Almost. There were small consolations. Over the summer I discovered Marisa McClellan's much-celebrated tomato jams, and turned out red, orange, and yellow varieties because I grew red and orange tomatoes and got some yellow ones at the farmer's market. Now that summer is gone, a dollop of tomato jam on eggs or in a chowder is so very nice.
As hard as it is now to recall or even imagine there once were winter Ravellenics or Sock Madness 12, they occurred, and I participated to the limited extent that I could. Sometimes frogging and qualifying are all that one can manage.
Perennial optimist that I am, I also entered make-alongs with every good intention of finishing odd socks and weaving spa cloths. Alas, that didn't go as planned. Ah well, next year.
It should be no surprise that one sock – the SM12 qualifier! – went onto the Clothesline of Shame and none came down for a total of ten Singleton Socks of Shame. Not the most ever, but still backwards progress.
Singleton Socks of Shame 2018, left to right, oldest to newest: Meadowlands, Fawkes, Julesokker, Love Me Knot, Chain Link, Hanauma Bay, handspun Queen of Diamonds, Twisted Madness, Dropping Madness, Fée Dragée with a counting thread.
One last fibery consolation for the year is my last foot, just-finished holly jolly Cranberry Biscotti by Elizabeth Sullivan. I'm beyond pleased with the way they turned out. I added a beaded cuff, which while not super-visible, nonetheless makes me absurdly happy.
With the year closing amid increasing economic turmoil and willful political failures, more so than ever knitting has become both solace and expression of resistance. I have no sage advice to offer this New Year's Eve beyond the usual, perhaps all the more important in unusual times: take good care of yerselves...
... and see you on the other side.
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