Of love and loss

It pains me even now, as I write this, many weeks later.

You may recall a photoless post many weeks ago, in which I spoke of the socks I made for my husband's trip to Mexico- a tribute to our love.

Yeah, well, nothing is sacred any more, suckers.

Some excuses were muttered about the laundry and a taxi and how it wasn't his fault, but the fact remains that he returned home with only one sock.

Lucky for him he married a very reasonable woman. I have a policy about gifts in general, and that is that whatever the recipient does with a gift I have given is not my concern. Different people appreciate things in different ways, and I think it's poisonous to spy and wonder and judge their gratitude based on your expectations of what they will do with the gift. Furthermore, when it comes to knitted gifts, some think it more reverent to put the gifts aside, cherish them, bring them out only for special occasions so that they may forever be in the condition they were presented. Others lovingly wear their knitted gifts to threads. Both are a-okay by me.
Therefore, I choose to be glad he loved them enough to take them along and wear them. I will make a new partner for the lonely sock.

Here it is in all it's size 11, wide, high arched glory:



And here it is with one of my Sockapalooza socks for scale:



And so you can grasp the sheer length of the thing:




But replace it I will, because the only thing more tragic than loosing a symbol of love, is retaining only half of it.

In conclusion, these puppies will make good textbook-reading-knitting. 80 stitches around. The toe of the sucker looks like a damned baby hat.

Details when I finish.