socks

socks are knit on big fat lion brand yarn called amazing. the color scheme, a self striping blue and gray, is called olympia. the pattern is a sock pattern i found online called "simplest sock pattern ever". and it is.

we are sitting in the vet's office, the sweetie and me. we are waiting for an x-ray of the small dog who may or may not have tangled up his skeleton on a trip through the car wash last week. he hates the car wash, hates it enough to fling his whole body, harnessed and seatbelted, furiously at the water showering against the windows. over and over. snarling. so we are waiting. the sweetie is leafing through books about dogs and i am knitting.

a woman sitting on the same long bench a space or two down from us asks me what i'm making. "pants," i tell her. "for a baby." i steel myself against the inevitable. a woman whose last foray into childbirth was long enough ago she remembers her own children as springing fullgrown from her body. size 12 husky. i wait for her to say what every single one of them says. "a human baby? that will never be big enough for a human baby. maybe it's for a dog." they say this with a snicker, the women who have had children and should know how tiny a human baby is when it first breathes. they always say this. so i tense up, waiting for her to tell me i'm wasting my time. but instead she says, cheerily, "i knit socks."

this is fantastic. i have just learned to knit socks. certainly i have made socks in the past, just like i was at the wheel of a car long before i had a driver's license. but there is a difference between doing something once and knowing how to do something. so i am particularly proud of myself and gush on about how i've just mastered the art of sock making, how much i love making them. she extends her foot a bit, pulls up a pant leg and shows a delicate, ornately stitched sock. i can tell from where i sit it is knit on the tiniest needles in the world. there are millions of stitches and endless secrets in these things. "i make all my own socks!" she says proudly. i am envious. she knows it. she is basking in the glory of the jealousy of another knitter. "i would love to make all my own socks," i say. but i am proud of myself for learning something new and i tell my secret, how i managed to tolerate all those stitches. "i love knitting them up fast so i use chunky yarn on big needles!"

and the needle drags itself across the record in an agonizing screech. she looks at me like i smell bad. she looks at me like i've said an awful word. now, for most of you this means nothing, but if you knit you know there's something called sock yarn. that's right. yarn just for making socks. it's skinny. delicate. the thickness of dental floss or the hair of an angel. think fine print in yarn form. it requires tiny needles and endless stitching. i have just admitted to filling up one of those dotted-lined big chief tablets with the scribblings of the extra fat crayons and then passing it off as a painstakingly crafted novel. i am a charlatan. i am a liar. i am not a knitter of socks. i am a shame.

but this morning early i put on my socks and then put on mary janes so the variegated yarn, the fat, fat yarn in big looping stitches, is clearly visible. i stroll proudly in to work and wave my feet around at every teacher i see. they are not knitters. they are not sock snobs or yarn snobs. and they say exactly what they should, what i want to hear. "those are awesome socks!" and no matter what that miserable woman with the tiny needles and anemic yarn says, i love my socks and will make more. simple and loopy and fat like kindergarten crayon on a big chief.

letter to some new friends

dear small boys,

i am writing this to you now although you are not yet here. well, maybe by the time i get it written you will be. that’s okay. you’ll be very busy at first and will need lots of rest so i’m not expecting you to read this right away. first off, welcome. there are plenty of folks who are glad you're here right along with me.

i figured folks new in town might need some warm duds so i’m sending you some things i made. i wasn’t sure about your favorite colors and your mom was a lot less help than i thought she’d be on that account, so i winged it. there’s a box on the way with some little brown hats sort of like acorn caps. at least, that’s what i think when i look at them. your mom mentioned you like monkeys and i suppose they look a little like monkeys, too. i think if you make silly monkey sounds while you wear them, that would be pretty funny and nobody will tell you not to.

there’s a pair of pants for each of you. they’re sort of like sweat pants or pajama pants, nothing fancy. just good for lounging around. for the first few months, if anyone tells you to do anything other than lounge around, tell them no. if they bug you about it, send them to me.

your mom asked about some legwarmerish things and i want you to know it was her idea for you to look like flashdance and fame, not mine. but i made some anyway and i have to say they were a hoot to make. still, you’d think a woman with such particular ideas about legwarmers would know the favorite colors of her babies. she does have a lot on her mind right now, though, and i suppose we will all cut her a little slack.

