a simple yarn

Upon this very culturally Celtic holiday, I take a very perplexing language diversion…

It took Six-Year-Old-Son-Alex to translate ‘Happy Halloween’ into Irish for me. Based upon his pronunciation (confirmed by Now-10-Year-Old-Daughter-Kate), it is roughly spoken as EE-u HOW-na, or something to that effect. Based upon the wide range of Irish pronunciation on this tiny island…generally each county having its own…I’m guessing that there are probably 26-32 different pronunciations of that alphabetic combination! Have to say I would have never gotten that sound from those letters.

In anticipating our fifth Halloween here in Dublin, I’m getting used to the loud bangers, firecrackers, and flares which have been going off at all times of day or night since the calendar changed to October. I’m not as shocked to see large bonfires commonly built on nearby green spaces and football pitches. Nor am I now amazed when a small tike, with trolley in tow, rings the bell to ask if I have any spare combustible bits to add to it. Doesn’t necessarily need to be wood….sofas and odd pieces of carpet are welcomed too. So much for a ‘carbon neutral’ night….

Yes, some things are very different in this End-Of-Summer-Evening-Before-All-Saint’s-Day celebration, but some are the same. The neighbourhood will come alive with families taking a stroll on this crisp autumnal evening, while little ones shyly or brazenly ring the doorbells hoping for a good haul of tooth-decaying sweets.

And so, in the midst of answering our own door (mindless knitting in hand cuz I won’t be able to do much else this evening) handing out candy to a myriad of witches, warlocks, wizards and vampires, we wish you and yours ‘Oíche Shamhna.’

Postscript:  Had a picture of our jack-o-lanterns to add, but I believe Blogger is bewitched this evening….

Right, so after only one day, I’m distracted away from fibre posts….yet again….and am revisiting birthday events. Thus, this celebratory addendum….

I’ve got great friends. Probably don’t say that out loud nearly often enough. But I think it all the same. Had a group of friends over for dinner yesterday. And with them came some belated birthday pressies! Yippee!

Web of Wonder

There are definitely times when it pays to not be able to do something. I don’t felt. Holly felts. Holly gave me this beautiful cobweb-style felted scarf. High on the yummy scale. Bright orange. Cherry red. Wisp of white. Will bring some needed colour to my face when the gray hair appears. And with it, I’m thinking a new coat is in order!

New Numbers
I’ve seen 44 written a myriad of ways, but this is a new style of celebrating my years, courtesy of Karl, Marilyn and crew…

Very cool….didn’t have the book. Very pleased to have it. Signed and all. And now cannot use excuse, ‘But I didn’t know…!’ in my weaving.

A very grateful thank you to all….

Now that the hair crisis has been averted, it’s back to fibre posts. Days have been busy with family events and now all eyes are turned upon the Dublin Knitting and Stitching Show to be held 2-5 November at the RDS in the city. In the bit of lull before the next storm, I’ve picked up my needles again to return to the Christmas pressies. Similar patterns, but variations on the theme.

Manly Cashmere Scarves
On the 5th one now…..but this one is for my dad. Just realized I really need to get the package of Christmas gifts in the post soon so that it has a hope of getting to the US by or near Christmas. If not, then Happy Valentine’s Day to all!

Fetchings

Starting a set for Daughter-Kate for Christmas, along with a set of leg-warmers for her ballet class. Very cute stripey set in the Junior Knits book by Debbie Bliss, but the pattern is a bit boring. So, taking the sizing from the Junior Knits instructions and applying them to the ever-so-cute Fetchings pattern from knitty.com. Hoping to have a stylish handwarmers in kiddie size. We’ll see. Have just started and they look absolutely tiny! Doing the deed in Debbie Bliss Baby Cashmerino. Very soft and very cool colours. Will include a picture when I make a little more progress….and my camera batteries get charged!

Right, so off to do a bit of knitting before company come for an early Saturday dinner…

Every now and again, in her quiet and subtle way, Isobel, our soft-spoken-knitter-friend, posts a bit of a rant on her blog. And so I take a page from her book…the rant bit, not the soft-spoken part….

