You Can See The Spring

We've had wild winds, rainstorms, icy cold nights and damp grey days. There is plenty more to come - after all it's still only mid-January. And yet, and yet, this is Ireland. You only have to look a little more closely to see that, incredibly, spring is already on its way, heralding its arrival in a dozen different ways. In the garden this morning, I found catkins on a little hazel tree.



In the flower beds, the sturdy grey-green shoots of daffodils were well up, and promising sheets of golden-yellow blooms within a month.



And down in the rose garden, there was even a single deep pink bud on the Cecile Brunner bush.



To be truthful, I think that happy and cheerful bush has continued to produce one or two blooms every month since last May, so perhaps this is an echo of last summer rather than a herald of spring, but a delightfully welcome guest nevertheless. In the first flush of summer, Cecile throws out a halo of small, pale pink blooms; in the autumn and winter she contents herself with single, deeper, and slightly larger flowers. I cut her energetic stems well back when they've finished flowering and up they come again, full of energy. She's a real trouper, unlike some of the missish and sulking standards I've inherited, which demand a great deal of attention for very little results.

We were out and about later in the day, talking to a farmer in the charmingly-named townland of Clashanimud near Innishannon, appropriately enough about daffodils.



Kieran Cronin grows daffodils for the market, following these with tulips, which make a bright show in his roadside fields. He used to send the early daffodils to America and Europe, but has found that bigger businesses, as well as the practice of importing exotica from Kenya and other sunny climes, has made it impractical. Now he contents himself with tying up bunches to sell from a roadside stall outside his farm. 'Tis backbreaking work,' he admitted as we shivered in the icy wind, 'but 'tis great to see all that mass of yellow at this time of year.' Oddly enough, he said, the weather has little to do with the blossoming time. 'They'll be out one or two days either side of February first, whether 'tis raining, hailing or snowing.'

I was delighted you liked the pictures of Tobago and so was Richard who put some more on the system for me to show you.



This scene straight out of Pirates of the Caribbean is actually known as Bloody Bay since there really were pirates here. Now it's peaceful and the only sound is the crash of the surf on the beach. That and the friendly voice offering fresh coconut juice, straight from the shell.

The birds are so colourful there that they were a constant stimulus and delight. I mean, look at these.





Some of you are probably used to humming birds (lucky you!) but we're always thrilled to see them up close. Most restaurants and hotels had feeders up, which attracted them in and thoroughly distracted us from whatever delicacies were being placed before us.



This was a white-necked Jacobin...



and this was a dear little Ruby Topaz female, building her miniscule nest in the fork of a thin branch. We discovered her at a secluded reserve within walking distance of our hotel. It was a restful and quiet place, a bit poignant because it had been an old cocoa and banana plantation which had been devastated by Hurricane Flora in the 1970s. The owner, a Mrs. Alefounder, couldn't afford to replant and wait all the necessary years to break even, so gave it to the island as a reserve for everyone to enjoy. I wondered as I sat there in the shady peace if she ever dreamed of her old life and imagined she was back there, living in the great house amid the rustling leaves.

This hummingbird's nest is so tiny you wouldn't believe it. A wedding ring would be a tight fit. She started by collecting strands of cobwebs and winding them round the twigs, and then gradually added soft moss and lichen, until it was a little bowl. The most beautiful fibre art I ever saw in creation, and she was so happy and contented and bright-eyed as she worked away tirelessly.

And the bats weren't all that were active at night. When there had been a shower of rain, the bull frogs got all happy and came out to croak at the top of their voices. DH rose instantly from bed, grabbed a torch, and headed down to the hotel gardens to find them.



All right, all right, back to the knitting. I worked away on the Shepherd's Vest, but then disaster. I decided I needed one more ball of yarn to complete it - and couldn't get the same dye lot. Now with a yarn that's meant to be a natural shade, that shouldn't be a problem, but it was. The new one was definitely yellow-tinged instead of oatmeal. Shoot! What to do now?



Here you can see the back and one front. Underneath on the right is the remaining original yarn, with the second front in progress. On the left is the new ball.

I had already made the pocket lining for the second front and attached it, so I ripped that back and re-made it in the new ball. That freed up some more of the original shade for the second front. Now I'm just going to work up the front as far as the old yarn goes and see if I can make it to the shoulder. If not, I have two options: (a) continue with the new yarn and hope for the best; (b) rip out a bit of the back, use that yarn, and re-finish the back with the new shade.

Which would you do?

