My husband was looking through the box that came from my upstream sock pal, and was perplexed by the additional little gifts of soap and bunny toy and chocolate (chocolate!).

Him: I thought this was a sock swap.
Me: It was.
Him: Then what’s with the other stuff?
Me: It’s just nice.
Him: So did you have to send other stuff with your socks?
Me: I didn’t have to, but I did — I sent a little notebook and some tissues with funky designs on them.
Him: But why?
Me: Because it’s a nice thing to do.
Him: But it’s a sock swap.

You can see where I’m going with this.

My downstream sock pal wrote the loveliest post about the socks I knit for her, and made me feel so good about participating in this sort of thing. I shall quote:

Lynn was able to look at the colorway, be satisfied in the not-purple-ness of it, and go with it so I have a pair of socks in a lovely colorway that I would honestly never be able to purchase for myself.

The other reason I’m really pleased with these socks is because they’re not the same stupid socks everyone else knit. They aren’t Jaywalkers, Monkeys, or Waving Lace Socks. Yes, I’ve seen Conwy on some of my favorite blogs; but they are not the stupidly trendy socks that sweep the blogosphere, whipping every knit-blogger and her sister into a frenzy. They are, instead, classic and traditional socks that will only look more beautiful over the years instead of making me wish I could get rid of last year’s trend. And I appreciate that. In fact, I love that.

In short, Lynn nailed it.

I like to think I’m a thoughtful gal, and indeed, chose the Conwy pattern because it isn’t something everyone and her sister is knitting — it’s so cool that the thought I put into the swap was appreciated. It’s just more of the niceness of knitters.