The only thing wrong

The only thing wrong with posting all the interesting goings on of the weekend yesterday is that I have left myself nothing to talk about today.  Well more or less.  As most of you already know, I will talk anyway, even if I don't have anything to say.

I discovered a hole in yet another pair of socks the other day when I was folding my laundry.  That struck me as very very sad, because though the year's crop of yarns are choosen, and though there are sets of needles awaiting them, the only socks I have on the go right now are a pair of socks for my daughter in law, the ones I was knitting at Sweet Things birth, and a pair of socks for her papa.  I had one pair of socks in the bin of blanks but a friend had cold toes and they are on their way to Falls Church.  

Its   kind of hard to believe that the bin is empty.  There always seemed to be socks in it.  I think in a fit of laundry that didn't happen, the last remaining blanks were pressed into service.  That is the cool thing about sock blanks.  If you have need, they can be put into service immediately without a heel.  Some mornings I must have just had more need.

Though I am having a very good time with this last little scarfy shawly thing, and though the lace is calling my name loudly and strongly, there might be a turn at some serious sock knitting before too long.  I'm going to let that feeling percolate a little.  At least until the shawl is done.  Then we shall see.

Then we shall see.  

(See always something to say)