the oars some more.  Isn't it ghastly how even something you love can still turn into work?

All DPNs, All The Time

It could be due to last week's prolonged exposure to all things sock, but I just noticed that I have three projects going at the same time, and they are all on DPNs:

Here's a sock (knee high) that I somehow managed not to finish at Sock Summit.  No idea what I must have been doing with my time.  Call me unsophisticated, but I really love a stockinette sock.  There is no better way to really see what yarn is like than to make a nice smooth tube out of it:

And here's my mom's 78th birthday sock.  It's my first-ever cable-and-lace sock attempt.  The pattern is called Clover, and it's really fun to make!  Among Clover's many charms is the fact that I didn't design it.  Sometimes following a pattern that somebody else has already perfected can be like going on vacation.  This is a particularly guilty pleasure because other people's sock patterns are definitely NOT on my book writing production schedule.  But how often is your mom going to turn 78?  We are not savages here, after all:

And finally, I'm pleased to tell you that I get to teach a class about mittens at Seattle's Nordic Heritage Museum, the first weekend of November.  I'm making something special for them that I really love.  Sneak Peek:

But this is the best part.  I sat next to Teri Shea at the Sock Summit opening ceremonies.  In between snacks and speakers, she graciously showed me how to properly gusset a Selbu mitten thumb.  I've been working slot-style thumbs on all my Selbuvotter, partly because I thought the technique would be too hard to teach (totally not true) and partly because I thought it would be too hard to learn (also a complete delusion):

Hard to get knitting sexier than that.  And it's completely anatomically correct, unlike a thumb slot.  Sorry thumb slots: Working you has been a really useful hack, but now that I know how the pros do it, I'm afraid you're dead to me.  You'll always have a place in my knitting.  It's just at the bottom of the basket now. 

And Ms. Shea, if you're listening, I'm converted:  Your work here is done.  I'm one step closer to becoming you when I grow up.

So all my knitting is pointy today.  The coffee table, and the arms of my knitting chair, and my lap, are hedgehoggy with DPNs.  Nice work, if you can get it.
 

Thrilled to my Toes. And Heels.

If I were to describe my Sock Summit 2011 experience in culinary terms, I'd call it a Smorgasbord of delights.  Everywhere I turned, a brand-new treat was waiting.
 

I finally met my idol, Teri Shea.  And she showed me her work in progress, which this photo does not do justice. (Sidebar: Is convention center carpet even made in this universe? I cannot imagine a profit-seeking enterprize coming up with this as a viable carpet design).

The marketplace was a triumph of retail therapy.  Just walking through it was an affirmation that if you play with string, not only is it okay, it's downright cool.  And you could never, if you lived to be a thousand, have too much of it.

Here are two teachers I love:  Franklin Habit and Carson Demers.  They are giving the best of themselves to knitting and knitters, and we are so fortunate to receive it.

Clara Parkes (speaking of giving to knitters!) and I signed books at the Unicorn booth, where a wee one with her mommy stopped by to chat.  Getta load of the mini circle jacket!

Star-struck much?  I know.  I never get over seeing my name on the door of a classroom.  I may have asked a knitter to pinch me.

And best of all:  My Knitters.  Here are some who learned to do stranded colorwork for socks.

Nearly 2000 knitters took classes at Sock Summit 2011.  80 of them spent time with me.  That means that each one of them gave me three hours of their precious knitting time, for a total of 240 hours.  I am humbled and honored by such a gift.
 

We really had fun together.  And they all made knitting, which means that their hard work was rewarded.

Being at Sock Summit was like being called home by the Mother Ship.  Nowhere else can knitters be so immersed in and surrounded by their Own Kind.  Finding the long lost members of your tribe is a visceral and emotional experience.  One that takes a long time to assimilate.

Here's to digesting the Smorgasbord.