Socks. Yes, that's right. Socks.
It might seem like a funny thing for which to be grateful, especially to my friends in the Northern Hemisphere, but I am particularly grateful for socks, especially the hand knitted variety.
I'd forgotten now much I loved them until the painful discovery of chilblains and I realised that I'd not dragged my knitted socks out of storage. I quickly remedied that. My husband has a theory that not only do hand knitted socks keep your feet cosy and warm through the thermal properties of the wool, but that the texture of hand knitted socks - the ridges and bumps of stocking stitch - stimulate the circulation and keep the feet warm that way, too.
I'm not about to argue with him because I enjoy my knitted socks and I like that he wears the ones I knitted for him (even the ugly black and white pair). I'd also forgotten how much I enjoyed knitting socks until I pulled out some leftover yarn last week and began a pair for someone special. I'm now planning many more.
And while I don't have drawers and drawers full of hand knitted socks (unlike the photo I saw online), I have enough to keep me satisfied and my feet very happy indeed.
(There's at least one pair missing from this pic and on the far left is a pair of fingerless mittens, not socks - although I might have enough of that yarn to do a pair of socks one day.)