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Yes, you read that right.


Not Prostitute.



Keep reading, I promise that this isn’t really about yarn or crafting at all.

But this does involve a different kind of intercourse…

I have leftovers from the first socks, and the second pair, both boot socks, that I knit for myself and my then boyfriend while out trolling for salmon our first summer together.  I still can smell the sea and the exhaust and know in my very soul the intense feeling of moving down those steps into the dark foc’sle and smelling the drip stove and the interminable damp, seeing nothing but feeling…him…just standing there near me, the closeness of the moment, the feeling of all of my skin just waiting, almost reaching out, for the pressure of touch.

There are many socks of those two and a half years: The pair for my mother that I designed myself, the pair made while fishing next to a glacier in between times of running gear, the pair for my sister that became the first knitting I cut into so I could lengthen them, the pairs that I worked on in the library of the school with the knitting group, the pair I gave to my best friend that he had goaded and guilted me into making for him, the brilliant lime green and purple that I was working on when I said “Yes” in the little cabin on the island off the bridge.  All these remains…all with sweet feeling and smiles are seen.

I have the remains of the blue and grey yarn that became the only pair of socks that I gave away to a non-loved one, not a stranger but not a near and dear friend, because I couldn’t bear to keep the socks that I threw myself into when that same boyfriend ended our relationship.  Now I contemplate wether or not to use it in something that I want to cherish…but I know that I will. The yarn is beautiful in its comforting blues and greys, no longer sad but a reminder.  I have no regrets, only memories of a wonderful time that shaped me.

There are the orange and purple leftovers from a sock club that I was in, colors that never spoke to me calmly but begged to me for creation into wearability, the perfect socks to reclaim myself as I reclaimed my self and looked to the future.  There are many bright yarns from that time, as I built myself back into ‘me’.

The intense of pink and lime green gives me pause to think of the daughter of a companion.  She is strong and beautiful and the yarn suited her perfectly.  Though I originally intended them for myself, when knit in her company while waiting for dinner to cook and listening to hockey, I knew they had to be hers.  I have mixed feelings of that time…the intense blue of my companions eyes from a disquieting setting, made all the more attractive for the soul searing-ness of it all, matched with the closed, never revealing of souls we shared…the bare need matched with the lack of need, an oxymoron of a relationship if ever there was.  In the end of it all, she was the treasure and I’ll use the yarn with joy for her future…and remember those intense eyes.  The dark yarn with the shots of pink and lime green is my own tangible reminder of our connection

The small bits of leftover from my first nephews socks, made from leftovers themselves, will not even make a single row in my work but will be brilliant and an amazing reminder of the hours I spent on the phone and the constant checking of the message machine just in case I missed the telling of his arrival and the miles of blanket knitting I put in.

Discovering the yarn that reminds me of the sea I watched for weeks while waiting for a letter, a note, a phone call…anything…from Him…and then getting them all at once, in the way you do when mail planes are delayed.  The hopes of feelings returned and questioning acronyms all rushing back in tides of learning love and building habits and life together.  I know that I’ll use this yarn followed by the remains of the first socks I knit for Him and remember the joy, admiration and pride in his voice when he showed off my spinning and handmade socks to a friend. And the second, third, fourth and fifth of his sock remains as well…and the yards of the yarn that I was knitting the day we met, now nearly threadbare because it had to be pulled back so many times despite the years of knitting ribbed socks because I couldn’t get his voice out of my head long enough to count to 2; not just because Sisu loves him, not just because he continues to show off his handknit socks with pride every time he wears them, not just because he does the driving so I can do the knitting in the car…but because of all of these things.  Because of the love.

I sway from this project to another pair of socks that I am knitting for an entirely strong girl friend because I know I need her yarn on this project as well.  I have torn the yarn stash about looking for the leftovers I KNOW must be there to find the yarn from a shawl I gave to my inspirational girl friend.  The yarn from two local best friends must be included and I even feel the pull to start another pair of socks for my third rock of a girl friend because it wouldn’t be an accurate chapter if she wasn’t represented.

This is a intensely personal project.  

My love in and of the last 7 years, shown in yarn. 

There will be no rhyme or reason to what yarn lies next to, before or after the next, only that it is a memory of love.

Rough in patches, strong throughout.

I couldn’t ask for more.