Gingham Girl

Day 179: A month or so ago, I made my first sock monkey from a pair of vintage socks which were sent to me by an internet friend. I dressed him in a red stocking cap (just that, nothing more) and sat him on my dresser. I was pleased to find out that Red Heel socks were available on line and ordered several pair; however, the heels are set differently in the modern version and the resultant monkeys' smiles didn't occur quite so naturally. Like the majority of my handcrafts, they went out the door almost as soon as I put the last stitches on them. A few days ago, I received a letter from my foster sister which left me feeling quite sad and downhearted, and I thought, "I need to make Marilyn a monkey." In the back of my mind, a little voice insisted, "And you need to do it soon." Overnight, a solution came to me, and thus you see my original monkey after a sex-change, some plastic surgery and a trip to the fabric store.

This is the second monkey I've put in a dress and hat. I wasn't entirely happy with the neckline of the first dress design although I loved the polka-dot fabric I'd picked for the garment. But working a second dress on the same fabric didn't appeal, so just to change things up a little, I decided to use gingham, always a favourite for smocking. By working the bodice along a straight edge and then adding elasticized puff sleeves, I avoided the neckline issues of the first dress. As an afterthought, I added a teneriffe spiderweb as a hemline accent. I wonder if Marilyn will remember the teneriffe gingham aprons my grandma used to make?

Monkey Socks

Day 155: Not that I'd ever cut into a pair of hand-knit socks to make a sock monkey, but whenever I knit socks with differently-coloured cuffs, heels and toes, I am reminded of the old "Red Heel" brand work socks and the sock monkeys my grandmother used to make. She never made one for me, quite possibly because the only book I ever damaged as a child was one which depicted baby animals. I was fine with the rest of the book, but the last page was baby monkeys. I tore it out. My mother diligently repaired it with scotch tape and gave it back to me. I tore the page out again, ripped it in two and threw the pieces on the floor. Again, my mother taped the page back together and put it back in the book. She didn't even try to repair it after the third "accident" when I shredded the single page into tiny pieces and stuffed them down behind the mattress of my crib. She got the message: I didn't like monkeys. Nor do I like babies. Still, I have to admit that sock monkeys have a certain creepy charm about them, and although I've never made one, if I could get my hands on Red Heel socks and the pattern, I have a couple of friends who would be happy to adopt. But I am not going to knit monkey socks just to make a monkey of myself by cutting them up.