Incidentally, when I was on Tobago I kept seeing people with these great clear plastic totes for their swim wear. Everybody it appeared had bought them in local shops. But when I went hunting there were none left. Pipped again! But then, slumped on a seat in utter exhaustion at Gatwick Airport, on the way home, awaiting the onward flight to Cork, what did I see in a branch of Accessorize, but some superb clear plastic totes. I think they must only be an airport thing, because I've never seen them in city branches of the chain. Bought two on the spot - £8 sterling each, but well worth it.



Here's the Shepherd's Vest all easily contained in one of them. Good, isn't it? Get thee to an airport with a branch of Accessorize.

Incidentally, after that worry over the non-matching yarn, I went briefly off the shepherd's vest. I instead seized on the chunky charcoal crop cardi (remember all the excitement over that way back in - oh, I don't know, November or something?) and started working on it again at top speed. I only have the rest of the final sleeve to finish after all, and then I will have COMPLETED A WIP. Keep you posted on that one. It would really be good to finish something just once in a while, wouldn't it? Sort of clear the way for new projects...

Speaking of which, I have AT LAST received the holiday issues of Vogue Knitting and Interweave. And about time too! The Vogue, I noticed with disquiet, was posted at Economy Rate back in early November, which doesn't speak too well for the successful speed of future issues. But it was wonderful to get them and I'm rationing myself to delightful little sessions at intervals, to make them last. Already I've seen something I want to make on almost every page! You're all used to them by now, and indeed have probably made everything already, but remember they're new to me and still exciting.

Nearly didn't get them - went into the post office on Monday to collect the backed-up mail but they told me it had gone out with Postie. Went home and waited impatiently, but no mail. Went in Tuesday and the same thing happened. Finally this morning, threatened World War Three and they held the big package of goodies until I got there and collected it. Which is how I am now treasuring Vogue and Interweave.

Oh and the very VERY best till last. Along with the knitting fix and all the inevitable bills and rubbish, came two wonderful packages. Look what the lovely Angeluna sent me!



This gorgeous little satin and brocade bag is clearly designed for only the most prestigious projects, to be hung elegantly from a beaded belt. And, I think, only Holz & Stein ebony circulars too, with probably silk and cashmere yarn. Angeluna honey, I'm going to have to live UP to this bag!



Here's another picture of it open, so you can see its lovely shape and the glorious satin lining. Even the little fastening button is a tiny green bell!

And I also got (what a fortunate womble I am) a package from my dear Dez in Louisiana. Dez and I did a swap - I sent her some of my Midwinter yarn, and she sent me - oh gosh, just feast your eyes on this bundle.



All the right sizes in bamboo circulars (a girl can never have too many circulars, you never know when you might want to start something new right away, and it isn't always a good idea to shift the current project off on to the sidelines because sure as dammit you'll forget what gauge needles you were using when you finally do get back to it - if you ever do), and round the perimeter there - yes, it is, it truly is Berrocco's Ultra Alpaca. Oooh, what shall I make with that buttery goodness?

What have you been making? What's on the needles right now? When are you expecting the spring? I know that if you live in Vermont or Whitehorse it is probably going to be almost June, whereas Dez and Angeluna never lost it in the first place, but I'm not so sure about everywhere else. Oregon? Dumfries? Iowa? Lapland? Peg, I know you're suffering icy conditions, because DH still gets the Vancouver Island birders' emails. Charity, are you still snowed in? Tell me how it is with you all.

I'M BACK, I'M BACK, and I MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH!

Just got in. Literally half an hour ago. The house is strewn with suitcases and bags and bits of things, and neither of us can find anything anywhere. The dogs have been retrieved from boot camp (actually they love staying with Eileen who spoils them rotten, and Sophie in particular has to be dragged away, but Muffy, bless her heart, howls with delight and leaps into the car by herself, so as to be sure of getting home as quickly as possible), and we have just lit the stove to give the poor neglected house a scent of warmth and belonging again.

Oh I did miss you. Did you miss me? I kept thinking of what you were all doing and once or twice even found myself sending telepathic messages about the things I was seeing and the places. Did you get them?

No chance of posting though. They hadn't really got round to the Internet yet where we ended up, although if I'd been willing to flash a gold credit card I might have got two minutes somewhere - until the electricity ran out, that is.

We got to Tobago. Tobago as in Trinidad-and-. There was an incredible last-minute bargain from Gatwick to an all-inclusive hotel so we went for it. Nine hours flying and another hour sitting on the tarmac at Antigua while the rich and famous disembarked, followed by a final hour flying south before we made landfall on the tiny green island, but it was worth it.



