Friday, February 12, 2010

A Thing of Beauty

I LOVE! Here's the video for the Three Needle Bind-Off

If you are trying this sock pattern, you will know that I could only be at this point if I am attaching the ends of the toes together. It's true -- in just one short day (except the times when I had to rip out my work and start again, making the day seem to drag on and on), I have knitted my first sock. And what a beautiful thing it is. I purchased some knitting books yesterday which focus on the Sock Art of it all and, in reading some of the reviews, I read something about "drinking the sock Kool-Aid" and I thought, how silly. It can't possibly be that addictive. It's a sock, for heavens sake. But now that I've tried it, I have to say that knitting a sock is the most exciting knitting project I've ever accomplished (so far that would be scarves, hats, stuffed animals, dolls, washcloths, and a tote bag). I had sworn off knitting clothing for good after I made a darling cashmere blend sweater for Becca and Steve shrunk it in the dryer after the first time she wore it. I thought, WHY BOTHER??? But making a sock for myself was cool. For one thing, it was for ME. For me! What a concept. And I got to try it on as I was making it, which meant that I could actually put my foot into it and think, do I like this? Does it fit? How can I change it to make it fit me better? It was the most self-indulgent thing I've done in months. And the yarn is beautiful -- the colorway is #12, called River Bed, and every time I looked at it, all I could think was, these are the most beautiful colors in the world. This yarn is gorgeous. Reminded me of Moab.

And so here I was knitting this beautiful yarn, making something for ME, trying it on and seeing it come together... and now I can't wait to sew up the side seams and put it on. I actually did the back center seam a while ago because I had to keep putting my foot into it to measure the instep and I couldn't wait for it to seem more sock-y and real (my feet are a size 10 1/2 which is much bigger than the pattern so I had to change some things to make the sock long enough).

It's beautiful and it's practical and I made a sock. A real sock! It's a sock and I made it myself!

A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever

by John Keats

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast
That, whether there be shine or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die.

Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I
Will trace the story of Endymion.
The very music of the name has gone
Into my being, and each pleasant scene
Is growing fresh before me as the green
Of our own valleys: so I will begin
Now while I cannot hear the city's din;
Now while the early budders are just new,
And run in mazes of the youngest hue
About old forests; while the willow trails
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
Many and many a verse I hope to write,
Before the daisies, vermeil rimmed and white,
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
I must be near the middle of my story.
O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
See it half finished: but let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me when I make an end!
And now at once, adventuresome, I send
My herald thought into a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.

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