Dear, dear friends,
The time is coming when we must part. I just want you to know that I have loved you deeply and that you will always remain close to my (feet), err, heart. Your midnight sky/aurora borealis color has always brought joy to my eyes. I know that your start in life was a bit troubled. I am positive that in 2001 I had two skeins of your mother-form in my yarn suitcase in Norway. But, somehow, on the Hurtigruten ferry, north of the arctic circle, one somehow was lost! Maybe it was found by a Norwegian knitter who loved your partner as much as I love you!
Oh, I have so many fond memories of knitting you at midnight, in full light, on the deck of the "Midnat Sol", watching the tundra slip slowly by, gazing at fjords, looking for the next small town on the horizon and proundly showing your increasing size to fellow passengers. I know you learned a lot of Norwegian on that trip.
And then, the traumatic frogging, when I realized that your partner skein could not be found. You sobbed in agony as I gently pulled you apart, to the instep, where I added an interloper plain-skein. I know, initially she wasn't as beautiful as your mottled electric colorway, but you graciously came to accept her as part of you. You understood the necessity of having two matching socks for my two feet.
Your life has been full back in the cold of Wisconsin. You proudly showed yourselves to several years of young kids who were learning how to knit at the local elementary school. And you blushed when a visiting Norwegian commented on your beauty. I know you wanted to travel back to your birthplace in Norway with her, but you consented to stay here in Wisconsin where your warmth was needed in the winter. You happily accepted many new friends in the sock drawer, but none were as lovely as you.
I realize that you endured traumatic surgery (duplicate stitch mending) with plain-skein blue to cover the places where you had worn thin. You even endured mending of the mending. Your scars never completely healed. And I know that pilling and fading is just a sign of many years of loving wear. And I recognize that you are the first pair of my socks to be lovingly retired. This makes you very, very special.
I promise that I will not put you in a trash receptacle with leftover food and other smelly grossness. I promise that I will cherish you, wearing you only in bed on cold Wisconsin nights. You will not need to go out in public again, since I know that it embarrases you to be seen by others, you are a shadow of your former brilliant beauty and shape.
Rest assured that I will make another pair in your honor from Socks, Socks, Socks, that accompanied me to Norway. I can't find another yarn to match your unique colorway, but I will use the same pattern, Gull Wings.
I will never forget you, dear, dear friends.