Archive for Embossed Leaves Socks

Cautionary Tales for Knitters Young and Old

Embossed Leaves Socks

Dear friends, if you at all cherish your socks, for the love of all you hold sacred, knit them toe-up so you don’t end up running short, discovering that the original store you bought your skeins at no longer carries the brand, and having to hunt all over Manhattan until you finally discover the same colorway in, of all places, HOBOKEN, but it doesn’t make a difference anyway because the dye lots are SO completely off that you end up with a chimeric oddity that mocks you with its mismatched stripes, leading you to wail repeatedly at your husband to look at the sock, until all he wants is for the crazy woman to stop making him check out her freaky sock. It is the PATH TO MADNESS, I tell you. MADNESS!

Yarn: Artyarns Supermerino in colorway SM115, 100 percent superwash merino, 104 yards (x 2.25 skeins)
Pattern: Embossed Leaves Socks by Mona Schmidt from Interweave Knits (Winter 2005)
Needles: Size 1 Addi Turbo circulars
Comments: Cuffs were 3 inches

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Ce n’est pas une chaussette

Embossed Leaves Sock

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Keep On Trucking

I am the s-l-o-w-e-s-t knitter in the world. I’m still on the first of Nancy Bush’s Embossed Leaves Socks. Sigh, at least I’ve turned the heel and am working on the foot now. Maybe I’ve contracted that infamous knitter’s malaise.

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Embossed Leaves Socks

Art Yarns Supermerino

I’m knitting the Embossed Leaves Socks by Mona Schmidt from the Winter 2005 issue of Interweave Knits, using Art Yarns Supermerino in the romantically named SM115 colorway. (It deserves to be dubbed “Rubaiyat” or anything other than an alphanumeric code.)

I do love knitting with the Supermerino; at a light-worsted weight, the 100 percent merino wool is buttery-soft and pliable—almost the antithesis of the cold steel of the knitting needles. The pattern’s no slouch either. Watching the little leaves reveal themselves with every row continues to amaze me.

The first sock of Nancy Bush’s Fancy Silk Socks was finally bound off last week, but I’ll have to block it before I take any pictures. You know how lace tends to be—it’s one big, blobby mass until the alchemy of water, air, and wool works its magic. Until then, it’ll be my ugly little orphan duckling, with a bow-necked swan bursting to get out.

Chekhov the Destroyer

Comrade Chekhov, why aren’t you plowing the fields? No borscht for you.

Have you met Fred, undercover kitten and Brooklyn’s favorite son? My Chekhov is a native Queens boy and kitty defender of the proletariat. (Okay, not really, but I’d like to think so.) Anyway, he demands lubbins.

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