a simple yarn

And I’m not talking about the pastel kind.

Walking home from the school bus stop brings me by the farm of Salt-Of-The-Earth-Neighbour-Sean. I was distracted from my morning chat over the fence by miniature noises. Bleatings, to be more precise.

Two lovely lads (or lasses…or one of each…I’m not sure) cautiously peek their heads from behind their mother, first among many to announce their presence in the animal world. Lambing season. Feeling like an observer of a James Herriot tale, I am delighted to now notice more frequently wee dots of fleece in nearby fields.

But, no camera. Geesh! I come back later, camera in hand, to find Mother-Ewe stuck in the fencing…

Apologies, Cultural Pronunciation Diversion Ahead:
When telling Farmer-Sean’s-Wife-Mary of the ewe’s predicament, I found myself pleasantly distracted by her lovely Irish pronunciation of ewe. Not ‘yew,’ as I would have been used to hearing, but rather ‘yo.’ Yo? Wonder where that originated? Hmm…

Anyway, Mary said she’d be down later, as busy farm wives have a full day’s work, so I go to see if I can shift her myself…the ewe, not Mary. Before releasing Mum, I can’t resist a few close-ups.

Is it my imagination or is this lamb smiling?

And I’m sure that’s a laugh!

Happy Leap Year!

… now what do I do with it?

Here it is.

Reminiscent of Cookie Monster or some other such Muppet, I’ve woven this sample with leftover placemat warp.
Not sure what to do with it.
Not really sure what it is.
Or even what it could be.

You see, during the Avoca-Yarn-Acquisition-Fever, I had occasion to wander into the weaving mill. Quite mesmerizing to watch. Equally fascinated by a machine cutting off selvedges from the woven fabric on the automatic loom.

Ah surely something could be done with ‘em, right?
Seems a shame to waste ‘em, eh?
Certainly a creative type could make use of ‘em, huh?
Wonder if they’d let me take ‘em, so?

At that moment, Yarn-Acquisition-Fever turned into Selvedge-Recycling-Frenzy and I was after the shop manageress to see if I could do them a good turn and take that waste off their hands. Very accommodating was she and my boot was tightly packed with industrial sized bags of the stuff. And feeling quite earth-friendly, I took them home…

…where they now sit awaiting their creatively recycled fate.

Hmm, with an interesting warp, these could be transformed into very-cool-scarf-wear.
Or maybe knit on super-jumbo needles.
Don’t want to revisit the fun-fur phase, though.

Any ideas?

Bit of a boring post to reflect boring knitting.

Sigh…stuck in my own little twisted-rib purgatory. Been working on the cabled yoke jumper from Vogue Knitting, but alas, no end in sight. Have a few challenges to face. Didn’t think I’d have to rework so much of the pattern to get what I want.

Alteration No. 1
Thanks to Blog-Commenter-Britt, the jumper, which appears to have a nice stand-up neckline, is in fact a trick of the camera. Further exploration on Ravelry proves that the amount of cables make for a floppy or large roll-down neck. Hmmm…will need to fix that, most probably by taking out some cable segments and surrounding stitches on each raglan sleeve which decreases into the neckline.

Alteration No. 2
Don’t quite fancy the way the seaming shows on the reverse stocking stitch on the raglan edge. Think I’ll need to join up the front, back, and sleeves as soon as I can and knit the yoke on circulars through the cabling to avoid that. Should have channeled a bit of EZ-circular-thinking when knitting the front and back panels.

Ah, just when I get to the interesting-non-twisted-rib parts, it’s time to divert to the sleeves…more twisted rib. Sigh (again).

And yet, as boring as the knitting is, it makes for good DVD watching. This weekend, an Irish favourite… ‘Waking Ned’ (otherwise known as ‘Waking Ned Devine’ in the US release). Right, so it certainly has countrified Irish stereotypes throughout, but a great example of quick and cheeky Irish wit. Super soundtrack as well.

… it’s not just for Christmas anymore.

When living in the US, the highlight of the Christmas season was invariably being the recipient of a lovely stollen baked by an equally lovely German friend. And so with fond memories, a few loaves of stollen were added to our Christmas festivities this year.

