“I Didn’t Mean to Buy Sock Yarn … But I Did”

Friday

Friday began with a soft hum of chores—just enough to clear the decks. Then I wandered into town for something new: a nail appointment. Not a ritual yet, but perhaps the beginning of one. Since changing roles, I no longer wash my hands a hundred times an hour, and I’m starting to believe that pretty nails might actually stand a chance. On the rooftop carpark, I paused to take photos—first the mural, then Caroline Bay, and finally the snow-draped mountains in the distance. They felt impossibly close, like they’d crept forward overnight to greet me. My photo doesn’t quite capture it, but in that moment, they were almost touchable.

I’ve been meaning to photograph the mural for ages, but there’s usually a lineup of cars guarding it like sentinels. Friday, though, the view was clear—just me, the whale, and a sky full of blues. Everyone knows I’m drawn to that colour, and maybe that’s part of the pull. Or maybe it’s the whale itself, swimming through flowers like they’re coral. It felt like a small gift, catching it unobstructed, as if the town had paused just long enough to let me see it properly.

Caroline Bay was looking splendid. The blue waters mirrored the sky above, while the greens and the bustle of the port brought the whole scene to life. Down on the footpaths, people wandered in the sunshine, adding warmth and movement to the view. In the distance, the majestic Southern Alps stood tall—the snowy backbone of New Zealand—draped in their winter overcoats and glowing in the morning light.

Although they seem distant in the photo, in that moment the mountains felt impossibly close—larger than life, like I could reach out and scoop up a handful of snow. It was one of those tricks of light and air, where the world rearranges itself just long enough to make you believe in something magical.

On my short walk to the nail salon, I passed by the coffee shop and its mural.

I had time, so stopped for a look. There’s something quietly quirky about it—a woman with oversized glasses cradling her coffee or is it hot chocolate? She is surrounded by butterflies, birds, and a jungle of potted plants. It’s fun, unexpected, and just the kind of visual detour that makes a short walk feel like a story.

And just look at that blue sky.

*

At the nail salon, I was greeted by a young man I’ve seen often. The staff are from Thailand and speak little English, but kindness doesn’t need translation. I know he’s a good nail tech—once a month, the team volunteers their time at my work, offering free manicures to the ladies and gents. The women even get to choose a polish colour, a small luxury gifted with care.

What followed was an hour of quiet attention—soaking, trimming, a quick hand massage, and layer upon layer of careful painting. When he finally looked up and said, “All done—do you like it?” I admired the result. He had perfectly reproduced the design I’d shown him, and I was tickled, delighted, and so very grateful. 

I’d chosen blue, of course—my favourite hue, the colour of skies, seas, and quiet strength. The design featured the cutest little dragonfly, delicate and full of charm. The design wasn’t just about colour or sparkle. It was a quiet nod to the winged creatures I’ve always adored: bees, fairies, dragonflies. There’s something ethereal and magical about them, the way they hover and flit, never quite still, always dancing with the breeze. Whether it’s a shimmer of wings or a hint of iridescence, I love that my nails can carry a whisper of that magic. It’s like wearing a tiny spell on each fingertip. He painted it with such care, each stroke deliberate, each detail precise. I hope they last a while. He put so much effort into them, and I left feeling not just polished, but quietly uplifted. A small act of artistry, a hint of magic shared across languages, and now carried with me into the weekend.

*

After the nail salon, I made a quick stop at the supermarket before heading home. Lunch was early and simple, and then I settled in to knit the afternoon away. The Pixie Bootie pattern was challenging, to say the least. The instructions called for two needles, but I tried four, then three, then two again—none of it seemed to help with the looseness of my stitches. Still, I persevered and made it all the way to the pointy toe before casting off with a quiet sense of triumph.

Next came the delicate task of pulling out the provisional cast-on without losing those tiny stitches. I managed to catch them all on a needle—just—and began knitting the top of the bootie. I completed one leaf before it was time to head off to visit Dr D, the chiropractor. A crunch at the end of the afternoon.

Not such a big crunch this time. Time is healing the wound, and the days off have helped—even though I’ve kept busy with chores, both indoors and in the garden. There’s been a noticeable improvement. Dr D was happy, and so was I. Instead of the usual two or three days, it’ll be a whole week before I see her again. That’s a massive boost, and a quiet reassurance that things are shifting in the right direction.

*

I got home just as Tony was preparing to head out. He’d come in while I was away, swapped his work wear for something more comfortable, and was getting ready to fill the car for Saturday’s road trip. I parked my wee car and hopped in beside him, and off we went into town to fuel up the big gas guzzler.

