a simple yarn

All we need is a juggling act and we’ll be a full-blown circus…

Dinner’s done. Doorbell rings. There stand a gaggle of children whom we’ve never seen before. One clutches a unicycle.

‘Still got yours?’ he calls out.
I know he’s not talking to me, but Husband-Will heads immediately for the garage, a sort of one-wheeled-telepathy kicking in.

Somewhere through the ‘kids-in-the-neighbourhood-communication-system’, the message has gone out that the head of our family is a unicycle rider. The aforementioned lad has gotten one in the last month or so and wants acknowledgement in this universal fraternity of balancers. And off they go. And ya know what? That kid is really good.

Me? I’m doing my own type of balancing act these days.

We’ve made the decision to move house, a prospect that’s been simmering for the last eight months. So prior to our summer holiday in the US, I’ll be juggling boxes for the next few weeks.

When we say ‘imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,’ is that what we really mean to say?

a) Imitation:  noun, the action of using something or someone as a model (okay…good)
b) Sincere:  adjective, proceeding from genuine feelings (again, good…)
c) Flattery:  noun, excessive and insincere praise, especially that given to further one’s own interests (hmm….not sure about that)

So, I was chatting with a friend the other day. Ironically, it turns out that our families are each going to the US for the summer holidays. The conversation then turned to knitting plans.

‘What are you going to knit over the summer?’ asked she.
‘Oh, I think I ought to finish that aran cabled jumper,’ replied I, ‘and what about you?’
‘I’m going to do my Christmas knitting so I can leave it there and save on postage.’

Wowser, what a great idea!

And so:

a) wishing I’d had such forethought and
b) having experienced the painful postage costs of shipping Christmas cheer and
c) remembering November panic attacks of late night knitting to get all the projects done…

…I immediately abandoned my jumper idea and instead jumped on that good-idea-bandwagon. I couldn’t wait to get home to start rummaging through the yarn stash and books to see what holiday delights I could begin. Yes, I realise it’s not yet May but still, I’m not going to be caught short this year, barring any unforeseen calamity, that is.

Right, so here’s what I found…

It seems much of my stash is:

a) partial balls and leftover bits of
b) new wool, which means
c) felted (or more correctly said ‘fulled’) projects

Well, that’s easy enough. Having a look through the books, I’ve chosen these as offering the best projects for the yarn I have and the intended recipients. They are:

a) ‘Felted Knits’ by Beverly Galeskas
b) ‘One Skein’ by Leigh Radford
c) ‘Handknit Holidays’ by Melanie Falick

So, I think I’d rather say that:

a) imitation is the
b) sincerest form of
c) praising a friend’s good idea!

‘Sometimes ya gotta go outside and blow the stink off,’…otherwise translated… ‘Sometimes the most effective way to get out of a funk is to get up, get out and focus on something else.’

And with this age old wisdom ringing in my ears, the sunshine and warm temperatures pulled me out of the house, like a bee to nectar, like metal to a magnet, like…well, you get the point. What better way to celebrate springtime than to visit Friend-Lucy-Of-The-Lodge and give her a bit of help shifting plants in her garden?

Doing a small kindness for others can have a great boomerang effect in cheering oneself, I think. For what met my weary and distracted eyes?

Hillsides burgeoning in full bloom with massive rhododendrons in tropical pinks and brilliant reds…

And so, with spade in hand, the stink was effectively ‘blown,’ with an afternoon in the Irish countryside.

And while I was toiling in the soil, Husband-Will caught a few views through his lens…

“If you come to a fork in the road, take it.” -Yogi Berra, major league baseball player/manager/master of malapropisms

I’m feeling rather dull these days…

Knitting in progress with nothing to show.
Warp on the loom and no incentive to weave.
Book in hand but one I’ve read before.
House is grimy.
Garden is weedy.
Dishes are dirty.

Winter’s over…..days are lighter and longer…temperatures warmer. So why the blahs?

In a fit of ‘it’s-not-Sunday-but-let’s-do-some-reflecting’, I think it has less to do with winter doldrums and more to do with future forks in the road. The calm before the storm of activity. Waiting for events outside of my control to happen. Waiting. Waiting. And so I go about my daily activities with an underlying distraction, waiting for the moment to take the next step. One balm for the soul, however, is the ever-brightening colour popping out in the garden.

Leftover from last season, a little Gerber daisy re-blooms…

Although considered by some to be weedy, nasturtiums at the doorstep are a cheery sight.

You know, weddings don’t have to be in the Netherlands to offer a spectacular vista.

