I'm still working on the sock; I think tonight I'll try it on, and if I do, I'll take a picture. I need to figure out how long to make the foot, and see if it fits, more or less.

I'm not a fast knitter, but I don't want to be. Finishing things really isn't the point, for me, although it is cool when I do. The process is the thing that I love. I love the tick of the wooden needles when they click against each other, and I love the different colors of the variegated yarn that reminds me of the variegated cotton thread my grandmother taught me to crochet with.

I love the way the stitches build, one on the other, as they move off the needles, I love the smoothness of the fabric they make.

I love that I'm learning how to knit a sock, something I never thought I would do. I never thought I would want to knit something on tiny needles, or learn how to knit in the round on doublepoints, and I didn't think I'd ever be able to learn how to make a sock heel, or learn how to graft a toe. I'm not to that point yet, but I know I can, now.

Every time I wind yarn into a centerpull ball, I remember Bob's grandmother, who taught me how to do that, and every time I crochet something, I remember my grandmother, who taught me how to make Barbie clothes and potholders from crochet thread with steel hooks. I learned how to knit in Brownies, and I still have the big (size 13) pink needles that I used to cast on my first stitches. My grandmother taught me how to tat, too, but that skill is long gone and I doubt I'll ever pick it up again. You never know, though.