Yesterday, Willow asked me what the blocks of wood in my sweater drawer are. I explained that cedar blocks are to protect my woolen sweaters (and socks, and vests, and scarves, and and and) from moths, since moths like to nibble on wool, but they don't like the smell of cedar, so the cedar blocks make them stay away.
"Mommy, I want a cedar block so I can throw it at the moths so they stay away from my sweaters." Yeah, that's not exactly how it works, but it's close enough.
Except that despite such diligent block leaving (or block throwing, as the case may be) my woolen garments are still sprouting holes right and left, and it's not from the moths. I found my pair of Interlocking Leaves, knit in beautiful Sweet Georgia Sock, at the back of my drawer and pulled them on and admired my feet and wondered why on earth they were at the back of my drawer while I'm wearing scratchy Aurora Acquerellos, and then walked around in them half the day before noticing (and therefore remembering) that they have giant gaping holes (so, so beyond darning) in the soles from where they rubbed apart. And I didn't even wear them that much! I'm not ragging on Sweet Georgia, I'm just....really sad about my socks. And I still can't bear to throw them away, so back in the back of the drawer they go, until the next time I pull them out like the amnesiac I am.
And it's not just those! My lovely Ellie, that I wear, oh, at least once a week, so it certainly is never in the back of the drawer, sprouted holes in the sleeves and the back yesterday. And not from any abuse--unless you count use as abuse. Strong as silk is, the thin bits of the thick/thin yarn are wearing through. I did darn those, but I think it's just the proverbial band-aid over a gushing wound. Ellie is not long for this world.
And I'm sad. I'm very, very sad, because despite aaaalllll this knitting I'm doing, I'm not getting to use any of it, and so if my stock is dwindling and I can't replace it I'll soon have to resort to store-bought sweaters, which would just be the end of life as we know it.
Sigh.
"Mommy, I want a cedar block so I can throw it at the moths so they stay away from my sweaters." Yeah, that's not exactly how it works, but it's close enough.
Except that despite such diligent block leaving (or block throwing, as the case may be) my woolen garments are still sprouting holes right and left, and it's not from the moths. I found my pair of Interlocking Leaves, knit in beautiful Sweet Georgia Sock, at the back of my drawer and pulled them on and admired my feet and wondered why on earth they were at the back of my drawer while I'm wearing scratchy Aurora Acquerellos, and then walked around in them half the day before noticing (and therefore remembering) that they have giant gaping holes (so, so beyond darning) in the soles from where they rubbed apart. And I didn't even wear them that much! I'm not ragging on Sweet Georgia, I'm just....really sad about my socks. And I still can't bear to throw them away, so back in the back of the drawer they go, until the next time I pull them out like the amnesiac I am.
And it's not just those! My lovely Ellie, that I wear, oh, at least once a week, so it certainly is never in the back of the drawer, sprouted holes in the sleeves and the back yesterday. And not from any abuse--unless you count use as abuse. Strong as silk is, the thin bits of the thick/thin yarn are wearing through. I did darn those, but I think it's just the proverbial band-aid over a gushing wound. Ellie is not long for this world.
And I'm sad. I'm very, very sad, because despite aaaalllll this knitting I'm doing, I'm not getting to use any of it, and so if my stock is dwindling and I can't replace it I'll soon have to resort to store-bought sweaters, which would just be the end of life as we know it.
Sigh.
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