Every year for Christmas when I was growing up, I received knitted mittens (with weird thumbs - too tiny), a hat, and a knitted or crocheted toy. On occasion, we would receive hand knit socks. These precious items were lovingly knit for us by Mummu (my Finnish grandmother). The hand knit socks were not the kind of wear-in-regular-shoes kind of socks. These were big woolen socks that we would wear as slippers. The men wore them in their hunting boots. There are precious few of these socks left. Each of us has a pair (rumor has it that mom has two pair). We are very secretive about our socks. We're not sure what colors the others have. We don't know where the others keep theirs. We don't bring them out and ooh and ahh over them. We don't openly admit we have some. We don't even wear them anymore. (Well, I believe the men still wear them in their hunting boots). Yes, my friends, I have posted an actual picture of The Socks that are mine here on this blog. They are gray with red ribbing. I am outing The Socks.
Let me tell you a story about The Socks. Years ago, a family member got divorced and lost pretty much all possessions in the divorce. He shook it off as matter of course in getting out of the marriage. However, one thing that upsets him to this day that the ex- offed with: a pair of Mummu's Socks. Now, people, I implore you, take everything in the divorce: the house, the vehicles, the boats, the furniture, the tools, take it all, but don't (I mean, come on people), don't take someone's hand-knit socks. They were not knit for her. They were knit many years before she even joined our family. She never even met my Mummu.
If you look closely at my pair, the heel of one of The Socks has worn out. I did not wear this heel out. I have shown love and respect for The Socks throughout my life. A former boyfriend of mine found The Socks and wore them around. I was not aware of this until he brought them back for me to mend. His comment at my absolute disdain that he had taken The Socks was that "you don't even wear them". NONE OF US WEAR THEM!
So, Mummu turned 101 this past November. There will be no more socks. There haven't been more socks for many years. My brother and father have asked for socks each year for Christmas because I am a knitter. I am the knitter. I finally realized this winter that it is now my duty to bring socks back to this family. I must admit that I do not enjoy knitting socks. But, I don't enjoy knitting sock yarn socks on size 3 DPNs. The Socks look to be knit in worsted weight yarn. I will take it upon myself to produce socks for my family. I will study The Socks. I will determine the gauge of The Socks. I will count rows and stitches and increases and decreases of The Socks. I will bring forth Socks...
As I type this blog tonight, this is my view:
This is my shadow.
I call him Heimo.
Every year for Christmas when I was growing up, I received knitted mittens (with weird thumbs - too tiny), a hat, and a knitted or crocheted toy. On occasion, we would receive hand knit socks. These precious items were lovingly knit for us by Mummu (my Finnish grandmother). The hand knit socks were not the kind of wear-in-regular-shoes kind of socks. These were big woolen socks that we would wear as slippers. The men wore them in their hunting boots. There are precious few of these socks left. Each of us has a pair (rumor has it that mom has two pair). We are very secretive about our socks. We're not sure what colors the others have. We don't know where the others keep theirs. We don't bring them out and ooh and ahh over them. We don't openly admit we have some. We don't even wear them anymore. (Well, I believe the men still wear them in their hunting boots). Yes, my friends, I have posted an actual picture of The Socks that are mine here on this blog. They are gray with red ribbing. I am outing The Socks.
Let me tell you a story about The Socks. Years ago, a family member got divorced and lost pretty much all possessions in the divorce. He shook it off as matter of course in getting out of the marriage. However, one thing that upsets him to this day that the ex- offed with: a pair of Mummu's Socks. Now, people, I implore you, take everything in the divorce: the house, the vehicles, the boats, the furniture, the tools, take it all, but don't (I mean, come on people), don't take someone's hand-knit socks. They were not knit for her. They were knit many years before she even joined our family. She never even met my Mummu.
If you look closely at my pair, the heel of one of The Socks has worn out. I did not wear this heel out. I have shown love and respect for The Socks throughout my life. A former boyfriend of mine found The Socks and wore them around. I was not aware of this until he brought them back for me to mend. His comment at my absolute disdain that he had taken The Socks was that "you don't even wear them". NONE OF US WEAR THEM!
So, Mummu turned 101 this past November. There will be no more socks. There haven't been more socks for many years. My brother and father have asked for socks each year for Christmas because I am a knitter. I am the knitter. I finally realized this winter that it is now my duty to bring socks back to this family. I must admit that I do not enjoy knitting socks. But, I don't enjoy knitting sock yarn socks on size 3 DPNs. The Socks look to be knit in worsted weight yarn. I will take it upon myself to produce socks for my family. I will study The Socks. I will determine the gauge of The Socks. I will count rows and stitches and increases and decreases of The Socks. I will bring forth Socks...
As I type this blog tonight, this is my view:
This is my shadow.
I call him Heimo.
Hey, when you're knitting The Socks, don't forget your favorite sister, Kelly! Love ya! - p.s., in case you forgot, green is my favorite color! :)
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