This must be the last Caribbean island to remain relatively undiscovered and unspoiled. It's really really small (about 8 miles wide by about 25 long) and covered with lush rainforest. And the people are so laid back you would not believe it! They move slowly, they laugh all the time, and nobody, but nobody, has ever heard of stress! Even the birds take it cool as they sashay up to the breakfast table to get their daily supply of fruit juice.



That's a bananaquit, otherwise known as the Sugar Bird because of his passionate addiction to sweet things. DH had a ball with all the exotic species of birds and blooms, as you can imagine.



This one's a blue-grey tanager. We immediately set up a feeding station on our balcony, so that we could lie in bed in the morning and watch all the different birds coming in to feed, but all changed dramatically when one night a bat flew right in, circled the room and flew out again. When you live with someone like my DH that can only mean trouble. Sleep was banished, fresh supplies were obtained from the kitchen (lucky for us the staff were so laid back and amused: 'Bananas at midnight, man? Sure, no-o-o-o problem!'), and he sat up all night (yes, really all night, I opened an eye now and then and there he was with a remote control clutched in his hand), getting shots of the bats coming in to feed on bananas.



Here's an early shot of one making a pass over the banana and an ashtray full of fruit juice (yes, I did rinse it out next morning, because I didn't think the chambermaid should have to do that). It's not easy to get shots like this - he'd rigged up flashes and then hung a shirt over the balcony rail to give a suitable backdrop to the beastie, but they still fly very fast and flutter their wings at an amazing speed. But the next night, he'd decided to swing the bananas from a cord and see what happened. It took the bats a bit of time to figure it out, but then they got the hang of it, both literally and metaphorically.





It's all right, they were fruit bats. Well they had to be, didn't they, or they would have been going for us rather than the bananas? Vampire bats are much smaller. They are, really!

What, I just heard someone enquire languidly, does this have to do with knitting? NOT A LOT, I have to admit. Just getting to Tobago was so exhausting that knitting seemed far too much effort. And then the heat was fairly debilitating - five minutes in the open and you were ready to collapse until you got used to it - so handling warm fibres didn't appeal as much as it usually does. Well of course I went hunting for yarn. You know me. It's instinctive. You search even when you don't think you are. But after a while it dawned on me that perhaps a Caribbean island wasn't exactly the most likely location for treasure finds of this nature. Casks of rum and chests of jewels yes, wool and cashmere no. The nearest I could find were the cute crochet cotton hats in bright stripes worn by some of the men to contain their lengthy and decorative dreadlocks. But they wouldn't tell me where they got the cotton. Or maybe they didn't know. But they must know! 'Hey, cool it man, where's the problem? What does it matter? Take it slow and mellow man!' Oh all right so. I'll have another rum punch.

Explored tiny offshore islets, home to Magnificent Frigate Birds and Red-Billed Tropic Birds. Took a day trip over to Trinidad to an amazing wildlife centre. Watched ethnic folk dancing and drank more rum punch. Played in the surf (quite an undertow, you had to watch it). Went to the weekly market and tried to identify all the different vegetables on sale. Had the occasional rum punch. And yes, I did work on the Shepherd's Vest. It's nearly done. Need one more ball of yarn and I can photograph it for you.

All this knitters' dieting of course has meant that I have returned more passionate than ever. Can't wait to get started on eleventeen new projects, designed in my head while reclining exhaustedly with a rum punch. Haven't even got the mail yet - will go and collect it in the morning and MAYBE, just MAYBE my Interweave Knits and Vogue Knitting will finally have arrived. These are the magazines to which I subscribed at the beginning of October last and they still hadn't come by Christmas. I enquired in the gentle patient tone to which you dear reader have become accustomed (no I DIDN'T, well, maybe a little, but they didn't need to take that tone, really) and was told that it took three months to process a subscription. Why? WHY?

Anyway it means that I'm going to be the only nutcase reading about holiday knits in February. Be kind if I mention them here. Remember that it may be old news to you but it won't be to me. Hopefully once they get that time lag sorted out, I should be getting future issues at roughly the same time as you do.