Was off to Limerick this weekend for Knitter-Friend-Mary’s wedding. Lovely do and a great occasion to put on the posh frock. On the way, we encountered…

…a massive field of…

…tulips!

And such was the sight on the road to Limerick, just past Moneygall. Thank goodness for the wide shoulder at the side of the road for the queue of cars lining up for the photo op!

Okay, so ‘boring’ and ‘uninspiring’ are not the best adjectives to use when doing a post, but every now and then ya gotta slog through some ‘plain ol’ vanilla’ knitting. Even the title is rather ho-hum…

Let’s see, it’s been weaving, coffee, fibre fun, flowers, vanilla, baked goods. Hmmm….a seeming absence of knitting lately. Not too helpful for my Knitter’s Treat Exchange treater, I suppose. Did I tell you I took the kids to see ‘Mr Bean’s Holiday’ today? Oh right, that wouldn’t be about knitting either, would it.

It’s not that I’m avoiding the topic, it’s just that….I’m rather uninspired with the projects I can post about and quite inspired about those which I can’t. Such irony….

But at least I will give an aran cable jumper update:

With all the gloriously warm weather in Dublin, this project has been ignominiously shifted to the corner for now. Back is done and have done a few rows on the front. A couple of projects to get through and then I’ll have to get back to it no matter what the weather, or it’ll end up in the ‘bored with it’ pile. That would be a shame as then I’d have no new jumper to wear when the weather gets cool again…which might be next week…you never know here….

Also to be cast on, a quick little gift project, using Twilley’s Freedom wool. Great for felting, if you’re so inclined.

And finally-

I dug out this ‘previously-frogged-yarn-as-it-wasn’t-manly-enough-for-a-Christmas-scarf’ to begin a personal project.

Yep, good and steady knitting. Sigh.

So, when did this word became equated with boring mediocrity? Poor vanilla, so maligned…

Once upon a time, I felt that bananas had been given a bad rap and now I think vanilla needs to be added to the list of victimes. Vanilla was ‘one of the many items of cuisine first encountered by the Spanish upon meeting with the Aztecs and subsequently introduced into Europe,’ or so says Wikipedia. It must have been exciting back then, enough to entice the Spaniards to carry it all the way back to Spain. They even gave it its name-vainilla meaning ‘little pod’.

The one thing for which I need to thank Martha Stewart, North-American-Domestic-Diva, is a recipe for making vanilla. No need for high priced extracts. No settling for imitation flavouring.

Simply slice three or four vanilla pods lengthwise. With flat side of knife, scrape out all the little micro-seeds (but save them for later). Put pods into a bottle of vodka and let set until you have a beautiful amber colour. Want a darker colour? Add more pods.

And the seeds you’ve saved? Mix into some finely granulated sugar, such as caster sugar, for use in baking. It seems to add an additional lovely aroma to baked goods. The weekend’s fare included home baked brownies.

An observation of colour in the garden as seen by Husband-Will and me.

Today, it was all about fibre.

Yes, it was another lovely day in Dublin. Sun shining. Temperatures rising. Skies clearing. And yet, it was a testimony to the love of fibre that brought Isobel, Kate, Holly and Flo over to the house today for a bit of a fibre fun.

It was all about spinning.

It was all about weaving.

It was all about knitting.

It was all about eating.

It was all about chatting with a little bit of felting and a hint of dyeing, but it was all about fun.

Upon entering an establishment that is part of a multi-national chain of supermarkets, you would think that they’d want to sell you food items. Not necessarily so.

Okay, so I’m meandering up and down the aisles in the supermarket (where the name begins with ‘T’, ends in ‘O’, and rhymes with ‘Let’s go.’), and I happen to take a look at the reduced price items. As the value of the US Dollar continues to plummet, I find myself looking at these shelves more and more. And what to my wondering eyes did appear?

Yippee!

My joy was not that this lovely brand of coffee was found in the reduced price section, but rather that it’s residing in the store at all! Never have seen the decaffeinated version in a supermarket in this country. O happy day! And look, there are three packages sitting there!

A Bit of Historical Background Diversion Ahead:
Because Husband-Will and I enjoy a blissful cup of cappuccino at the end of our day, we naturally reach for a decaf version, being desirous of sleep during the nighttime hours. Our only option has been…

While we like Illy well enough, it is only available at Avoca and comes with a pricetag of 7.99euro for 250 grams….that’s 8.8 ounces…only a little more than 1/2 pound. Eek. But as we practice frugality other areas, this is a well-deserved luxury, or so my rationalisation goes.