Since we gave most of them away during the holidays, I’ve still had a bit of yearning for something almondy. So, why wait until next Christmas to satisfy that desire?

While the recipe sounds complicated, it’s easily done in steps, most of which are waiting for the dough to rise.

Stollen
3/4 cup chopped candied citron (6 oz)
1/2 cup light raisins
1/2 cup light rum
4-1/2 cups flour
3 pkgs active dry yeast
3/4 cup warm milk
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1 large egg
2 tbl almond paste
2 tsp salt
2 tsp grated lemon peel
2 tsp vanilla
1/4 tsp nutmeg
3/4 cup sliced almonds
melted butter
powdered sugar

Marzipan (optional)
1 block marzipan
1/2 cup powdered sugar

For each loaf, use 1/2 of marzipan. Roll in powdered sugar until smooth—not runny. Soak citron and raisins in rum overnight. In large bowl combine 1 cup flour and yeast. Add warm milk; beat smooth. Cover and let stand at room temperature for 1 hour.

In small bowl, cream 1/2 cup butter, sugar, egg, almond paste, salt, lemon peel, vanilla and nutmeg. Beat into flour mixture. Stir in fruit and almonds. By hand, stir enough of the remaining flour to make a moderately stiff dough. Turn out on lightly floured surface, knead 5-8 minutes until smooth and elastic. Shape into ball. Put in greased bowl turning once to grease dough’s surface. Cover. Let rise in warm place 1-1/2 hours or until doubled in bulk. Punch down. Divide in half. Cover, let rest 10 minutes. Roll each half to 7”x10” oval.

If desired, place marzipan onto half of each oval. Fold long side to within 1/2” of opposite side and seal edge.
Place on greased baking sheets. Cover, let rise about 1 hour or until doubled. Bake in 350-375ºF/180-190ºC oven 20-25 minutes. Brush warm stolen with melted butter. When cool, dust liberally with powdered sugar.

I confess that I was less than pleased and left feeling a little ‘flat’ with the dough’s temper tantrum and unwillingness to rise. Ah well, it still tastes quite good, even while being a little shorter in stature. In looking at the photo, I also wonder about the glob of marzipan that sits in the middle. Hmm…think that next time I shall roll it out quite thinly and put it into the dough ‘swiss-roll’ style. Might make a nicer presentation I think.

But satisfied that there is an almond-something in the house, just have to heat the kettle for a nice cup of tea.

Warning: Completely fibre-less-cuz-eternal-twisted-rib-on-a-never-ending-jumper-doesn’t-make-for-exciting-reading cultural observation to follow…

Have you ever seen something repeatedly only to have it take on new meaning with the addition of one small thing? I’ve driven over these road hazard warnings for months now. An unmistakable message, right?

But seeing this…

…yes, that hearse sitting there…it’s with irony of the ‘noir’ kind that I realise these warnings are posted outside the cemetery. Huh, never noticed that before…

Warning:
If you get weak at the knees when viewing yarn (or you are my husband working on another continent at the moment), click away…now.

Annual Avoca yarn sale—a rather hit-or-miss proposition for buying discontinued yarn from this handweaving mill. Occasionally good deals to be had for the knitter, more options for weavers though. And they weave such lovely stuff, surely using their yarns will enhance my own weaving, right? Besides, extraordinarily good prices make the journey worthwhile…that and great craic when going with friends.

Thursday, 14 February
At Isobel’s suggestion—she, Holly and I, along with two daughters pile into the car, and I came away with this.

dark plum nubby yarn, gray wool, red cotton

Quite reasonable I’d say. A tour of the mill, however, inspires a quick dash for a few more cones.

gold chenille, orange-red nubby, red wool

Still, for lower-than-bargain-basement prices, it was a rather harmless day.

Sunday, 17 February
We find ourselves, along with Sara, traveling south to Wexford to visit Sharon.
‘Erm, how much of a diversion would it be to pop into Avoca?’
‘Think Sharon would mind us being a wee bit late?’
‘Probably not if we bring her something!’

cream and duck egg bouclé

A mental calculation of two days’ worth of purchases still gives me the green light of satisfaction.

