Your Enjoyment May Vary

I will not try to catch all you all up on the last two weeks of my life in one post. It would be too much to explain with the family reunion, kids getting shots, multiple pap smears, no small STD fears, and all the other fun things I have been doing. Trust me, it isn't as glamorous as it sounds. Also believe me when I say, I will fill in all the gory and grody details. For now, I think it best I only tackle one horror at a time.

Hubby and I have a deal. If I go to his family reunion, he has to go to mine. Now he would say that this is not really all that fair and that he gets the crap end of the stick. I agree with him that it isn't fair, but I would say that the truly crap encrusted end of the stick gets shoved my way every time. Unlike Hubby's family who requires a weekend out of your life that you will never get back and would require therapy with the exception that reliving the trauma makes it so not worth it, my family requires one afternoon a year. One afternoon spent in the recreation room of a church, sitting and eating country potluck can be endured with a Valium.

Now, this isn't my favorite event of the year. I go to the family reunion because I love my dad. The family reunion is my dad's idea of heaven. He is in his element. While I am sitting wondering if the event will one day be sponsored by the local nursing home and funeral parlor due to the age of the attendees, my dad is talking to all his relatives, getting more genealogy information and family stories. I sit close to my grandmother and knit. Everybody comes by to see her. As they don't expect her to remember who they are, they introduce themselves. I get to meet the relatives and don't have to worry about trying to find their face and name in my mental Rolodex.

My grandmother has Alzheimer's and is in a wheelchair. Two of my great-uncles have had strokes and use either a wheelchair or a walker. This family reunion is not for the gutless. You see what getting old can do to you and let's face it - Botox and face lifts can only do so much. Being confronted en masse with your own mortality requires a certain constitution. Hubby lacks the constitution and brings a book. Unfortunately for him, Harry Potter VII doesn't appear until this Saturday.

Unlike the early years, we no longer have a talent portion to the event. I think that the shock treatments required to recover from too many covers of "Stairway to Heaven" and "Freebird" put a stop to that. We still have a silent auction. This year I knit a pair of socks for the said auction.

Now, I had expended a good deal of energy preoccupied with the thought that the silent auction socks would not get finished in time. I used a toe up pattern because - although if pressed to admit this in public, I would deny it - they are a quicker knit than top down. I bought some DK weight yarn in an acrylic wool blend for the wool sock maintenance impaired. Said DK weight yarn was bought with money I could have used to buy some killer lace weight, but I made the sacrifice because I love my dad.

I knit on these socks late into the night before the reunion and in the car on the way to the reunion. I endured hand cramps, car contortions when I dropped a needle, and a low level panic that I might not get the sock finished. I finished weaving in the ends in the car in the church parking lot.

I put my socks on the table with the handmade bird houses, photo albums, and other things. When the bidding was over, I noticed that no one had put a bid on my socks. Not one. How odd. How ODD?! No, this was freakin' weird. Who doesn't want a pair of hand knit socks? Who are these people and do I even share their genes?

I mentioned to my dad about the socks later that evening. His response was remarkably simple and zen - "They probably didn't know what to do with a pair of hand knit socks." I replied, "Not know what to do with a pair of hand knit socks?! You put them on your FEET and WEAR them." My dad's zen response, "Like I said, they probably didn't know what to do with a pair of hand knit socks."

OK. In the interest of saving handknitters everywhere the same fate, e-mail the following to all your friends and relatives.

If you are in the presence of hand knit socks that a knitter related to you by blood, marriage, or friendship has made for you and given to you, this is what you do. "Are these for me? They are lovely! Thank you!" Take the offered socks, put them on your feet and enjoy. Yes, put them on your FEET and enjoy. I find hand knit socks are best enjoyed with a great book, a cup of tea, and Irish music. Your enjoyment scenario may vary.