you make your own luck

The first pair of socks I've made in ages. Very fluffy soft hugs in a lovely sage green for the feet of my sis. Very simple toe up socks with short row heel loosely based on many patterns, with a lightly frilled top to ensure extra comfy wear and no ribbed legs in the morning if you wear them to bed. I hadn't appreciated until now just how hard it is to photograph socks - tried them every which way but finally gave up and settled for this one when I spilt a cup of black coffee on the white linen tablecloth... Not so lucky as it turns out. But it's my habit to knit luck into socks by knitting them throughout in multiples of three - for the stitches and the rows. These were knitted with double stranded Rowan Kidsilk Haze - on 3mm needles of course... It made me think that for a so-called agnostic, I have a tendency to try to gather luck around me when I can, however I can.
Little cat charms from my brother in law which watch over us from the top of a picture. A figure brought back from Botswana by my sis (I think he guards our luck - though I could very well have just made that up). A black cat, though he rarely awakes for long enough from his daytime stupor to walk across my path. A little fairy - for what are fairies if not lucky? And lots of lucky stones... which mum calls footles. Or maybe that's futles. Footells? Who knows... In any case we have lots. Partly because the beach at Whitstable consists of almost nothing else, so if ever I feel in particular need of some luck, that's where I head!
Last but not least, my lucky four leaved clovers - one found here in England by the Working Man and one in France by mum - spookily just days apart. Actually mum found two in quick succession, so dad decided that it was a particular variety or at the very least caused by growing conditions and spent hours watching the ground at his feet as he walked - to no avail. We have a fourth lucky four leaved clover in the family - my granny's - which both my sister and I borrowed for our wedding days, so I like to think of mine being passed down too. Conversely, or perhaps that should be perversely, my granny swore that the luckiest day was Friday the 13th, and I'd have to agree, as I met the Working Man on one of those very days almost exactly seven years ago. No sign yet of the seven year itch, and of course, the passage of time and cell renewal being as it is, we're not even the people we met... but that's another story... C

1 comment:

mum said...