Tuesday, 19 February
Ahem…recurring flashbacks to cones of yarn that got away continue to gnaw.
‘What if I’m not around next year for the sale?’
‘Why didn’t I pick up that chocolatey brown chenille?’
‘Wonder if they’ve added anything new?’
‘When is the sale over?’

So, fastening on mental skis to make the journey down the slippery slope more comfortable, I give up the fight, hop in the car for my third journey over the mountains. And without any need for external enabling, I shamelessly add this…

um, everything else…a nice weaving palette of wool, chenille, bouclé and yummy alpaca

Shall we have a (gulp) group picture of the purchases?

That’s it. All done. (For this year at least.)

While other minds ponder great intellectual or philosophical pursuits, mine gets hung up on how a unique word like ‘pudding’ can mean so many different things.

I was at the supermarket when my thoughts began to wander. I was standing in the meats section…bacon, sausages, things like that…and my eyes landed on the pudding.

You know, the black and white kind.
Well, more like bloodish-brown and deathly-gray.
The kind that’s fried and served with a full Irish breakfast.
The kind that’s made of unknown leftover animal bits.
The kind that, in my opinion, is rather revolting.

So why in the world, I wonder, did they decide to call it ‘pudding?’

In my North American frame of reference, pudding is a lovely custardy dessert. And if you really love your kids, you will make it on the stovetop…from scratch. But if you’re more of a modern mother, you’ll open the familiar little Jell-O brand box, add milk, stir, refrigerate, and you’re kids will make short work of it.

However, if you’re sitting next to my posh English friends, you might hear them say, ‘Mummy, what are we having for pudding?’ They aren’t asking if there’s a custardy concoction coming soon, rather they’re asking what’s for dessert. So how did the word pudding come to stand for all sweet things following dinner?

Illustration of ‘pudding’ from Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management, 1861

And yet, if you’re sitting somewhere in the British Isles during the Christmas season, you will more than likely see a Christmas pudding on the table topped with ever present brandy butter or rum sauce. If you’re lucky, it will be set alight. And if you’re really lucky, as we were, you may see someone’s sleeve catch on fire. Anyway, how did a goopy, underdone cake come to be called a pudding?

And then there’s Yorkshire pudding…more of a pancake gone wonky. Surely a quick internet search will clear things up.

Sadly, Wikipedia isn’t troubled by the vast differences in what makes a pudding a pudding and is rather all-inclusive to incorporate them all. How politically correct of them to quite simply outline it like this…!

3.1 Baked, steamed and boiled puddings
3.1.1 Savoury
3.1.2 Dessert
3.2 Creamy puddings

They also say the word pudding probably comes from the French boudin via the Latin botellus, meaning “small sausage,” referring to encased meats used in Medieval European puddings.

So as I look at the little-meaty-remnants-encased-to-make-a-sausage, I realise that these represent the original intent of what it means to be a pudding. Sigh. I just can’t accept that. And when I’m feeling the need should I say I’m going to rip open a little box of Jell-O-brand-chocolate-creamy-custardy-dessert-mix?

Nope…just gotta call it pudding.

And what appeared on my pincushion, fashioned by Daughter-Kate?

Happy Valentine’s Day…

Love Saartje’s Bootees…love felted booties…why not blend ‘em?

With a few modifications to Saartje’s lovely design, here’s a nice variation for baby knitting. You can find her original free pattern on her blog with the following adaptations…

Use 4.5mm/US7 needles
Use worted weight feltable yarn…picture features Lamb’s Pride.
Knit the bigger of the two sizes, which casts on 35 stitches.

If you’d like a wee bit of a stripe between the main colour and contrasting colour, Rows 19-20 are a great place for them.

On Row 27 (right strap): k11, co15 (instead of 12).
Rows 28-29: k 26
Row 20: k26
Add a Row 31: bo26

Repeat these instructions for left strap.