So, with great gladness and joy I take my three treasures to the checkout. And then the conversation goes something like this…

Cashier: ‘I don’t think these are reduced since there isn’t a little yellow sticker on it.’
Me: ‘That’s okay, I’ll pay the full price if necessary.’
Cashier: ‘Someone might have put them on that shelf as they walked by.’
Me: ‘Fair enough. If you’ll ring it up, we’ll just see how much they are.’
Cashier: ‘Uh oh. The price isn’t in the files.’
Me: ‘Well, perhaps somebody can get a price for them.’
Cashier: I don’t think we’ll be able to sell them to you.’
Me: ‘Um, I’m sure someone in the store will know a price for them, if you’ll perhaps ask.’
Cashier: ‘Are there other ones on the shelf?’
Me: ‘No, these are the only three.’
Cashier: ‘Well, they’re not supposed to be here then since I don’t have a price for them.’
Me: ‘They’re not supposed to be here? Aren’t they considered food? Isn’t this a food store?’
Cashier: ‘No, the price is not in the computer system.’
Me: ‘Yes, I realise that. Who might know a price?’
Cashier: ‘If I don’t have a price, I won’t be able to sell these to you.’
Me: ‘Right, and which manager might be able to help us with this?’
Cashier: ‘Well, it’s got to be somebody in the coffee and tea section.’
Me: ‘And are they here? Nearby? Within calling distance? Shall I get them?’

After a few more rounds of futile scanning and realising that the price hasn’t magically appeared in the system files, another employee walks by. And of all things, this person happens to understand the intricacies of the coffee and tea section. Glory be!

Over she walks to the coffee aisle. There she picks up a comparable coffee. Back she walks to the checkout lane. And yessir, a precious price rings up on the computer system. You’d have thought it was rocket science…

Oh, and the company tagline? ‘…where every little helps’.

For being just two small letters, ‘u’ and ‘n’, when placed next to one another cause great chaos.

It started out so innocently. There I was basking in the glow of the recently completed rayon scarf. Yes, I was wearing my laurels proudly for having conquered the slippery beast. What better way to celebrate than by inviting some friends over for a casual fibre day at the weekend? Some want to have hands-on experience with the loom. Why not? I’m feeling great!

Guess I better put on a warp. Something simple, especially after that last encounter. Hmmmm….what shall it be? Right, think I’ll do simple twill variations on a plain off-white wool warp. At least I think it’s wool. Well, a wool blend at any rate. Easy enough. At least it should be predictable, right?

Moral of the Story Prematurely Inserted Here:
“Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.” Proverbs 16:18

Guess I should have realised that nothing is predictable, except perhaps gravity…
…and sunrise…
…and taxes…
…and death.

Okay, death may not be predictable…inevitable yes, predictable no. Anyway, take my lovely predictable yarn, add ‘u-n’ and there you have it…

So, what’s wrong with this picture? Do you see some threads that have definitive ends to them? Did you know that a warp consists of one continuous loop of threads? Continuous. No unattached ends. Especially in the middle. Just laying there. Disconnected.

Arg. Must have snipped them when undoing the ties. I’ve never done that before. Certainly don’t want to do it again. And the glory-of-the-rayon-memory faded from mental view.

Salvage attempts fail. Too many loose ends. What was I doing when snipping the ties? Was I dreaming? Sleeping? Comatose? Flash of Edward Scissorhands inspiration? At any rate, the death knell sounded for about 1/3 of the warp. No matter, I suppose. It was a sampler anyway. Now, it’s just a skinny sampler.

Since then I have found at least one more thread in the remaining warp which has mysteriously broken, frayed or been an additional scissor victim. And so my simple warping is turning into quite an un-predictable adventure.

It’s not often I remember what I was doing at any given moment on any given day in any given year. But milestones would, of course, be different…

On this day six years ago, I was standing before a judge.

Now, before you think I’m a wily or hardened or reformed or (fill in appropriate adjective here) criminal, let me hasten to add adoption judge…which makes a difference I suspect.

There we stood in St Petersburg…Russia, not Florida…listening to translated questions issued forth from a matronly judge with obligatory stern look, and having ‘give-them-enough-information-but-don’t-be-too-wordy’ answers tumbling out with anxious heart, translated in return. Thus, with the bang of a gavel and many stamped documents later, we returned home with Alex in tow.

That’s what happened six years ago today.

And so six hours ago today, to celebrate Alex’s adoption day and to commemorate our past dealings with bureaucratic governments, we found ourselves at the US Embassy in Dublin renewing the children’s soon-to-expire-passports for summer holiday traveling. Have to be honest, I think the passport renewal process was about as lengthy as the adoption process itself…