But I couldn't wait until tomorrow. I went online to my favourite Yorkshire mill, Texere Yarns just two minutes ago and ordered 100g each of white and black alpaca fibre plus another of a cashmere/wool/angora blend. Spinning is coming to the fore again. If I can't get the yarn I want, I might as well try to create it. And I want to make a lovely thick soft alpaca yarn. Isn't it funny the way we move from one aspect of creative craft to another at different times? The spinning wheel has hardly had any use over the past few months but now I can't wait to get going on it again. Hope I haven't lost the knack. Anne, you're the expert - is it difficult to spin alpaca? You've got time to answer - for some reason, packages take an eternity to get here from the UK, although they whiz across from North America.

And I promise, all those lucky bags I said I'd send out and didn't - they will go out now, in the next week or so. Once I've emptied the suitcases and done the laundry and combed the dogs and put on three more sweaters (takes a bit of time to adjust to Ireland in January after the West Indies) and - oh yes - checked to see if anybody still wants my writing skills. Have to pay for the trip after all!

And I'll be happy to post more pictures of Tobago if anyone wants them. Humming birds, street markets, folk dancers, endless white beaches. The best bit, though, was undoubtedly that wonderful laid-back Caribbean relaxation. You just couldn't imagine them getting worked up over everyday problems.

Got to go to bed. Jet lag is sweeping across my brain like a monsoon.

Oh I did miss you!

Now That's Over, Let's Get Back To Knitting - Please?

I will admit to being somewhat relieved that the whole Christmas thing is over. I love it, but really it does create an awful lot of extra hassle and stress, doesn't it? Clean this, tidy up that, decorate the tree, bake some more mince pies, discover when the post arrives that there are twenty-seven people to whom you omitted to send cards, run out of firewood, saw another load, buy far more food than necessary... but you all have lists just like that, don't you? We're all victims of the great pressure to make this time of year perfect when life just isn't like that. And with all that extra work, how many of you found any time at all for knitting? I certainly didn't. Oh I meant to. I kept looking forward to it, promising myself a lovely relaxing session, 'once that's done, once I've finished those, once...' It just never happened.

Of course we were working over Christmas. I didn't have any problem with that, since those with small children definitely need the time off more than we do; but it did mean that there wasn't much time for slouching in front of a television set with a strong drink and an open box of chocolates conveniently close. Just for a little while, it would have been nice to kick back and be an absolute sloven, you know?

But Christmas Day in West Cork means enthusiastic swimmers so out we sallied at an early hour to catch first one lunatic lot and then another, on chilly windswept beaches where waves roughly the temperature of an Arctic ocean crashed and beckoned.



Here they are, tearing towards the water.



Even Santa got in on this lot, although I noticed that he wore his long woollen underwear which was probably sensible. And I'll tell you one thing - nobody stayed in too long. About ten seconds was the average. Lookit, Irish waters in midsummer are so cold they almost burn your skin. On December 25 - well, imagine it for yourself. Me, I never go into the sea unless I'm in Goa or Kerala. Mountain streams now and again, but not the cold grey Atlantic.



And after the freezing swimsuits had been stripped off and rough towels applied, there was of course a drop of the hard stuff dispensed from the back of a van to all and sundry (no, no, honestly, the kids were having hot soup, I checked).

By the time we got home we were ready to relax ourselves, but the dogs were waiting for their present opening session so that had to come first. They get a toy each from the local thrift store, and these are lined up in the sitting room so that each can choose her own. At least that's the plan, but naturally tempers fray and possession becomes nine tenths of the toy...



In this picture Muffy is losing her temper on the left while Sophie is being forcibly restrained from snatching both toys and retreating to the landing. Sophie really really wanted the little yellow lion...



and she did get to play with it for a while



before Nemesis in the shape of Muffy the Yarnslayer arrived


But it's ok, Sophie got a big brown squashy dog thing instead which cheered her up immensely. In the meantime of course, Senior Dog Tasha had quietly secured the blue teddy and retreated to the Doghouse where she spent the remainder of the day giggling quietly to herself.



This tiny doghouse has proved a huge success with Tasha who, although undoubtedly Senior Dog, sometimes suffers through being also the tiniest and therefore easily knocked over or threatened by her heavier companions. She took to the enclosed shelter like a duck to water and isn't likely to give it up. I've tied little bells to the top so that when you hear them jingling, you know she's fooling around in there.

On St. Stephen's Day (Boxing Day to you English, December 26 to the New World) the Poc Fada or Long Puck takes place on many Irish boreens. This is played by hurling enthusiasts who take turns to hit the ball as far as they can along the road.



It's nice to see it still being played with enthusiasm by all ages, even in a world where computers and playstations have taken over from older pastimes and long may it continue, although our roads are not as quiet as they used to be.

