Modifying Socks. Tolerable?

My friend Tamara’s mother knitted socks for me. Just because. Hence, totally unexpected, I now own a pair of super-beautiful, colorful socks.

Of course, I had to try them on, the minute they were given to me (way over 85°F outside …). So pretty and they do fit – the highest bliss, if it had not been for the socks‘ toe section.

It was way more pointed than my toes and as the lovely knitter had pulled the thread several times through the last stitches, there was now a solid little „knob“ at the top of each tip, pinching my feet …

I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Hoping for the knob to soften with time or for my toes to get used to it? Put the socks away as it is too hot outside anyway? Stop being difficult? Or redo the socks‘ oe section …

I decided for the latter, unraveled and grafted the toes using kitchener stitch.

However, now that the socks are super comfortable, it feels like I did something wrong. My friend’s mother had made them for me. And every sock knitter knows how much time and affection is in a sock. I changed it nonetheless. Was I entitled to do that?

What would you have done?

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Sockenspitzen-Manipulation. Erlaubt?

Die Mutter meiner Freundin Tamara hat Socken für mich gestrickt. Einfach so. Total unerwartet besitze ich also jetzt ein Paar superschöner, bunter Socken.

Klar, dass ich sie sofort angezogen habe (bei weit über 30°C). Alles prima, passen tun sie auch – höchste Glückseligkeit also, wäre da nicht die Spitze (gewesen) …

So spitz, wie meine Zehen nicht sind und weil sie offensichtlich den Faden mehrfach durch die letzten Maschen gezogen hatte, war nun an der Spitze der Spitze (an der Formulierung könnte ich vielleicht nochmal arbeiten) ein fester kleiner „Knubbel,“ der drückte.

Ich war mir nicht sicher, was ich damit machen soll. Hoffen, dass der Knubbel mit der Zeit weicher wird oder die Zehen sich gewöhnen? Die Socken erst mal in die Schublade packen, weil’s eh zu warm ist draußen? Mich nicht so anstellen? Oder die Spitze neu stricken …

Ich habe mich für Letzteres entschieden, geribbelt und zusammengenäht.

Und auch wenn diese tollen Socken jetzt (für meine Füße) super bequem sind, fühlt es sich an, als hätte ich etwas Verbotenes getan, indem ich ein so liebevolles Geschenk im wahrsten Sinne des Wortes „umgestrickt“ habe. Oder ist es eigentlich gar nicht so schlimm?

Was hättet Ihr gemacht?

The helicopter inside of me

There’s no one who makes me laugh like that (and sometimes exasperates me to the same extent), no one taking after me so much (while being so different), no one for whom I’ve crocheted so many monsters (and knitted so many loops, because he has lost them all), no one to worry about so much – while being very sure he’ll make his way.

Last Sunday, the son turned 14.

FOURTEEN years! He had wished for a Frankfurter Kranz (Frankfurt crown cake) with 14 cherries. A wish easy to be satisfied, “a piece of cake” so to speak. We would celebrate at a lake. It was a perfect day.

As most airlines consider 14-year-olds to be grown-ups (no comment), right now the son is flying all by himself to Mallorca to spend a week with friends. Estimated time of arrival: 7h38 pm local time.

Never again he’ll travel with a flight attendant holding his hand. Never again his parents will have to wait at the gate for the flight’s departure (because the airline wants it that way). He can handle that, he says. I am sure he can, still …

So, now I’m sitting on the porch, knitting one baby hat after another, telling me how wonderful it is to have so much time to myself (and for myself) over the next few days, only to realize there’s more of a helicopter mom inside of me, than I thought there was.

The little turquoise bonnet is made of cotton – perfect for the summer. The son took it with him (the minute I had woven in all ends) to give it to his friend’s baby sister. Otherwise, I would have hang it on the clothesline with the others for a group picture of bonnets.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Der Helikopter in mir

Es gibt niemanden, der mich so zum Lachen bringt (und manchmal so zur Verzweiflung), niemanden, der mir so ähnlich ist (und dann doch so anders), niemanden, für den ich so viele Monster gehäkelt habe (und so viele Loops gestrickt, weil er sie alle verloren hat), niemanden, um den ich mir so viele Gedanken mache – und bei dem ich mir doch so sicher bin, dass er seinen Weg machen wird.

Sonntag ist der Sohn 14 geworden.

VIERZEHN Jahre! Frankfurter Kranz hat er sich gewünscht. Mit 14 Kirschen. Wenns sonst nichts ist. Danach waren wir im Strandbad. Perfekter Tag.

Und nachdem die meisten Fluggesellschaften 14jährige für erwachsen halten (sage ich nichts zu), fliegt er genau jetzt alleine nach Mallorca. Landung um 19h38.

Nie wieder an der Hand einer Flugbegleiterin. Nie wieder mit Eltern, die am Gate bis zum Abflug warten (müssen, weil die Fluggesellschaft das so will). Er kriegt das hin, sagt er. Da habe ich keine Zweifel, aber trotzdem …

Nun sitze ich also auf der Veranda, stricke eine Babymütze nach der anderen, sage mir wie toll das ist, dass ich jetzt eine Woche lang so viel Zeit haben werde und stelle fest, dass wohl mehr Helikopter-Mutter in mir steckt als ich dachte …

Die kleine türkise Mütze ist aus Baumwolle – perfekt für den Sommer. Der Sohn hat sie (kaum dass ich das letzte Fädchen vernäht hatte) mitgenommen für die kleine Schwester seines Freundes. Sonst wäre sie auch noch auf der Leine gelandet fürs Gruppenbild (die Mütze, nicht die Schwester).

Power Outage

Due to power outage things went haywire today. No radio, no TV, no internet, no PlayStation (yay!). Nothing but quiet. No kettle (no tea), no toaster (no toast), no oven (no leftovers from last night) … that’s worse. To top that: the son’s power bank needs to reload, just like his cell phone. There is no warm water to take a bath. All of this happening while on summer vacation … Unacceptable for a teenager.

There is more than enough water outside though: Since this morning, rain comes down in sheets, which makes things even worse. Anything pleasant (basketball) as well as anything rather unpleasant (mowing the lawn) is impossible. Not only outside the house, but inside as well.

Ironing? Vacuum-cleaning? Bankwire? All impossible. There is not much left to be done without electricity. Definitly something I should think about more often. As luck would have it, I listened to a short book review on the radio the other day and it was about the very same subject, only worse: Blackout by Marc Elsberg. The story: In winter, all power grids collapse in Europe for several weeks. No gas stations, no ATMs, no tap water, no food logistics, no heating, but anarchy in the streets after little more than a week. Reviews range from awesome to boring, from gripping to lengthy. The German version has 800 pages that I really want to read. Especially after today.

„Fast, tense, thrilling – and timely: this will happen one day. Highly recommended.“ (LEE CHILD)

Luckily, no electricity is needed for knitting. This is why I got to put up my feet early today to cast on something new: baby hat Alida for baby Sophie, who was born the day before yesterday (her father is a basketball coach). The pattern is from the fabulous KlompeLompe book that I wrote about a while ago (in German).

The little bonnet is very cute, fits a tiny basketball and was done in no time. I sure hope it will fit the baby as well.

Nevertheless, I would like to have electricity now. And toast with apple jelly.

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