Barefoot in October
It's sock season. Only, it's not. It needs to be cooler than fifty-five degrees for socks to be mandatory in my house. I'm not complaining. I'll wear my flip-flops until the first snow if it stays warm enough, it's just weird. I made these in sweet anticipation of autumn and as of yet, they've only been worn around the house. (Our house doesn't have a basement and is built on a concrete slab so the floors are very cold in the mornings.) My attention span of late doesn't allow for the knitting of sweaters. All I can realistically take on are accessories. I've started some fingerless gloves for Jake's guitar and keyboard teacher (I know, I'm a few years behind the trend on these) but something feels off about holiday knitting in eighty-degree weather. I'm superstitious enough to actually believe that now that I've written these things down—there is likely to be a foot of snow dumped on New York State tomorrow. Anyhow, we're leaving tonight to spend the weekend in Vermont with Niall's mistress. I assume that it's at least sock weather there. When I return I'm hoping to share images and stories of a weekend with friends and family spent cooking (this is on the menu), eating, resting and working on the house.