I’ve made Jaywalkers before. I have in actuality made eight complete pairs of Jaywalkers. That’s sixteen individual socks. I know how this pattern goes. I know what to cast on, and when to start the heel. I know when to start the toe. I know how to tell if a yarn will be too tight or too loose, and how to fix that so that the socks will fit perfectly. Most importantly, I know how they should look.
I know that if it is a self-striping yarn it will most likely look something like this.
Or maybe this.
Or maybe even like this.
I use this pattern with self-striping yarns because it works so well. The pattern does not overpower the yarn, nor does the yarn in any way overwhelm the pattern. They are a wonderful compliment to each other, a perfect synergy of yarn and pattern that blends beautifully to make my favourite socks. These socks are reliable. They are stable. They are ever-present. They are Jaywalkers.
Until now. The only things I can say us that this pair, my newest of my beloved Jaywalkers, is having an identity crisis. They have no idea what they want to be.
Truly, there is some multiple personality disorder happening here. Big stripes, little stripes, all out chaos? Sure! Why not? Forget order. Defy expectation! Be whatever you want to be. And while you’re at it, befuddle your knitter. Leave her shaking her head and wondering what the heck is happening and if the second sock is in any way going to match the first. It’s all just so much more fun this way!
This past weekend I went with my hubby to return some books to our local library and came across Cinderella Girl by Carin Gerhardsen. It’s a Swedish murder mystery that I had heard a few rumblings about. It is the second novel in a series, but I didn’t realize that and jumped right in. This book is working fine as a stand alone, and while there is some back story that probably would have been better filled in, it’s not difficult to infer what’s not actually there.
Here’s the thing. This novel is written exactly they way you would expect a Scandinavian novel (or movie) to be written. The pacing is different. It is slow and very methodical. It’s barely over 300 pages, and it took until page 80 for the first murder (in a book that claims to be a murder mystery) to occur. I’m still not certain who the main character is, or how pretty much any of the separate story lines connect. Currently it’s just all sharing the same space in between the same covers.
I would like to point out that none of this is making for a bad read. This book is neither unenjoyable or horrid. It just is. It is contemplative and detailed and a rather easy read.