Whatever happened to common courtesy? You’d think that by the very phrase, which includes the word common, that it would be a fairly regular occurrence. I’m thinking that it ought to be re-phrased uncommon courtesy.

I’m standing on the bus. Not sitting, mind you, as there are perhaps 500 other human bodies packed in here with me, masquerading as sardines in a really big tin can. Get the picture? The bus was crowded. I’m in the front section of the bus, staring into the faces of 4 passengers who are sitting there, staring back at me. Even with all of the bodies, it’s deadly quiet.

Onto the bus totters a little old lady. Perhaps 75 years old. And she stands a couple of people away from me, desperately clinging to the rails so that she doesn’t tumble into someone’s lap. I look at her. And then I look at the 2 men, perhaps 30 years of age, sitting there staring at her doing the little sea-legs-wobble as the bus starts rolling. Did I mention that her arm was in a cast?

So, what’s wrong with this picture?

Anyone with an ounce of common sense would see that the little-old-arm-in-a-cast-lady should in no way be standing there swinging from side to side to the bus movement like a drunken Tarzan. After a short bit, another lady sitting there, perhaps 50-ish, offered the elderly lady a seat. ‘Ah no,’ she said, ‘I’ve just got a couple of stops to go.’ Very self-deprecating, as I’ve noticed some Irish to be. And still sitting there, oblivious to the needs of the world, sat those two blokes. Geeesh. Did my best shooting-daggers-out-of-my-eyes imitation. But nothing.

Bus stops again. An even older lady gets on. Toddle, toddle. And there she stands. Any movement from the lads? Nope. Then the 50-ish lady got up and gave her seat to this OAP.

Note: Okay, that was the description bit, here’s the rant….

How hard would it have been for those guys to stand up and offer their seat to either of those two elderly ladies? It takes absolutely no effort. The rest of the crush of people would gladly have moved aside to allow the seat exchange to take place. Little respect. Even less compassion. Sigh.

I tell you, it made me want to open a door or do a small nicety for every elderly person I came in contact with that day.

Another non-fibre post? As you can tell, I’m not doing much knitting these days, too sidetracked by the mid-life-crisis-hair-issue. I promise that after this post, I’m moving on…

The prospects for the day did not bode well when I walked into the hair salon and told the hairdresser my au-naturale-hair-plans. Her fairly loud reply, ‘I just don’t agree. It’s going to add 15 years to you. I think you’ll regret it.’ ‘Wow,’ I thought, ‘don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think.’ And I stumbled blindly to the chair, heart racing.

‘I don’t want to look old!’ I screamed in my head. Had to be careful not to scream it audibly. ‘It’s all about conviction and personal values and and eco-friendliness and healthy living,’ I argued from my mental bully pulpit. But as I looked around at the employees whose job it is to mask and hide the onslaught of age, they will not understand, I concluded.

And just when I thought my head was going to explode off my neck, thereby solving the hair issue, I read a little article in the Vogue magazine on my lap. A female journalist was facing the same should-I-stop-covering-the-gray dilemma. And so she opted to be her ’silver fox’ self. My waning courage fortified, I lifted my head, figuratively and literally. In went the temporary-measure-platinum-blond-highlights. Off came the boringly-straight-hair. And so I begin my journey….

The day didn’t start out in any special way. A typical Wednesday…gray, rainy, cold. The only thing indicating that it might be unique is that the usual chock-a-block morning rush hour traffic had disappeared. Minimal cars. Quick run to the kids’ school. Smooth. The children said they ordered it up especially for me today. How thoughtful of them….

I am 44 today.

It doesn’t register quite as dramatically as a birthday ending in -0 or-5. Actually, I rather disregard these ‘in between’ events, as I can’t always remembers which it is…41? 42? 43? So, happily I will stay at 40, figuratively speaking that is, until I reach 45, and will camp on that number until I get to 50. It’s much easier that way. And these days, easy is good.

