While up in Oregon last month Caroline toiled away in the minutes found here and there while out and about, but especially in the evenings when I would sit down to write of the day. Her task was the turning of yarn we’d picked up at Knitted Wit in Portland during a previous visit into custom-fitted socks tailored specifically to my feet; these are those socks. For about a dozen years now Caroline has been making my socks, although they started out with the most conservative of colors as I have to admit that at the time I was reluctant to give in to wearing such things. You see, I’m a product of the 60s and 70s when handknitted clothes demonstrated your commitment to the hippy ethos. The idea of returning to the days of those stereotypes was anathema to my sense of the modern (read: bias). Reluctantly I accepted a gift from my mother-in-law Jutta who made my very first pair, though she needed extensive help from Caroline (and her sister Stephanie, since they were not finished by the time Jutta returned home).

Through the intervening years, Caroline has knitted me 19 pairs of socks with just two pairs needing to be retired due to me wearing them out. How appropriate that in 2020 I will receive my 20th pair of socks made by her labor of love for me. This next pair is already underway being knitted with yarn I picked up at Die WollLust while in Berlin earlier this year. They are difficult and have proven time-consuming as while I was in the shop picking up yarns that she wanted I spotted some patterns I found intriguing and so I purchased the yarn and had it sent to the States. Sitting in our cabinets and shelves where our hoard of yarns gathers dust are at least another dozen skeins of fingering weight in vibrant colorways waiting their turn to be knitted and purled into sexy foot gloves that have proven to be so attractive to the fans I gather once they witness such handsomely dressed feet.

P.S. This is about the closest we’ll ever get to having a Christmas tree, so Ho-Ho-Ho and all that stuff.