My name is Monica and I am a Sockaholic.
I’ve been a knitter for a very long time. My mother taught me how to do the simple garter stitch when I was only eight or nine years old. One time, when I was recovering from dental surgery, she bought me a 2 oz. skein of denim ombre worsted weight yarn that I thought was just wonderful. Mom would cast on the stitches for me and I would knit them until I reached the end of my ball. Then I would rip the whole thing out and Mom would cast a new set onto my needles. I delighted in the variety of patterns the colors produced with the different number of stitches.
My addiction to sock knitting started innocently enough as one small project to prepare myself emotionally for my daughter, Maggie’s departure for college back in 2000. I reckoned that since I spent a good deal of time crocheting little toys for her before she came into my world, I would knit socks for her as I sent her off into the world.
I bought an instructional booklet, some double point needles and a couple skeins of sock yarn. My first pair of socks was completed in just a couple of days. So, I bought more yearn and made another pair, and then another and then another. In no time I was cranking out a pair of socks every week or so. By the time Maggie left for school, I’d knit at least a dozen pairs of socks which she shared with her friends.
With Maggie successfully launched, you’d think I would have moved on to other projects but I was unable to stop. Instead, I stepped up my game, searching for ever more complicated patterns and luxurious yarns. For a time I was totally hooked on self-patterning yarns, mesmerized by the way colorful designs appeared on my sock cuffs with relatively no effort on my part.
To justify my lust for yarn and feed my habit, I decided to begin giving my creations away as gifts. Over the next several years, almost all of my coworkers, relatives and friends received at least one pair of handmade socks for a birthday or Christmas gift. I know it sounds like the kind of present you’d receive from an elderly aunt that you accept kindly and then toss in the back of a drawer, but people actually liked them and began to expect a new pair when their birthday rolled around. Believe me, I didn’t complain; the reinforcement was great!
Since sock knitting materials are so compact and portable, I began to take my habit with me where ever I went, riding in cars and planes, doctors’ waiting rooms, the movies, and even webinars. In short, anywhere I’d be sitting for at least five minutes was a good a place as any to knit. If you were ever stuck in traffic on Witchduck Road in Virginia Beach at rush hour in the early 2000’s and you think you may have seen a woman knitting in the driver’s seat of a red CRV, you weren’t dreaming; it was me!
Then, after years of watching me knit a lunchtime, my coworkers expressed an interest in learning how to knit. I had lots of scraps of worsted weight yarn at home as well as extra needles. (Over the years I have become a repository for unwanted knitting supplies.) So, we started a lunchtime knitting class in our office supply room/kitchen. For several months we met every day from 12:00 to 1:00, producing simple garter stitch squares to make a blanket for Warm Up America. We eventually finished and donated it to a local organization helping the homeless at the oceanfront.
With the blanket completed, some of my students moved onto socks. Connie was the first to complete a pair, then Sarah, while the rest continued making squares. But, regardless of what we were making with our hands, we were forging strong friendships with our hearts. Our discussions became so intimate and at times bawdy that we eventually posted a sign on the door to the kitchen which read, “No Boys Allowed 12-1” to avoid the occasional red-faced embarrassment many of the guys experienced when the opened the door to our “Ladies’ Hour”. I guess you could say it was our version of locker room dialogue with the distinct exception that we were more apt to be discussing how lame the opposite sex is rather than how hot they are. (I apologize for the man bashing, but there you go.)
Although for the most part, my habit has not been harmful to me, the one major downside of all this sock knitting is that no matter how carefully planned a pattern is, there is always some yarn left after a pair of socks is completed. Over the years I have tried my best to keep up with my stash so that it accumulates to the point that Dave actually notices. Aside from the bags and baskets I have strategically tucked behind the sofa and chair in the family room, I have more than a few bags stashed away in the closet in my office. I call it my “craft closet” but if truth be told, it is really a huge pile of yarn, carefully sorted by weight and sometimes color stowed away in recycled plastic comforter and bed sheet zipper bags. I guess you could call it controlled chaos.
The first month after moving into our house here in Ruckersville, I knit about a dozen pair of socks. I had lots of time on my hands and not a whole lot of activity in my life. Nowadays I deviate from time to time, cranking out the odd baby sweater or cap as well as the prayer shawls I make with my ladies at Peace Lutheran in Charlottesville, but I aways have at least one pair of socks in progress. I can’t really explain the attraction except that with a project so small, I can afford to buy nicer yarns and savor the tactile joy of working with fine natural fibers. Because they make up so quickly, I rarely have the opportunity to get bored with a pair, even when I’m in the midst of the dreaded second sock.
If you’re not a knitter, this still might not make much sense. It took Dave many years to accept and appreciate what I do. For a long time when I’d excitedly show him my yarn and pattern, he’d merely say, “show me when it’s done.” Recently though, even he admitted how impressed he is that I can take a bunch of “string” and creat a fine garment. And oh yes, even he loves his handmade socks!