Knitting on the Road

 
Since May, my lone Conwy from Knitting on the Road, has been languishing. The suspicious disappearance of its mate in security in Madrid has been a surprisingly difficult emotional blow. I have given a great deal of thought to the lonesome sock #2. I seriously considered just ripping it out: after all, I'm not all that happy about the rampant pooling of the pretty colours. I also could not locate the tag, which I assume was thrown out by the grandparents while we were out of the country, and so I didn't have a hope in matching the colours to another skein. However, I went ahead and ordered a replacement earlier this summer, balled it up, and stuck it in my bag. Where it stayed.

Yesterday morning I pulled out the half-made sock, the new ball, and the book, and had a long moment with them all. I decided that the lone sock reminds me so strongly of meandering through olive groves on a tour bus north through Adalusia, that I absolutely have to keep it. I love the feel of the yarn so much that I will go ahead, make a mate, and complete the socks. I have had to stop fussing about the fact that the socks don't match. They cannot match. They will never match. I must just love them for what they are.

I made a great deal of progress on sock #3 this weekend, attaching new memories to the pair of socks, for we were high up the mountains in a condo with some friends.