Love, Hate, and Socks

Notes from the Prairie: I Wonder Column # 13

Photo by Ekaterina Krusanova on Unsplash

I have long known I both love and hate technology. I suspect many in my generation do. Perhaps other generations as well. This morning, however, before I even face my technical devices, I realize I also experience an enduring love-hate relationship with socks. I wonder if others have these same mixed feelings about socks. I wonder what launched this internal paradox in me. Hmm. Paradox, pair o’ socks. I wonder if a short poem hides here.

In childhood, I didn’t think much about socks. I wore them six days a week, but not inside my Sunday dress shoes. Socks simply offered comfort year-round. They kept my feet warm in winter and dry in summer. Some classmates chose bare feet inside their shoes, but I didn’t like cold or sweaty feet. I wore socks. Mother laundered them, rolled pairs together, and put them back in my drawer.

My mixed feelings began in my first adult-life apartment. Sock gremlins invaded my dryer. During drying they selected single socks and sneaked them from the dryer. They hid socks under beds, in couch cracks, and inside clothing on closet hangers, even in my housemates’ closets. Eventually the singles reappeared for joyous reunions with mates.

A week into our New Orleans honeymoon, sock management suddenly confused me. I was rolling my socks and my new husband’s on our hotel-room bed. The maid spied me from the bathroom, rushed toward the bed, and instructed, “Oh, honey, y’all don’t want to do that. Y’all are fixin’ to stretch out the tops and wreck ‘em.”

She picked up an unrolled pair and demonstrated how to place one atop the other and simply fold the pair in half. “This here way is much bettuh.” I decided to thereafter fold socks her way.

With new-bride excitement, I told Mother about my sock discovery. She frowned and said through pursed lips, “But they stay sorted in the drawer much better when they are rolled. And I’ve never had any trouble with sock tops stretching. Never.” An extended discussion followed. Without resolution. After she left, I retained my new sock-folding habit.

As three youngsters entered our family, the sock gremlins multiplied. In fact, they became aggressive. They stole them, stuffed them in their pockets, and kept them. Socks disappeared for months, sometimes forever.

I threw the single socks into a cardboard box in the closet. Those singles rapidly multiplied. Some actually matched socks tossed in earlier. When my parents visited and Mother asked what work she could help with, I handed her that box. She rolled the pairs together. I choked back any words about folding and put those rolled socks in my drawers. I preferred stretched-out socks to another long confrontation.

But socks have also continued to provide pleasure. I loved the softness of a new pair of socks as I took them from the drawer, unfolded them, and tugged them over my feet. I enjoyed deciding which pair to wear. What color? Striped or solid or tweedy?

When downsizing to a retirement duplex, Marlo and I decided to be a shoes-off couple indoors. I discovered the greater pleasure of cuddling my feet into thick, warm, soft, fuzzy slipper socks, especially in the winter. They protected and warmed my feet without the stiffness of shoes.

This cold morning, with my feet surrounded in the cozy comfort of slipper socks, I consider again my love-hate relationship with them. I love wearing socks. I do. But what about that other feeling?

A new thought rises slowly from my toes, snuggled in my fuzzy socks. I don’t hate socks. Not at all. What I really hate is. . . is. . . .

A new insight floods me: I really hate family confrontations and sock gremlins. But I enjoy socks themselves.

As I relax into this discovery, a limerick rolls around and then unfolds itself in my head. (And, yes, my middle name is truly Jane.)

There once was a wench, Carol Jane,

Whose socks made her often complain.

One day when a cough

Had popped her shoes off,

She found the true cause of her pain.

With the limerick complete, I wonder. Would I also make a new discovery if I examined my love-hate relationship with technology? I wonder if I can tackle these questions in next week’s column.

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Carol Van Klompenburg is a writer living in Pella, Iowa. She has a BA in English and an MA in Theater Arts, and she is available for reading performances of her work.

Free sample chapters from her just-published book, “A World in a Grain of Sand: Lively Little Stories of Household Stuff,” are available simply by emailing Carol a request at carolvk13@gmail.com. She’d love to send them to you, no obligation. The complete book is available in Pella from her or from Pella’s Curiosity Shop. It can also be ordered from Amazon.

Readers are calling it “stirring,” “winsome,” and “delightful.”