When I was a little girl, my nanny taught me how to knit. I remember it very clearly. She sat beside me on the sofa at her house in a small northern New York village while a thunderstorm boomed outside. It was very early in the morning, I’d say around 7:30. I was still in my pajamas. I don’t know why I remember that so clearly, but it’s a great memory.
About the same time, my cousin S, who lived about a mile up the road learned how to knit also. Her mother (Aunt J, a lovely English lady) also sat her down and showed her how to do it. I think.
Anyway, my Uncle A, he of the very twisted sense of humor, took a look at S’s potholder or scarf or whatever it was that she was knitting and pronounced it as her “knotting” rather than knitting. And of course S’s heart was broken. I wonder if she ever knitted after that.
The upshot of this little story is that I’m not knitting a sock, I’m knotting a sock like my cousin S’s potholder.
I always like to say that the first one of anything that I make is the beta version or the prototype, on which I make all of my mistakes and teach myself the easiest and neatest way to do something. So I’ve been experimenting, and learning, and ripping out, and knitting, and ripping out, and knitting……..
This first sock will not be wearable. However, I may just frame it as my first attempt with four knitting needles.
And on I go.