Work In Progress
Design by design,
Stitch by Stitch, magic happens,
Frogging ruins days.
Well, I think I’m being too impatient with this pattern book. I started over, twice, and once only did the lace pattern to see if I was doing something wrong, I was but we won’t mention that. Now all is good and I’m afraid to start again. What if it still looks horrible?
Also, who write a pattern book that does not follow any type of pattern in the directions. Of course, there are the charts to follow A, B, and C. These are easy enough to figure out. There is the written instructions as well if a person does not like pattern charts or who cannot read them yet.
But, BUT, when the instructions say cast on this many and then follow this pattern set up, then follows that with seemingly simple instructions, you would think everything would flow. No, of course not.
The charts seem to expand upon one another, and you would think that the written instructions would include a cascading pattern that would incorporate all three into the design, but no. It only tells you to cast on so many and use chart A till you have so many stitches then start the the lacy edge. It makes no mention of chart B or C until the lace edge, but if you only follow the Chart A pattern for the body, it looks jacked.
Sigh, I think at this point I’m going to do it my way with chart C and see where it goes. Anything is better than beating my head against this pattern book. And the patterns are so beautiful too. Sad.
Knitting socks is a personal event, not a hobby, but an actual event, like a personal war against those who would drive a knitter insane. I have knitted my own personal set of socks successfully, but many of them are a hard fought win or, mostly, a dismal failure. The single lonely sock sits finished while the second socks sits on the needle as a reminder of my failure as a knitter and against the desire to create.
I do not give up though. It is the drive to create that keeps me going back. The inner struggle that only knitters will understand keeps me going back to that frogged pile of yarn. What if I only counted my stitches closer? Could I have stopped the lost traveling stitch if I had put in a life line? What if the pattern is wrong? It will not defeat me!
The idea of losing a stitch drives fear into the heart of any stalwart knitter, even the master knitters. Sock knitting is its own environment completely, even the yarn stash is separate from the main stash. Hats, scarves, shawls, they all have their own pile of yarn, but the sock stash is special. The needles are much slimmer; the yarn can be tiny. There are so many style of knitting for socks the mind of the knitter can be confounded by the vast variety available. I will admit though, beginning a sock is an adventure the I look forward to with inner glee. It seems so simple. Do I make a stockinet stitch leg or should I switch it up with a bit of lace edging? What about cables? Ohhh, cables.
Once I get started everything is happiness and rainbows until the heal. There are so many variables involved. How many heal stitches to do, count the number of stitches you begin with and divide by two, making sure that your row count is correct for the rows the will be picked up. Then, then, try not to drop a stitch because that will make me have to start over, or throw it across the room and staunchly ignore it until it stares at me and I feel guilty. There I said it. It has a mind of its own and it knows it. But, once that first sock is finished it is a happy day, until you realize that you have to create the second one. No! the heinous second sock. That particular evil has a specific name that is dreaded through out the knitter world: Second Sock Syndrome. What is that you may ask? It is the knowledge that the boring sock that you just finished has to be replicated, exactly. The apocalypse would be easier to handle than Second Sock Syndrome. What if I make a mistake? What if I am off on my stitches? What if, gasp!, I mess up completely and never finish the second sock? Which is a very real possibility.
Socks have a life of their own. They rule over the inner mind of the knitter until both socks are complete or you go screaming into the kitchen and set fire to the second sock. Which ever appeals to you, the better. Sock knitting is a deeply personal and interwoven experience with the natural world of the knitter. What if I can’t find the fifth double pointed needle I need for this particular yarn or what if I don’t have enough to finish?
Sock knitting is a passion that many people do not master and I for one am still struggling up the hill of proficiency. The Second Sock Syndrome looms every time I pick up a set of knitting needles with the intent of making something cozy for my feet or, heaven forbid, my family. It is easily the best time had, next to a cozy hat, that I have ever accomplished, and also the most frustrating. But I would never give it up. Happy knitting.