I made it up in my room

I have enjoyed knitting at the window these past weeks. The reason?
I heart the iris.

Moving on: there was this sock I was knitting, circ style.
She is finished.
Do you know how hard it is to try on your first knitted sock ever to make sure you're getting the right size with blisters the size of Kansas?


No, I won't subject you to those images. They hurt a lot, thus leading to lots of clog wearing this week. Leading to the concept that I need more colorful socks to wear with said clogs.

I am in love with this colorway. I love the red, the black, the fall-ish-ness of it all. I love the touches of gray every so often. And oh man, the sock. I am in love with this sock.

Is it true what they say? Will you really, upon placing the first handknit sock on your foot, decide that they are the only kind you ever want to wear again?

short version: yes.
long version: hell yes.

There will be no second sock syndrome here folks, at least, not this time. I want the mate to this chica like I want to be able to fly to the moon.
So like, a lot.

Even Zoë enjoyed the experience.

My other first (and on the same day, no less): my very own handspun yarn.

You want to talk about in love?
She's slubby as hell, I mean, there's a big patch that didn't spin like, at all
but it's perfectly balanced, the twist is wonderful, and the edges don't fray like I was afraid of.
I'm hooked on this spinning thing.