Ok, it’s the 23! That means it’s “Post some professional quality work and link it to this site day! I am even as we speak working on the sock pattern, (well ok, no, I’m writing this right now, obviously, but you know what I mean) with the intention that I will post it today. I just have to write down the heel part, which is easy, right? And draw out the chart. Which should be easy, but is maybe not. This whole “writing out your knitting pattern so that someone else can read it” thing is hard! And unless one of you actually feels like knitting the darn thing, I still won’t know if I’ve done it correctly. I suppose someone who knows what they’re doing might be able to tell just by reading it… Jodi? Anyone?
In either case, posting the sock pattern for Pixel-Stained Technopeasant day only half counts, because I had always intended to post it, so while it is indeed a free pattern (which, assuming legibility will unquestionably generate a pair of large socks, since I have a pair to prove it) it isn’t an extra thing I’m sharing.
I haven’t any other brilliant sock ideas lying around, and haven’t thought of anything else of a reasonable size to throw up a tutorial about (but you know you can always ask, right? I mean, I just do stuff, it doesn’t always occur to me that someone else might want to. I’m used to people thinking I’m nuts!) and posting a picture of a piece of fibre art is not really useful to this particular cause. So instead, I shall follow in Gecko Girl’s footsteps: I shall take my own advice and throw some poetry out there. These were written a few years ago now, when I was living in London (ON).

Jasmine and Ivy

You observed the difference
Between inference and implication
But Peter said
Carpe per diem et fugit!
And the Lost Boys pulled out the skeletons
That were hiding in your china cupboard
They came out and danced
They were your friends
And you took them, then
And dressed yourself in skulls
But underneath the skulls it’s you
It’s really you
Wendy
The Betrayer
Who grew up.

I don’t really imagine this next one qualifies as “professional quality”, I’m afraid. It’s actually a eulogy I wrote for my grandmother – but while I’m posting poetry here, I think that this one ought to be included:

Oats, Peas, Beans and Barley

Maybe it’s not fair
But what I mourn is what I’ll never know.
Lost behind piles of fabric
Long beyond your control,
Lost inside a role of meals badly coped with,
Beautiful clothes that I put on my dolls
Costumes
The secret of how to make clothes-peg people
My own happy childhood.
Where is the woman I’ll never meet?
Beautiful, talented
Selfless, creative, young.
Your finger, bent for forty years
Your accidents were silly, after.
We remember you as funny, eccentric
Your talking birds and tatted lace
And miles of tiny stitches.
Did you really want those dresses for yourself?
And would you have grown bored, not finished
If they hadn’t been so small?
Were you patient, and were you very lonely?
And did you know how loved and beautiful
You always, always were?

I remember plastic salt cellars
And endless mismatched glasses
When the table was set it always seemed as if
Someone hadn’t known when to stop.
I remember
“My name is Jan Jansen, I come from Wisconsin…”
Life with you wasn’t full of books, but
Things to look at and play with.
Your world was texture and opulence:
The indescribable smell of your kitchen
The feel of silk.
And were you relieved that I could play alone?
Or did you understand my brother better
Because he needed to be amused
Wanted to play “store” and “school”,
Because he was a Boy?

One night, your brother came.
That night, you weren’t Nana
You were just another grown-up, talking in the living room
Boring stuff I didn’t want to understand.
If I had paid more attention then
Would I know more?
Could I fill in some of the gaps
Now that I wish I understood?
Would it have helped these last few years?
Or was it enough
That I could talk about fabric and texture
And the beautiful clothes that I saw at the theatre one night,
Enough to know that you and I could make these things?
Did you survive and live for ninety years
Because you could still tell me what rucking meant?

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