Darned if I do

I was too lazy to go upstairs for socks when my feet got cold watching WWII documentaries yesterday (do I know how to spend a Friday night, or what) so I grabbed a pair from the very small Just Darned pile nearby and saw this:

a big hole on the right, in the red stripe

Seriously, this was a sock I had already patched up. I really hope I do not have to blame moths, because the rest of the to-do darning is in a giant yellow Pyrex mixing bowl, and I can't help but feel moths would see that as an invitation to dinner.

Anyway, I decided to make lemonade and bring you along for some darning in a sunny patch on the back deck for today's Hug. 

(I didn't literally make lemonade. I made tea in fact, and then forgot it on the counter until it was very cold and murky looking. I will make another round after I finish telling you all about my darning adventure.)

First step: find red yarn. I didn't have any in my bowl full of darning yarn, which thankfully appears to be unattractive to moths, so I raided some from a ball I'd been saving for stripey fingerless mitts:

Note the protective plastic bag in which this yarn is stored. No moths here, baby.

Next up: gathering tools and heading outside.

See how healthy and bunchy our boxwood looks? This time last year it was nearly dead from a very much non-native caterpillar infestation. I spent about a week picking off tiny caterpillars and dramatically pruning away branches, and then had to do it all again later in the summer when the next round hatched, but boy was it worth it. 

And now, back to the task at hand.

I like to make a sneaky sideways approach to a hole in a sock, so as not to startle the hole into getting bigger, and also to ensure the starting end doesn't pull out of the sock and make everything open up again once I'm done. 

Lots of back and forth.

And crissing and crossing. 'Dog's Breakfast' is a term that springs to mind. At this point I was thinking, the other side is going to look beyond awful, and also, I don't care. But you know what? When I finished and flipped the sock right side out again, it took me a minute to figure out where the hole was.

Let's try again.

Nope. 

I mean, it's there. You can probably see it. But it's not obvious, is it. I even took another picture inside, away from glare, and it's still pretty subtle.

You'd think this successful surgery on a much-loved sock would motivate me to spend the rest of the day darning socks, wouldn't you? Or maybe you wouldn't... I mean, you can see yourself it is very sunshiney and nice outside. And I do have snaily tendencies when it comes to this sort of thing. Best intentions, worst follow through.

Not like a real snail, such as the one I saw on a walk with a friend this week:

I mean that snail is GOIN for it. Those eyes are as far out as they can be, like they're willing the rest of that body to catch up, and talk about tire marks as it speeds out of the grass to get to wherever it's headed.

Where I'm headed, on my way to do more darning or just to read a book before supper: the kettle! I really do want that tea. I hope you a have a wonderful weekend - see you here next Saturday, okay?