We also found time to wassail the apple trees on St. Stephen's Day. (That's pouring libations around their roots and wishing them well, for anyone unfamiliar with the custom.) We happen to have inherited quite a few bottles of utterly undrinkable home-made wine (and believe me, when I say undrinkable I really do mean it) which prove admirable for the purpose.



It also pleases me mightily to be able to return to the good earth that which came originally from it. May the trees wax strong this spring and bear beautiful pink and white blossoms.

Enough is enough, though. We have worked hard without break for what seems like a lifetime (a few months anyway). We have endured grey skies, rain, wind, more grey skies, more rain, more wind. And did I mention the grey skies? We may celebrate the solstice but in Ireland we know in our hearts that the worst is still to come. The days may be lengthening but the weather 'twixt now and the first daffodils is so awful in Ireland that a saint would emigrate. After all, St. Brendan had good reason to head for America in his little boat of skins. He'd had enough of the Irish winter too! Those of you who are thinking of visiting this little Emerald Isle, take heed and wait until March or April. Then you will be surprised by blossoms and enchanted by soft weather. But only its mother could love Ireland right now (well, maybe Angeluna too, who lives in a state where dry aridity is the norm and rain a welcome blessing).

All this leads up to the fact that we too are going to get the heck out of here for a week or two. Have to go over to the UK for a couple of jobs at the weekend anyway, and will grab a last-minute bargain at the airport after that. You know, the kind of thing where you can get a fortnight in the sun for a snip as long as you're ready to leave in ten minutes. Am packing a pair of shorts and a T shirt and bidding DH to do the same. Don't care where it is as long as it hasn't seen a rain cloud in ten years.

Yes, yes, I hadn't forgotten. I'll also take, as well as the shorts and T shirt, two or three WIPs. The Travelling Cables, you think? And perhaps the Celtic Vest. Plus one tiny sneaky little new project. I saw a nice shawl pattern in Nanci Wiseman's Shawls Stoles and Scarves and realised to my amazement that I actually had the yarn suggested! 'Tis no ordinary yarn either but Prism's Cool Stuff (yes, gasp away, I did have two skeins of that unbelievably expensive stuff squirrelled away for a rainy day, and is this one heck of a rainy day). I hauled it out and wound it into two balls, using my dear little antique swift.



You can see the Celtic Vest there in the background - it hasn't progressed much over Christmas. Hopefully I'll have more to show when I get back from this sun fix.

I will try to post while we're away, I promise. I just don't know if we'll be anywhere that has Internet access. Is it possible to find somewhere with the Net but without crowds and over-development? Probably not.

If all else fails, look for me around the end of the second week in January. I'll be thinking about all of you and missing you. But I'll be back, full of beans and chock-full of ideas for yet more new projects. Love you.

'Twas The Night Before Christmas...

...and why does Christmas always have to be so busy? I thought that once the writing deadlines were out of the way, it would be time to relax and knit. Then I thought that once the shopping was really finally finished, it would be time to relax and knit. THEN I thought that once the presents were wrapped, the house tidied up, the dogs combed, the holly placed, the tree brought in and decorated, the ironing put away, it would definitely be time to relax and knit....

It's almost midnight. Santa, although not scheduled to leave the North Pole for another seventeen minutes or so, has probably left already, so as not to get caught up in the traffic jams at Caribou Crossing (yes, I watched Polar Express last night while ironing, doesn't everybody?) I have finished all the gifts, except for a quilt for my brother (he's not calling until tomorrow evening so that gives me a little extra time to do the hand-finishing on the border). Even the knitted gaiter or neck ring or polo neck minus the pullover for DH is done. It nearly wasn't, as I was working frantically away on the quilt for DB (my brother whom I love dearly never asks me for anything so when he diffidently suggested a couple of years back that I might make him a quilt I was deeply touched. He has a little camper van and wanted a quilt to put in there to make it homely.

Let me tell you right here and now that deep sisterly love plus being deeply touched at the request, despite the major total these make, do not add up to getting the job done immediately. Oh the intention was there, it was there in spades - but life got in the way. Last night, in the throes of utter pre-Christmas exhaustion, I reluctantly accepted that once more the deadline was gone and I hadn't made it. He'd have to wait another year.

But this morning, life didn't seem so bad. In between jobs, surely I could haul out the fabric, sew it together, make up the quilt top by lunchtime? If I could do that, then I could hack the rest of it during the evening.