I didn’t make a button loop, but rather sewed the button onto the strap itself and used (at Holly’s good suggestion) Velcro instead, trying to minimize fiddliness in dressing a wiggly baby. I suppose if you don’t want to use Velcro, you could either—

a) sew the button as normal and cut a slit into the strap or
b) before felting, make a little elastic button loop on the strap or
c) make a button loop with feltable yarn, remembering to make it a little bigger for shrinkage

Now while I’m quite happy with the end result, I have to confess that this isn’t the first try.

Attention: A Spot The Difference Interruption
Can you spot the difference between the before-washing and after-washing pictures (apart from the buttons, that is…)?

Yep, Noro Silk Garden doesn’t felt.

Ah well, no great loss. Daughter-Kate is quite happy as one ‘baby’ in the house is now the proud owner of new booties.

Every now and then I get overzealous about the quantity of apples I buy for the Kiddies to eat…

It happened when two thoughts collided in my brain.
“Those apples are going to spoil if I don’t do something with them.”
“What shall I feed the kids for after-school snack?”

And so following the train of thought, out comes the food mill with applesauce in mind.

Warning: Cultural Comment on Applesauce
I find it interesting that in the US, applesauce is a mainstay in many a child’s diet. From individual portions to super-size-mega jars… extra-sweet to natural and unsweetened. In Ireland, however, applesauce is just that… sauce. It’s shelved with other add-it-on-the-side-in-small-portions sauces, like mint jelly, and generally comes in one very tiny jar. I wonder why that is? Is applesauce uniquely a North American cultural concept? Hmmm… might have to Google that…

Anyway, apples cooked and strained with a wee bit of organic/Fairtrade sugar (feelin’ really good about that!) and afternoon snack is done.

Um….hang on….that’s a lot of applesauce. Could freeze it, I suppose, or it just might spoil before we get it all eaten. Uh oh, here we go again…

And so following the (runaway) train of thought, out comes the flour with turnovers in mind.

And because I never intended to do any of this today, I might as well do one more variation, right?

Maybe next time I’ll just compost the overripe apples?

Here’s a mathematical equation I’m wrestling with:
Sit (Knit + Weave + Spin) + Winter Weather + Home Baking = Unwanted Kilos

I don’t like to exercise. By that I mean, I don’t fancy going to the gym and running with futility on a machine. Would rather take a bullet. But, get me out walking, digging, hauling, tugging, shifting, moving, sweating—I’m okay with that. It’s called synergy. If, in doing chores, I inadvertently get my heart rate up and do a few arm reps, righty-o, that’s great. So, taking a synergy approach to this…

I walk the children to the bus stop each morning.

View of The Lodge on the journey home.

I live in a lovely Irish valley.

I don’t have to rush to the job commute.

The weather is getting noticeably brighter.

Beautiful, but oh so prickly, gorse

Why not take the long-way-scenic route home?

And why not take my camera along?

With the rise in popularity of the ‘slow food movement,’ is a ‘slow communication movement’ also possible?

A few years ago, Daughter-Kate and I dug this rather unimpressive box out of a neighbouring skip.

While generally shabby, closer examination found it to bear certain marks of character and style…inlaid mother of pearl monogram, satin lining of the bluest blue, and an equally royal blue velveteen writing surface.

You see, we found a lovely old writing desk, reminiscent of another unhurried time, when correspondence was measured in weeks and months, rather than seconds and minutes.

In 1874, Platt Rogers Spencer would have advocated that “writing is almost as important as speaking, as a medium for communicating thought. For this reason it is said that ‘writing is a secondary power of speech, and they who cannot write are in part mute.’ Scrawls that cannot be read may be compared to talking that cannot be understood; and writing difficult to decipher, to stammering speech.”

Hmmm….wonder what my handwriting says of me (the above sample not being mine!)? Mostly that I’m hurried, I suppose, stammering lines on a page when I dare to pick up a pen at all. But I’ve always admired beautifully crafted letters on a page. Hey, I remember being taught Spencerian penmanship in primary school…!

With nothing preventing me but my own thinking and untrained hand muscles, why not shut my computer, pick up a pen, dip it in real ink and have a go? Do I think handwriting will replace the keyboard? Of course not, but you know, with practice my correspondence might have less of a stutter!