These annual-anniversaries-of-the-day-of-my-birth sneak in much more quietly than when I was a child. More like a gentle wind than a full-force gale. That would describe my children’s birthday expectations. As for Daughter-Kate, her big day on which she reaches double digits, will arrive tomorrow. But that is for tomorrow. Today is for me.

What shall I do in my quiet celebration?

Drink 44 cups of cappuccino? A bit over the top I think….certainly leading to 44 hours of sleeplessness. What about 44 uninterrupted minutes of knitting? That’s more like it. Well, whatever it is, it’s about want to today, not have to. And the family birthday pressies do a superb job of celebrating the different areas of my life.

Well, in spite of the dramatic hair change (which happens tomorrow…..cue scary music), I’d like to think that the quiet and gentle nature of the birthday celebration will reflect how I will grow older…..quietly and gently.

This takes DIY to a whole new level….

We have a family friend visiting us from the US. And like all US friends who come to visit, there was a little ‘mule cargo service’ involved….bringing little North American niceties. Among them were some soaps and lotions from a favourite company. Along with it were some freebie sample packets. And then I saw this….

Yep, home-style-Botox-esque-injection-without-the-needle-serum to plump your lips. At least I think it’s without the needle. I didn’t see a needle in the packet, but have to admit I was a little frightened to actually open it. And I’m sure they wouldn’t expect me to walk into a chemist casually asking for needles….would they?

Ick.

As I read the back, the understated warnings came leaping off the packet……’intense tingling for 5 or 10 minutes’, which I think is a euphemism for ‘burning sensation.’ And seriously, why wouldn’t someone’s lips plump when they’re smoldering off your face…..

Right, this is taking home beauty care just a step too far for my comfort. Hey wait, isn’t that a skull and crossbones type insignia (indicative of most poisons, I might add) disguised as a pair of lips and needles? Eeeewww……

Good grief! I can’t believe I published the post on Conviction! Now I really have to follow through….

Had I known that what I was about to hear on the radio was going to impact my life in such a way, I wouldn’t have turned it on.

Convictions, or perhaps it is better said ‘personal values’, are very inconvenient things at times.

I was listening to the local news talk personality. He does fairly light, harmless banter. Just what a person needs in the afternoon. But as I turned on the car radio, he was in the middle of an interview with a lady, who I think was a journalist. Don’t know. Anyway, the topic was hair colouring. And since I am a hair colourer, of course I listened with interest.

I won’t bore you with the details, but here’s what I heard loud and clear.

Please note: The following observations apply only to myself and not to anyone else. No judgments, okay?

Right, here’s what I heard…

1. Dyeing your hair can be potentially carcinogenic.
2. Repeatedly rinsing hair dye down the drain certainly can’t be good for the environment.

So, on the one hand I’m trying to live an eco-friendly lifestyle, reducing our family’s impact on the earth. And on the other hand, I’m regularly dyeing my hair……chemically. Hmmm…….

Okay, in the balance lie conviction and vanity. But hey, I live in a culture where gray hair on a ‘younger middle aged’ person is unheard of. Just not done. I have gray hair. I would like to consider myself youthfully-not-quite-middle-aged. What to do?

First, ask my hairdresser…..the shock in her eyes speaks volumes. Not gonna get much support there.

Second, take informal poll among friends…..responses reach across the spectrum from polite disbelief to avid support.

Third, ask Husband-Will…..he’s been after me for years to stop colouring my hair, so admittedly he’s not overly objective.

Fourth, ask Very-Hip-And-With-It-For-Being-Ten-Daughter-Kate…..she definitely doesn’t want an elderly looking mother. Thinks that somehow it’ll be a reflection on her I figure.

Fifth, ask myself…..would love to stop doing the dye thing, but will probably have to go to a shorter, stylish cut which is nice and quick but requires more frequent cuttings which equals more money.

So what did I decide as the current dye job is quickly revealing tell-tale gray roots?

