Arguably one of our greatest inventions, socks are making a fall comeback in my wardrobe.
After our first snow of the year (October 4–wow!), temps dropped substantially, and I made the first fall visit to the Sock Drawer. There, shoved all the way in the back, were my Grovers.
One of the greatest gifts my younger brother Eric has ever given me is a pair of socks. A stocking stuffer several years ago, these socks aren’t your ordinary, garden variety. This particular pair is made of a soft chenille that reminds me of what Grover must feel like, should I ever have the chance to pet him. I don’t forsee this opportunity any day in the near future.
What makes these socks extraordinary, besides being so soft and downright wearable, are the colors…bright aqua mixed with speckles of black and brown. Think Super Grover if he were to meet with a psychedelic mad scientist. They never show dirt, and one of them hasn’t committed suicide in my washer or drier despite years of washings and transfers. They have made several trips to Oregon and Montana, not to mention California and Nevada. A well-traveled duo, these sisters, and they still have it goin’ on–the years have been friendly, as they say.
The act of becoming reacquainted with the Sock Drawer after flip-flops and Chakos all summer is somehow delightful. I find it amusing how easily I forget from season to season the simple pleasure of pulling on a toasty pair. My friend Donna sent me some for Christmas one year that is intentionally mismatched and hand stitched from a little company out of Vermont. I liked them so much I gave them away as gifts to friends I thought would appreciate the whimsy and dig such an item.
When you think about it, socks are simply fabric tubes for your feet. I suppose you could take a cue from Old English and call them half hoses, but that sounds too weird. I am so happy somebody, somewhere, a long time ago, thought of making fuzzy foot tubes. For the record, I don’t really think of Grover on my feet when I wear my favorites.