Peasant feet alas..

Another realization to add to my recent accumulation of narcissistic observations: not only am I not now nor have I ever been an aristocrat, I am endowed with peasant feet. Mine are not the long, delicate pieds that one could only suppose that say the Mitford sisters surely had. No, my feet are cloddish, even block-like. Perhaps even Clydesdalesque. Bruegel the elder would have felt perfectly at home painting them. They would no doubt have been suitable for field work, standing for 18 hour stretches spinning or weaving in a cotton mill, or spending long days hanging out laundry, all jobs that my Lancashire great-grandparents did without complaining. My feet are lacking in grace in every possible way. No matter, I will still subject the gentle reader to them—turn away if you fear your idealized image of the A.D.D. knitter cannot withstand the sight of her clodhoppers. They are pictured here because I finally completed the second sock of the Mountain Colors in Ruby Red, completed just in time for sandal weather! The first sock was feeling awfully lonely, forlorn, and without a purpose. And I was in need of a quick sense of accomplishment, so I sucked it up and finished it. I have a heck of a time finishing that second sock; it’s a perpetual issue for me. The romance of the first sock (how will it turn out? what’s coming next in the self-striping pattern?) fades quickly and somehow the second sock seems tedious, chore-like, like I’m a teenager and my parents are asking me to clean my room or mow the lawn. But I soon got over that bout of recurrent adolescent ideation, only to be faced with another crisis: for a frantic 10 minutes, I thought that I had done the unthinkable—lost my 98 % completed sock that only needed to be kitchener stitched! After madly rifling through the DRMC’s (Darling Resident Marxist Curmudgeon) office, convinced that he and his piles of papers had something to do with it—again, blaming and shaming are also a part of my m.o. — I remembered to look on my Kountry Krafting table, and beneath a pile of knitting magazines and patterns, there it was. Fancy that! I can now begin a new pair or socks without fear that the Knitting Police will shut me down and issue me a citation! For those who prefer to see the socks not on the peasant feet, they are pictured below...