Thrummed Slippers, and Being Bad At Knitting

This post is mostly about thrummed slippers, but I also want to talk about being bad at knitting.

Remember these knit these thrummed slippers I made for my sister’s Christmas present? Confession time, I knit a first slipper before I knit that pair. But when I slipped it on, it felt really delicious… and a little big. Too big for my sister, whose feet are half a size smaller than mine. So I put the single slipper aside (remember, this is the run up to Christmas!) and knit her pair.

Let’s pause for a second – if you’ve never come across a thrum before, this explanation from the Yarn Harlot tells you everything you need to know:

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A thrum is a little wisp of unspun fleece or roving that is knit into your project every so often. Thrumming makes the insides soft and fuzzy, and freakishly warm. This technique is most often associated with Canada’s Province of Newfoundland and Labrador (where they know warm)

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I used this pattern, mostly – I added a deep cuff for extra warms.

It’s only in the past few days I’ve returned to my single slipper. We’ve had a cold snap here in London, with decidedly unseasonable snow, and even in our snug little flat, I’ve definitely had cold toes and thrummed silppers are still needed, even in April! It only took three evenings of knitting to add a cuff to the first and knit the second.

Side by side… there’s such a difference between the two. The first slipper looks kind of sloppy. It’s wider than it should be, and the thrums are fluffy. I’ve not worn them properly yet, so I don’t think it’s a symptom of age. I think it’s because sometimes I’m not very good at knitting. Sometimes things don’t fit, or turn out at all. Sometimes I start projects I never finish.

Knitting and crochet are a couple of the few activities in this life where you get a second chance. You can pull back and rework, again and again until everything is just perfect. I know a lot of knitters who do. But I don’t. I tend to let crooked stitches sit.

But you know what? It doesn’t matter. Something poorly knitted is still something that’s been created out of nothing, with just sticks and string. It’s still a tiny miracle. And it will still keep someone warm.

I have enough yarn and enough fibre to knit a fifth slipper, to complete a second matching pair. But I won’t. These slippers are as cozy as they get, and very few people other than myself will ever see them in person. They can stay, imperfections and all.