I could, I did. It's almost done. I had to tear myself away from it this evening to ensure that DH's knitted gift got done and wrapped at ALL. Tomorrow, in between yet more jobs, will see DB's quilt completed and wrapped up, along with a basket of goodies, awaiting his arrival.

Yes, more jobs. Not my own, in actual fact, but DH's. He, given that several of his colleagues have produced tiny offspring this festive season (must be the climate, and yes, more quilts, more quilts, happily tiny ones!) has nobly offered to work Christmas Day (some poor photographers have to, else there would be no images in the next day's papers). And I can do no less than to accompany him, flask of reviving coffee and crisp rolls to the ready. So far we just have to cover two festive swims (brave folk indeed, and sooner them than me, and yes, you can be certain the whiskey bottles will be very much in evidence on the draughty Irish beaches tomorrow morning, and OK I will get pictures for you) and probably a few Christmas morning babies too, before retiring gratefully to our own fireside to open presents and give the dogs a bit of attention. They, I can reveal to you now (they're tucked up and dreaming of sausages, and won't be reading this until tomorrow) have a toy each from the local thrift store, plus one retreat bed (one of those tiny dog beds that is really a little house into which a reclusive sort of midget can retire if in a bad temper, and repel all invaders) to share. I've hung bells on the roof and from the entrance, and wait with interest to see which one has the courage to investigate first (my money is on Tasha, aka La Princesse Natasha de St. Petersburg) who knows no fear.

Being traditional in this household, we lit the Christmas candle a while ago, and set it in the window for a reasonable time, to light the Christ Child home. (The youngest in the house should have lit it, but Sophie cannot be trusted with matches). Then I switched on a programme on the Ballet Russes and opened a bottle of Kinsale Brewing Company's Christmas Ale. This is delightful season-only stuff, spiced with all kinds of aromatic goodies and it goes down very well with a chocolate or two and pleasant archive footage of Balanchine and Massine and Anton Dolin and Alicia Markova (interviewed that lady once and it was the first and only time I saw the photographers, hardened paparazzi to a man, drop their gear and stand to attention when she made her entrance, swathed in sables and looking superb despite her seventy-odd years).



Here, for you, our Christmas candle and a bottle of Kinsale Christmas Ale. I cannot do better than repeat the maxim on the label.

Nollaig shona dhuit. A happy Christmas to you and yours. May the night go well with you, and the day tomorrow, and may all those who pass your threshold feel the peace of Christmas.

And Midwinter blessings to you all

It's the feast of Midwinter, and joyous the time. The solstice, and the turning back of the sun towards our darker lands. The fire is lit and a special dinner prepared. I have put on a long velvet skirt (with purple silk petticoat because I like the swishy sound), I'm wearing pearls and amethysts (not that any evil spirits would dare to approach on a night like this) and to be entirely practical on a raw foggy night, I have also pulled on knee length Ugg boots. I look great as long as I don't raise my skirts an inch from the floor. I have a huge glass of Chardonnay (OK so it should be mead or at least poteen punch, but I still have to get through dinner without falling asleep in a heap on the floor) by the computer as I type. Greetings to you all, and love on this Midwinter day.

Watched Irish news a little while ago on television, seeing the great annual event of Newgrange, where the rising sun at Midwinter pierces through a tiny slit in the great mound, pours down a long stone passage, and floods the central chamber with light. People beg, book, bribe to be there for that experience; but for you alone, here is a picture of a rather secret and special stone circle not twenty miles from my home here.



This is Lissyvigeen, which lies off the main Killarney road, up a side lane, through an old gateway, across two fields, past two huge sentinel standing stones, through a dark and tangled wood. You wouldn't come across it by accident, that's certain. We only heard about it by chance and went to pay homage. The picture was taken rather nearer to midsummer than now at midwinter, but the power of the place is evident, isn't it? Sometimes when I visit I find a little bunch of flowers or a budding branch placed in the centre of the circle. Others feel its power too.

We've had a welcome respite from wild winds and soaking rains over the past few days (sorry,Peg, I know you're still enduring dreadful conditions over there on Vancouver Island). We've been waking up to encircling mists and cold foggy days which are more festive in many ways than the damp mild rainy ones. It makes for great pictures too and DH has had a field day. The other morning he took a circuitous route to work via Dripsey Castle (most routes around here lead past castles in fact, so it's not that difficult) and found two graceful swans emerging from the mist.



And when I was in Killarney the other evening at dusk, the lake in front of Muckross House took on a strangely beautiful magic of its own as the mists rose.