there’s some other stuff i want to tell you, some about the greater syracuse area and some about those parents of yours. let’s start with syracuse. as far as i know, i’m the only non-native who gets homesick for the place. this is because other people are fools. there is plenty there to love no matter what you hear from grumblers. you have the oldest dead lake in north america (possibly full of mutant carp) right by the mall and then two meromictic lakes right next to each other. if you walk along the trail around that big one to where there are pine trees and then look down into the water, you will see a blue so far beyond words you will only be able to stare at it. those lakes are so content they don’t ever turn over. you’ll learn about that later in science. the erie canal comes through that way and you can walk along the towpath in some places. there are songs to sing when you do that and at least once you should pretend to be a mule. clop clop clop. there are drumlins, long hills all going the same direction, gouged out by the fingers of real, live glaciers and good for sledding and rolling down. out past town a little is a waterfall that’s like a glittering ribbon twisting in the wind. there is a water tower to climb when you’re older, but don’t tell your parents i told you about it. over by the campus is a park full of roses and a big stone amphitheater. you will want to stand on the stage there and yell really loud. you can ride an old erie lackawanna railroad car if you want and there are plenty of lilacs around. in fact, syracuse (maybe because of the winter thing there) goes all out in spring and you might get a little nervous at the shift in color from whitish gray and grayish white to all the colors. every single inch of ground blooms in spring.

but i think your parents are what you’ll love most about that place. they are smart and funny and they have some animal brothers and sisters for you to play with because they know what’s what. i know at first when you come out you’ll be a little bit scared. you’ve been in the quiet and in the dark for a long time and it will be noisy and bright and probably a little cold (remember those hats), but you will not feel that way for long. i am sure of that. you know, back when i was a lot like you will be when you first get out, not very good at dressing myself, prone to fits of crying, unable to communicate clearly and generally helpless, i lived with them. that’s right. your parents. back when they were way too young to have any small children yet they had me around. we had some roses and peonies in the yard, a fire in the fireplace and a big round chair like a nest. and they took very good care of me, made me feel safe and loved and even like i was good at telling jokes. okay, maybe that last one is an imagined thing on my part. i’m not such a good joke teller, really. but what i’m trying to tell you is that you will love them so much you will not know what to do sometimes. you will. i know it. because they have had practice keeping an eye on wildness. they are already good at this. you’ve got nothing to worry about.

much love to you both,
me

flying accessories for small supernaturals

special thanks to the models- pumpkin head and star wars drone lamp.

the new supernatural nephew called me up the other day. "boy, that snow sure is cold!" he gushed. thinking about the snow we'd been enjoying up in the catskills, i agreed. but the child lives in missouri and they've been having sixty degree days lately. i'm pretty sure he's not seen snow unless it was in the first weeks of his life, a time even he won't remember. but he continued chirping on about the snow, how cold it was, how his fingers got red from touching it. but i was having none of it. the original supernatural nephew had been much easier. this one is to all outward appearances a happy, cooing angel, but to those of us dealing with his "specialness" he's becoming quite the little imp. he will solemnly promise that he won't summon dragons from the center of the earth and then five minutes later there are dragons pouring out of every mole hole in the yard. so i knew he was up to something.

"where did you see snow?" i asked as levelly as i could. he stammered around a bit, tossed out the names of a few local towns, none of which were covered in snow, then fell silent. "i knew it!" i yelled into the phone. "you're not supposed to be flying by yourself!" i don't know why i say these things. it's not like he doesn't know. he could break his neck. he's not yet a year old and he has no finesse to his flying. he flies the way thirteen year olds drive. "where?" i demand again. he talks breathlessly about a trip to antarctica. "antaractica? what? you couldn't find colorado?" giggles on the other end. this child really is impossible. his words are apologetic but it is pretty clear that he is now in love with penguins. emperor penguins. those i know. but also something called adelie penguins. "they can do anything!" he whispers. i have lost this battle before it started. i can't really compete with penguins. he raves about the ocean. icebergs. snow. snow. snow. his only lament is how cold his little ears and fingers get when he flies.

this is why he called. he wants me to help him. he's discovering new skills every day and i suggest he try to get fire to come out of his ears. that would keep them warm. he giggles. everything is funny to this child. he already has a solution. he wants a hat and mittens. but not just any kind. fancy ones. fine i say. whatever. i'm in way over my head. he is learning from his older cousin about persistence. "they might be the difference between life and death!" he tries. dramatic. i suggest staying home in his crib like a good baby instead of flying off to antarctica with half-developed flying skills might also be the difference. more giggles.

he begins describing. the hat should be soft and light. it can't fall down over his eyes but should keep his ears warm. he wants some mechanism to keep the thing from falling off while he flies. "if it falls off in the ocean," he says, "it's gone for good. sharkfood." i try to ignore the image of sharkfood and listen about the hat. something to let the penguins know he's freindly. a tassel or pompom on top would be good. i am pretty sure i can do this. "and the mittens," he continues. "the mittens need to be entirely for flying. aerodynamic. no thumbs. i laugh to myself because thumbless mittens are what people get for babies. i don't tell him. he likes to think he's not a baby. "they need to be long like the gloves knights wore." and again with the loss issue. "a cord with some sort of fastener." i think to myself about the cords on mittens for babies, the kind that attach to a mitten, run through the sleeves of a coat and then attach to the other mitten. i don't mention this. no problem, i say. "but i don't want to look strange," he says. "can you make snap on thumbs i can put on when i land so i'll look normal and blend in? i don't want people knowing they're flying mittens." i think about it. his thumbs are pretty small. i could probably attach a button to a bit of i-cord. i tell him i'll try.

