A couple of weekends ago, I started my first toe up sock when I received my latest kit from the Rockin' Sock Club. The gorgeous yarn came with a pattern in the toe up design - same as the first kit. It was a message from the universe telling me I could remain ignorant of the toe up sock no longer. I pulled a skein of Colinette Jitterbug in greens, blues, and aquas out of my stash and started knitting a plain toe up pattern. I was having difficulty with the cast on for the toe because my vision has not yet recovered from the hysterical blindness induced by seeing Bush dance. (I have this theory that people have sex the way they dance. All I could think of as I watched our esteemed president as he suffered from muscle spasms brought on by an unscripted moment, was poor Laura Bush.)
As my vision cleared, aided by watching Brian De Palma's The Black Dahlia with sexy Josh Harnett and intellectual, eye candy Aaron Eckhart, I became more invested in this new perspective on sock construction. My usual way of knitting socks is top down with a heel flap and square toe to accommodate what the French call a Giselle foot. (There is a reason some of us wear Birkenstocks and not the pizza slice shoes so popular right now.) I liken the construction of top down socks to that of knitting two tubes joined with a bend of some nature where the leg and foot meet.
Most fit issues with top down construction with a heel flap occur in the space opposite the bend. I, for one, hate the elephant wrinkles and bagginess around the ankle on what is a perfectly fine fitting sock otherwise. The heel is wonderful, but the front is all wrinkly due to the extra fabric that is created by ankle curve. I have tried various methods to remedy this problem. The method with the most consistent results is going down a needle size or two for this part of the sock. When I have some time to think about the geometry of the issue, I will develop a better solution, but for now, I am willing to accept what is.
As I have worked on my toe up socks, I find my brain rearranging how it conceptualizes socks. Unlike top down construction with a heel flap, a toe up design with a short row heel is a continuous tube, with most of the shaping on the front end and smooth sailing to the end.
I mention all of this because I have sensed a rampant sock phobia, even among otherwise competent and supremely proficient knitters. I have seen a knitter who has produced hats knit in the round of the most intricate cabled or Fair Isle design, turn squeamish at the mere suggestion of knitting a sock. After talking to knitters experienced and novice alike, I have come to the following conclusion - the fear of knitting socks lies in the feet not the sock. No one has ever said, "Hey, feet are ick! Who would knit socks for them?" Still, I sensed a slight shiver of disgust at the mere thought of all those hours used to cover people feet. Baby feet are a whole other story. People love baby feet. Baby feet have not yet been tainted by fungus, corns, callouses or bunions.
Two events changed my perspective on sock knitting.
My grandfather was pretty old, and unable to bend to cut his toenails very well. For as long as I could remember, every night after working on the farm, he would come in, take off his shoes and socks, cut his toenails and apply this athlete's foot medication that would peel the varnish off the floor. I don't think the fungus stood a chance. As he got older, my grandfather was less able to do this one task. On one of my visits with the hubby, my grandfather asked if I would cut his toenails. At first I had the whole ICK factor going through my head, but that evaporated rather quickly as I realized how difficult it must have been for him to ask me to perform this simple act.
My grandmother has horrible arthritis in her knees. Until the last few years before my grandfather died, she puttered along despite the pain. I noticed that she would sit rubbing her legs longer and longer, so I went and got some foot lotion out of my suitcase to massage her feet and legs. I don't know that it helped her feel better physically, but I know that it helped her emotionally to have someone recognize her pain and try to alleviate it. Rubbing my grandmother's feet and legs helped me find a way to perform an act of service for a woman who had done so much for so many over the years without asking for much for herself.
To my mind knitting socks is like that. To knit socks is to provide for the most basic needs of comfort and care. To knit someone a hat says you care, but to knit someone socks is a declaration of love. Hand knitted socks say you are willing create something of beauty to cover something most of us regard as dirty and gross, if we think about them at all.
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