On a whim, we stopped in to see our friends John and Ange at their shop. They were just about to close up for the day, and before we knew it, plans had shifted—we decided to go out for tea together. It was spontaneous, relaxed, and full of good conversation. We didn’t get home until bedtime, and it was the kind of unexpected evening that leaves you smiling as you kick off your shoes. An unplanned but gentle end to the day.

*

Saturday.

Saturday began without an alarm clock, but I had a very important date to keep. Chookyblue was all geared up for a Zoom gathering with the Chookshed Stitchers—it was Jellyroll Day. I didn’t have a Jellyroll to sew, but I’d promised to join in anyway. By just before 8am NZ time, I was ready and waiting, cup of something warm in hand, looking forward to the chatter and stitching energy that always fills the virtual room.

I only had an hour to spare before Tony and I climbed into the car for our road trip, and I was determined to make the most of it. I pulled out my ripple blanket and began to hook the shell edging—the final flourish, the last of the border rounds. Each stitch felt like a small celebration, a nod to the journey this blanket has taken with me. The yarn flowed through my fingers as the Zoom chatter hummed in the background. What a lovely way to start the day.

*

Then it was time to climb into the gas guzzler and head north—Christchurch bound for a shopping trip. I was on a mission to find some very special fabric for a very special quilt. The day was glorious: sunshine spilling across the road, and the mountains looking majestic once again, their snowy peaks gleaming like quiet guardians.

Traffic was light, and we made good time. I couldn’t find the exact fabric I’d hoped for—Batiks, it seems, are becoming harder to source here in New Zealand—but with a little help, I found a beautiful alternative that matched the bundle of fat quarters that I’d brought along.

 Mission (mostly) accomplished.

Next stop: a yarn store. And gasp! Shock! I picked up more sock yarn. 

I didn’t mean to buy more yarn. Honestly. I don’t know how it happened, but that colour—It's like a raspberry crush—was just too lovely to leave behind. It’s not blue, but it’s soft, squishy, and full of promise. I could already see it becoming something cozy, maybe even more Pixie Boots (as if the current one hasn’t tested me enough!). It was a quiet indulgence, tucked into the day like a warm hug in skein form.

I also spotted some Trio needles at the knitting store—those clever little sets that sit somewhere between double-pointed and circular. I was tempted… very tempted. But I held back (for now). Has anyone used them? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Are they worth the switch? Do they make sock knitting smoother or just fiddlier in a new way? Tell me everything. The good the bad and the plain ugly..

*

Tony doesn’t do shopping. He’s patient, yes, and good-humoured in short bursts, but by now he’d had enough. With a quiet but firm declaration—“Time for home”—he steered us toward the car, the raspberry yarn tucked safely in my bag and the wind beginning to stir. I didn’t argue. The weather forecast wasn’t looking great, with winds predicted to exceed 140km per hour as the day wore on. Tony was keen to get on the road and back to Timaru before things turned wild.

Strangely, the air was still in some places. Trees and grasses barely moved unless a vehicle passed by, stirring them into motion. But in other stretches, the wind was fierce—trees bent in sudden gusts, and we could feel the car being pushed around. We didn’t envy the drivers of campers and trucks, who must’ve felt every buffet and sway. And the winds were not yet at full predicted force.

It takes about two hours to get from Christchurch to Timaru. As we drove, the sky darkened—not dramatically, just enough to make us wonder what the evening might bring. We could see that the Nor’Westerly winds had been busy melting the snow on the mountains. The peaks that had looked like iced cakes in the morning were now showing their bones—less frosting, more grit. It felt like the land was shrugging off its winter coat. A quiet transformation. 

*

On the way home, I was messaging with Debbie. She’s home alone this weekend—her husband is up in those very mountains, helping a friend set up his caravan for summer. I don’t envy them tonight; it’s meant to be wild up there, and the wind’s already making itself known. Anywhooo, Debbie joined Tony and I for dinner this evening. I made fish and chips (using my Fish in Parmesan Crust recipe—shared on the recipe tab if you're curious), and Debbie brought along a beautiful fresh salad. It’s been quite a while since we’ve had the chance for a proper chat and catch-up. Debbie’s started a new job in a different facility, still within the same company. As it turns out, my new role is her old job. Serendipity at its finest

*

And now, it’s almost bedtime. The wind hasn’t arrived here—yet—but the day has been full enough. If you’ve read this far, thank you for joining me on the journey. I’d love to hear what your Saturday held—whether it was stitchy, stormy, or simply still. Leave a comment below and let’s catch up.