I’ve decided to land on the side of personal conviction and if I tell enough of my friends what’s going to happen, I won’t chicken out. And so….get a short, sassy, artsy-fartsy hair style……don bright lipstick….find bright scarves to add some contrast….leave behind my autumnal clothing colours……go back to ‘winter’ colours with a dash of flash……perhaps get some eccentric dangly earrings……and enjoy being what God’s made me…..which includes gray hair.

Perspective, noun…a particular attitude toward or way of regarding something; point of view; true understanding of the relative importance of things; a sense of proportion.

I don’t know what I would do if I met the President of the United States. I’m sure my knees would knock a bit. I’d probably worry about clammy hands. I might find myself battling to keep the butterflies contained in the general stomach area. I’d also be inclined to bump into or trip over a Secret Service agent.

And today, I found myself in a similar….yet very different….situation. For you see, today I met the Prime Minister of Ireland. Head of state. Leader of Irish government. Big kahuna.

Flutterings? No. Sweaty palms? Huh-uh. Stutterings? Nope.

And with a very casual air, An Taoiseach Bertie Ahern, visited our humble school Autumn Fair.

Security detail? No. Bodyguard? None to be found. Protection of any kind? Huh-uh. Entourage? Nope. I can’t imagine that happening in the US. It’s a difference in the Irish perspective.

He mingled among the people. Shook hands. Smiled for cameras. Listened to grass roots lobbying. All hoping to change his perspective.

I heard one mother admonishing her young son that whether or not he appreciated the man himself, the child should at least respect the office. Hmmmm….a parent trying to change her offspring’s perspective.

So, I’ve added a second entry to my few-and-far-between-brush-with-fame-sightings. And as I’ve vacillated back and forth because I determined I’d never publish a photo of myself on this blog, I’ve decided to go ahead….needing to change my perspective.

I’d like to think that quality, not quantity is a good thing…

Well, Daughter-Kate’s birthday festivities are coming to a close. For me, it was an easy event. A couple of home-made pizzas. Chips and salsa. Fizzy drink. Walk around the corner to the theatre for the play. Sold out. Glad we’ve had our tickets for weeks. Three sweet little girls staying for a sleepover. Gales of laughter. Slowing to a quieter giggle. Sleep overcoming them around midnight. Made cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Chic flic for them this morning. Parents coming to collect the overly fatigued party guests. A good time was had by all, I think. Kate was quite pleased.

Next event, school Autumn Fair fundraiser tomorrow. More activities. Sigh.

In the midst of such busyness, the amount of fibre projects plummets. So not much to show. But, happy to say that Lovely-Little-Leonie’s hat is complete.

Moral of the story:  If you complain about something long enough, someone….somewhere….will get you a pressie, even if it’s just to shut you up.

So, as it unfolded, I met up with Isobel in Drogheda and we dropped in on the Knit and Natter session last night, hosted by Lisa and Jacqui. Nice venue at ‘the d hotel’. Not sure what the ‘d’ stands for. Definitely used in the lower case. Could it be as innocuous as standing for ‘Drogheda’? Or perhaps more descriptive of the setting, meaning ‘delightful’. Anyway…diversion over…nice place. The lighting was a little dim for my ever-aging eyes, but the cappuccino was lovely. So, all in all, a good mix. Great company. Great chat. Glad I went.

Before the other ladies arrived, Isobel said, ‘I have something for you,’ accompanied by a definite twinkle in the eye. Even with the dim lighting, I could see that! And she handed me a very innocent looking Marks & Spencer bag. Inside, however, was a thrilling revelation. Inside were these…

And as I said before, no, they are not breast implants.

Instead, they are re-usable hand warmers. Yippee! Click the little metal insert….they go rigid and warm….when they’ve finished warming my circulation-less hands, I can simmer them in a pot of water until they go clear and flexy. Then when needed, snap! Instant hand heat. I am thrilled!

To top it off, they have little fleecy booties to wear…

So, between these beauties and my Fetching handwarmers, I think my hands will be quite toasty this winter. A very big thanks to you, Isobel!