i figure he'll want something to match some ridiculous costume he's working up so i ask. some bright hideous color combination that will blind me as i knit. his name stitched across the front. "oh, no!" he says, "nothing like that. can you make it look like the ocean and the sky? i want to blend in a bit." i am pretty sure i know a yarn that will work and i say so. i'm expecting one of those amelie penguins to be waiting for me under the christmas tree. it better be cute and it better be compatible with dachshunds.

dragon whisperer

warning: knitting content

back in may when the older nephew was visiting, i gave his mom some things i'd made for the newer nephew. a hat maybe. mostly pants. the older nephew liked the pants. they were baby alpaca and very soft. striped. "i sure would like to have some pants like this," he said, touching the fuzzy yarn. now, maybe he was being polite, but it's too late now. he's got pants. the last few years the kid has been getting the short end of the knitting stick. when he was three or so i made him a baby alpaca sweater. i knit it top down in seed stitch. to most of you this is meaningless. let me translate: i was in a constant state of fear about screwing up for about a month. big projects are awful. so he's been getting small things. hats. scarves. the poor child probably has fifty or so handknit hats he'll never need.

those of you who have been visiting for a while will remember that this child hoped i would knit him a something with dialga from pokemon on it. a sweater. a hat. intarsia (the magical knitting skill required to do such things) is not something i do well if it involves more than one contrast color so i explained how dialga wasn't going to happen. but striped pants are easy. there's no reason i couldn't just have someone measure a pair of the kid's pants and then add an inch or two everywhere and knit him some sassy lounging around pants. out of baby alpaca. but i forget from time to time why i don't make clothing for myself. it's not just about the time. it's about the yarn. baby alpaca yarn enough to make loose comfy pants for a child nearing eight would require its own security guard. no kidding. it's a house payment. and not a missouri house payment. so i started thinking about the silk/cotton stuff i use for devil pants. which no longer exists. what i settled on was a trio of synthetic yarns. i don't generally like synthetic yarns because they creep me out while i knit, but these felt soft. really soft. like wool. and the colors were insane. supersaturated.

i called, got measurements and started knitting. wait. let's talk about getting the measurements. first i looked up average measurements for children his age to have a reference point. because i'm clever. then i called his mom. all i needed to start was a waist size. "i don't know. sixteen inches," she said. now, i see him maybe once or twice a year and even i know he's bigger around than sixteen inches. there are days i can't remember if he's six, almost seven or seven, almost eight, and i know the kid is skinny, but come on. i have knees nearly sixteen inches around. so i called her parents. my parents. the grandparents. and the two of them together found and measured a pair of the child's pants. and i started knitting.

when i finished the first leg, i realized the math and i had somewhere had a communication problem. these were some long, skinny pants. fortunately, as i've mentioned before, the child himself is lean. and pretty tolerant of less than typical things. he will figure them out.

if you frequent yarn stores, you know they always harass you about whether you got enough yarn for your project, menacing you with threats about dye lots that won't match and how the yarn won't be there in that color if you have to come back or it won't exist anymore so you better get it now. so i bought six skeins of yarn. i did this because i didn't have a real pattern and had no idea how much yarn it would take to make pants for a skinny boy who might be six going on seven or seven going on eight but is more than sixteen inches around. so i pranced home with three fat skeins of teal, two of leaf and one of grass green. happy happy happy. and the first pair knit up quickly. and i had not used up a full skein of anything.

so i decided to make the new nephew a matching pair of pants. i figure they're both supernatural. the older one likes dragons. the younger one probably does, too. and they're dragon tending pants, really, anyway. besides, my own parents dressed the older child's mother like me although we were more than two years apart in age. matching raggedy ann jumpers. so i figure this will be fine. or only slightly scarring. and after i finish, i find there is still one skein i've not even touched of the teal and one nearly whole skein of each color left.

these are not meant to be worn in public. they're just for tending dragons, or for lounging afterward. tending dragons is difficult for the faint of heart but i'm sure both nephews will be up to the task. but just in case they have to go walk dragons in the evening just before bedtime and it's dark and maybe a little on the cool side and the wind is howling, i made the pants extra warm and extra stripey for courage.