Marriage Tip: Just Don’t Say Anything

This time of year, the light through the kitchen window hits a peak of glory around 6 pm. I keep an eye on the kitchen sun schedule the way a fisherman knows the tides. This late afternoon light? It looks like Jesus will come striding out of the cedars any minute. Thomas Kinkade, the Painter of Light, wishes his light looked like this light.

I had a slim window in which to get a picture of my latest sock-finishing effort. There was a piece of fish on the counter, an aged kale salad at the absolute edge of plausibility as a side dish, and some Trader Joe’s microwave rice from two days ago awaiting its second birth back in the microwave. Dinner? Or photos?

At about 5:45, Hubbo walked into the kitchen and found me slumped down in a chair, camera in hand, foot up on the table modeling a red sock. It is harder than you might think to get a good photo of handknit socks. They’re elusive. They don’t want to be caught. The look all floppy without a foot contained inside. At least the Golden Light would help make my sock less pitiable.

Hubbo took one look, grabbed a carrot out of the fridge, and wandered off without a word.

This unfinished sock project dates from at least 2008. It’s our pattern, Stephen Colbert Socks, named for our hero. The cables wander randomly as you knit from the cuff—you start with a 2 x 2 rib, then shift the two knit stitches one stitch to the right or left whenever you please, and eventually the knit stitches collide and twist and run over each other. After making a number of these socks, I find it interesting to see how little initial shifting is needed to send the two knit stitches on crazy rides. Of course, no two socks are alike.

The yarn is Colinette Jitterbug, colorway Vatican Pie.