Ends with a Whimper

As sometimes happens at year-end, I came down with the flu. While this one is not the worst ever, it's been a doozy with the full complement of extreme fatigue and weakness, head and body aches, joint pain, fever, chills, and heavy cough – a fitting closeout to a dumpster fire of a year. For fellow US peeps and indeed globally it may well be that the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001 were a greater national tragedy and the financial meltdown of September 2008 a greater threat to economic stability and well-being. But 2016 was chock full of its own exceptional stinkiness. So between periods of blank misery, I made a dumpster fire ornament and put it on my Christmas tree. Of course.



DH claims it's not a proper dumpster because it lacks a lid; ergo, it's not a dumpster fire but a mere fire in a box. Everyone's a critic.

At least this year's knitting went reasonably well. I had a decent 10th anniversary Sock Madness – I advanced to Round 4, a personal best, then missed a spot in Round 5 by 35 minutes. That translates to a modicum of glory, a quartet of lovely socks: SlipStripeSpiral, Rose & Thorn Socks, Waimakariri, Sweet Nuttins.

     

Camp Loopy 2016 was similarly gratifying, not least because I knit my first skirt. Dunno why it took me so long – I love knitted skirts – nor why I still haven't taken a decent FO photo. The same could be said for my Tour de Fleece spinning – I fractal-spun some truly lovely fiber, yet have largely been ignoring it.

At year end, the Singleton Socks of Shame collectively form a bright ray – in 2016, one sock came down from the clothesline of shame, none went up for a total of seven Socks of Shame. That's tied with 2011, 2012, and 2014 for the minimum.

Singleton Socks of Shame 2016, left to right, oldest to newest: Meadowlands, Fawkes, Julesokker, Love Me Knot, Chain Link, Hanauma Bay, handspun Queen of Diamonds.

That'll just have to do. Onward to 2017!