Category: River Socks

when worlds collide…

Self-Portrait TUESDAY!
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New Threads TUESDAY!

This pair of socks was supposed to be finished A Long Time Ago…

Don’t really understand why they went missing for months – Summertime? – Tedium?- Ignorance?

They started out around mid-March 2006 from some lovely Lorna’s Laces gleaned from a studio sale in 2003 (see June 19th entry) – proof positive there is no expiration date on w.o.o.l.

a pair of socks after months/years by last year’s Socktoberfest (hi Lolly! who’s now hosting a Green Sock Knitalong with the beautiful Maritza). The others are still waiting their turn – any suggestions for the Bumble Bee colourway??? ;p

I adore these socks – I’ve always adored the Lorna’s Laces sock yarn – but these are quite the midwinter pick-me-up!

Yum! Beautiful colors in a soft small gauge flirty yarn…

These skeins were what Kathy Kelly called Burnt Cookies – or *seconds* from the studio, but all I can see is that they are a little fraternal and had occasional pops of yellow.

Pattern: Chic Knits *Sock Love*
Designer: Bonne Marie Burns
Yarn: Lorna’s Laces *Shepard Sock*
Color: River
Gauge: 9 sts/12 rows over 1″
Needles: #1

All I know is that it’s a Happy Happy Dancin’ Day here @Chez Chic when those new socks hit my smiling feet!

…read all entries on the River Socks

Stand-by Unit 10
jump street POV – woman with camera

Most people know that Chicago is called the Windy City. After I relocated here a few years ago, I invoked its name (with extra f*adjectives) every time my hat blew away down the street – everytime my hair stuck to my fresh A.M. glossed lips as I waited for the bus, I sputtered anew…

One day a native brusquely kicked me to the curb with the news that the phrase Windy City was in reference to its Gasbag Politicians NOT the freakin weather. By then, after witnessing many a Metropolitan Scandal, I could only take my whipping and nod my head.

WITNESS that AIR: Unless you’re pushing up the daisies this Spring, you would be hard pressed to miss the mess that is the trial of ex-Governor George Ryan down at the Federal Building. Old School Campaign Fund Fraud Walks into New School Cyber Invetigative Wall. RESULT: a gathering of the gassiest, baggiest, co-mingling of politician and attorney species, the likes of which we will probably witness soon never again.

The Media, in a long tradition of loving to give names to stories, sporting events, and gangstas, has named the raggedey group of assorted scribes, TV reporters, shooters and groupies – (yes, there are always court groupies but that story is for another day) – who attend the proceedings “Camp Ryan”. They mostly hover in a waiting room on the same floor as the courtroom, eagerly awaiting the verdict.

But almost forgotten, until they are in your face, are the Other Camp Followers.

That would be me. And my ilk.

The Photographers wait in a cordoned off area in the gargantuan lobby. We have been relegated there by the order of the Chief Judge who proclaimed that “Cameramen with cameras who stampeded and trampled the public” would be coralled off so they could no longer poach the Free Range (my interpretaion).

This is Bad but (oh yes) Good. Because these members of Camp Ryan are actually, well, a Camp! Here behind the ropes along the 3 story high glass exterior walls, you see folding canvas chairs behind a row of cameras connected to every cable ever invented for the transmission of electronic broadcast.

The Geeks will not go quietly or will they?

Here you will see people warming themselves with a virtual campfire of iPods (regular, nano, mini (including my beloved Keanu who I thought I electrocuted yesterday OH NO!) and the most coveted of all – the guys with the video ipods watching MOVIES! How I lust for this option). Also represented are laptops of all shapes and sizes; books, newpapers; magazines; cell phones and devices emitting every chirp sequence under the sun.

[Lest you think this is the Best Job Ever, let me indicate that at a micro-moment’s notice, the Camp must and will SPRING into action and throw itself on the Grenade of Coverage as soon as the pin is pulled. NOW one must heave the 25-30 lb. camera on the shoulder and run for six blocks, up and down stairs through traffic backwards and around and through anything in the urban landscape in all types of weather. WINDY trumps windy.]

But I worship most of all the LoTech Device I always have with me:

This little number is good in all weather, windy
or otherwise, and will never need a battery.

I love my little Old School Heel…

… read more

– Upstairs Ennui

– more Jump Street POV

the Sock Speaks

Yesterday was a virtual Trifecta of Crafting on the #66.

While I was knitting away on my River Sock, I spied in a side seat in front of me a lady embroidering what looked to be a small tablecloth! Across from her, was a young woman furiously wielding a hook.

In her lap lay a gorgeous green crocheted shawl. She was working so fast, I could not see the stitches actually being made – she was poking the hook back and forth into the edge of the piece so quickly I couldn’t see her throw the thread over the hook before it disappeared and grabbed another stitch! THRILLING!

Thread? Did I hear the word Thread? Indeed – the fiber she was using to crochet her masterpiece was the finest gauge *yarn* I’ve ever seen.

hey Ann this is for you…

But of course, this made me knit faster and faster. I am still in thrall to the River Sock – I’m actually almost finished with it but I left it at work so all I have is what you see above.

The last few rows of the heel turning drew some attention from fellow riders when made. Next to me was a young woman wearing the uniform of Chicago Teens – roughhouse – low riders, starter jacket, no brow left unpierced.

She and a friend proceeded to have one of those amazing bus converations where people in close proximity to you, discuss you, & maybe what you’re doing or other, like you are a table or chair. [Perhaps I resembled fine furniture with a few moving parts – indeed – I spend a lot of time in my glider in the hut, knitting…]

My neighbors puzzled over the type and meaning of my object and when they decided it was a sock, started a conversation with me.

She told me she knew how to knit, too. That while she was in Cook Co. Jail a couple of months ago, a group (must find) came in and taught the ladies-in-waiting. Speaking with obvious delight, she told me how from her hands came a yellow baby blanket, recipient unknown, but good will winging its way. She said she probably wouln’t knit anything else, but she really liked my sock.