There are times, I admit it, when I scream and stamp and rant for Joann's and Hobby Lobby and Michael's, when I yearn to live slightly closer than several thousand miles from somewhere - anywhere - that stocks rosewood circulars, but at times like this I know I am blessed to live in Ireland.

Enough of this. To the knitting, to the knitting. Geraldine, bless her heart and thoughtfulness, sent me a link to the marvellous See Eunny Knit . Just go over there and see those Bayerische socks! Go on - I'll have a sip (well, a slug really) of Chardonnay while you're gone.

Pretty spectacular, huh? Now I've got to get going on those. I simply can't live without trying them out. After the Dawn Brocco cutaway cables and the Travelling Cables cardi and the Celtic Vest and the Shepherd's Vest and the Charcoal Chunky Crop Cardi, that is. At the moment, working flat out on a GIFT FOR DH, which obviously can't be mentioned or pictured here (he reads this blog y'know, so be careful in your comments, but yes, he did know about the picture of rugby-playing Donncha in the semi-altogether, so it's all right).

Like Stephanie Pearl McPhee, I don't know why I'm always so shocked to find Christmas creeping up. It's not like it was unannounced or anything. And this week all the editors have been screaming for two weeks' copy in advance so they can sneak off and get drunk or love their families or something, so it's been pretty hectic. Wall to wall pantomimes every night too. (New World readers may be unfamiliar with pantomime but UK aficionados will nod sagely. Anyone who needs a brief history of pantomime and why it is essential to scream 'Oh no it's not!' several times throughout a performance, just let me know.)

I did get round to divesting Nicholas Bear of his customary sweater and jeans and dressing him up in his Santa outfit. Here he is in his rocking chair, prior to the divesting, with Sophie being somewhat suspicious (ok, I admit I bribed her with a doggie sweetmeat on Nicholas' knee).



(I really must clip her fringe before Christmas.)

And here he is, all dressed up for the festive season.



The briefcase holds his Swiss bank account, naturally. What else? (Actually this is a strange tale. Many long years ago I invented a background for Nicholas Bear, and decided he was really a Swiss banker. Then I decided he needed a (non-existent in teddy bear terms) brother, whom I christened Julius. Why? Oh I think it was because I'd found the tiny briefcase in a shop and it suggested banking. Anyway, years later, I was in Switzerland and discovered -guess what? Yes, there was a renowned financial firm headed up by Nicholas and Julius Baer. I thought I'd better not invent any more stories after that.

Now here's something very very special. I've kept it until last because it still moves me so much I wanted to wait a while. I got a tiny package in the post this morning, yes on Midwinter morn. It came all the way from Lapland, and in it I found...




Lene sent me these. And they arrived at the solstice. Aren't they the most beautiful things you ever saw? They brought a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes. As they should to yours.

I'd better show you just how tiny these exquisite things are. Here is one of the miniature mittens, next to a ruler.



That glorious little thing is two inches long. Look at that thumb! It's all of 3/4 of an inch! Lene, did you knit it with fairy needles and gossamer yarn?

The mittens and the heart are bookmarks, and will be treasured and used for the rest of my life, on the most special of my books, but right now they're precious motifs which will be hung on the Christmas tree and honoured throughout this festive season.

Lene.

Thank you.

Blessings of Midwinter.

Yet More Wonderful Cables

I definitely think I've got a bad addiction to cables at the moment. Cables and motifs and anything involving twisting several stitches out of alignment and back again at regular (or indeed irregular) intervals. Blame Elsebeth Lavold (whose wonderful Viking Patterns for Knitting arrived the other day, yay!) for creating such incredibly beautiful designs that you can't wait to try them out.

Funny thing about that Viking Patterns. I deliberately chose to order it from an English online bookstore because of the ruinous American postage. They then told me that it would in fact be sent from their American partners. OK, that was all right, the postage was still far lower than it would be if I'd ordered it directly from the US - didn't know how that worked, but I wasn't complaining. Then, remarkably quickly, the book itself arrived - not from the UK, not from the US, but from New Zealand! Now can you tell me how it is that I can order a book at reasonably fair postage from the UK, be told it will come from the US, and end up getting it very quickly, from NZ? Answers on a postcard please (that saves postage, you know).

And then, having drooled over the glorious patterns and designs in Viking Patterns, I was wandering peacefully around the Internet and came across the most amazing scarf pattern.



