No I am not expressing a euphemism for cursing. Darn it. Grandmother did it, my mother did it. I seldom do. I learned how. With a burnt out light bulb inserted into the sock to extend the hole for mending, I listened to mother’s instruction on darning socks. I was less than successful. Certainly I was neither motivated nor patient to acquire the skill. The modern fabric of socks seldom lends itself to darning. I had, have, no compunctions about tossing them in the waste basket. Until recently when stylish wool socks, or wool blends caught my attention. Though the cost was more than I usually paid, the quality I judged, was worth it. The wool socks have kept my toes toasty for the last five winters.
Suddenly problems appeared in the form of holes in the toes of my wool socks. The first pair was old, the heels thinning, so I shrugged and tossed them. A second pair, older but not worn presented a gap at the toe, then a new pair, hardly even worn showed a peep hole, and a third. Where were these coming from? When my toe winked at me through a fourth pair I could no longer deny the fact. The pair of new winter boots had to be the culprit.
What to do with three pairs of damaged wool socks? They were too good to toss. From experience I knew that left to themselves the small holes would grow to annoying proportions. Only one thing to do. Darn it! I also dug out heavy cotton socks to wear in my boots. Dressing for mid-western winter weather now involves an extra step. (pun intended) Cotton does not toast my toes to the extent of the wool. In the face of the alternative I deal with it.
Last week I discovered, to my dismay, another hole at the tip of a wool sock. The boots were not to blame. Had I missed the beginnings of a hole earlier? Were poor darning skills to blame? Maybe holes in socks are an infectious plague that spreads, gleefully defying any attempt to halt it. Are the socks laughing at me? Perhaps socks get bored, go dancing in the night, or get into fights. Whatever the cause, the unfortunate solution remains. Darn it!
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We spent a half week with all nine of the children and the twelve grandchildren. The occasion was our son’s wedding. Tears threatened when the boys, now men, stood as groomsmen for their brother. The struggle of our grandson to stay awake and the relaxed attitude in one of the boy’s suits served to prevent..Read More ›