Willya look at that? Cables with no background, how cool can you be? (Pretty cool actually, when you see the width - or rather the thinness - of the scarf. Not for snowy conditions that one, but oh so beautiful.) This is the brainchild of Dawn Brocco who obviously has the kind of designing mind I wish I had but don't. I immediately ordered the pattern of course - and then berated myself ten seconds later for not having paid the extra dollar and downloaded it right away. But I sighed and settled myself to wait several weeks. Next day, however, I was still thinking about that scarf so went online again and found another of the amazing Dawn's designs - this time an Aran headband, ideal to wear on windy days if you find hats a bit claustrophobic.



Didn't hesitate, but paid to download a pdf file immediately and got going on it before I'd even taken a second to print off the pattern. Worked on it all evening and had it done by the next morning - it's one of those lovely little projects that you could make quickly as a gift.



Mine doesn't look quite as good as the original, I think, but that is because (a) I made it in a rather fine silk/cashmere ** and (b) I was a little too enthusiastic at the damp blocking stage and flattened it more than is really a good idea for Aran patterning. I've given it a gentle wash now and hopefully it will fluff up again. But isn't it a cute idea? And I've emailed Dawn Brocco to tell her I think her designs are stunning. Go and look at them - they're amazing. I'll make one in red next, I think. And the scarf pattern turned up in three days! So of course I had to get going on that too. Actually I've already started - in that red cashmere which has been feeling so upset since it was forcibly retired to the sidelines after the Alice Starmore contretemps. It's quite happy now, being used for something lovely, and I wanted a bright red scarf anyway.

[** No you do not know this fine silk/cashmere in natural. Nobody knows about it . It's mine, all mine and no it's not going on eBay along with the pastel shades of the same yarn that I'm listing at the moment, and it's not going NOWHERE, you understand? I've been hoarding it for ages and I want to make the Michael Kors Aran from the fall issue of Vogue Knitting in it. So you're not getting your paws on it. Not a chance. Not even chocolate bribery will work on this one.]

SPEAKING of being forcibly retired to the sidelines, I thought you might like a little sporting interest in here. A spot of rugby anyone? New World readers may be unfamiliar with rugby - it's a very rough game played with a rather odd-shaped ball by very burly young men who like being trampled in the mud. Now the Munster team (loud cheers, it's our local one) has been very successful lately, crushing all opposition, but the other day things got a little sticky on the pitch.



The rather tall young man in the middle, with the unusual taste in netherwear, is Donncha O'Callaghan, who is, in this picture, in the process of being sent off for inappropriate dress. Don't know quite how it happened, but he somehow became divested of his regulation issue shorts during a rather energetic scrum. Fortunately he had his lucky red undies on, or there might have been panic in the stands. This picture comes to you courtesy of the Irish Examiner, and you might well be able to read up the full front-page story on that worthy paper's website should you so care to do. Can't really imagine how it was front page news, can you? I mean, with politics and the weather and taxes to talk about...

Anyway I thought you'd like a little healthy sports input for a change.

Now back to the knitting. Took a short trip to London yesterday, hankering for a spot of big city retail therapy. England's capital at this time of year really isn't a good idea, but I wanted a change so took the risk and the early Ryanair flight (you can get these flights for ridiculously low prices if you book in advance - I think I paid about €40 including all taxes and charges for a day return). Headed straight for lovely Loop in the highly fashionable suburb of Islington.




I like this shop. It's tiny but has a great selection of the more unusual yarns, including Colinette and the Be Sweet range.




Susan, the owner, and Linda, who works with her, couldn't be more friendly and helpful. They were very patient with my scrabbling around among the Colinette skeins (they have that new sock yarn , Jitterbug, which comes in some incredible colour ranges) and even (albeit reluctantly) agreed to pose for one quick shot.



Susan's at the front here, with Linda behind her.

I had such a good time that I stayed far too long (remember I only had a few hours in London) and rushed off to my next hit, only to recall half a mile down the road that I'd forgotten my yarn, and had to go all the way back again.



Here's a laughing Linda bringing the bag out to me as I gasped in, breathless.

On the way down into Oxford Street I met the most delightful pup in fashionable winterwear.



No, it wasn't knitted, but he said his owner had promised him a cabled cardi for Christmas so he was hopeful.

Liberty of London is one of those legendary places you have to visit whenever you're in town, and I always do. It looks great at Christmas, especially when dusk is falling.



Inside it's just as dramatic, with galleries rising all around a central atrium, the whole lot in ancient dark polished wood - not a hint of steel or concrete anywhere.



The yarn department is tiny, just a corner off the floor which houses the famed Liberty print fabrics, but it does have some quite nice stock.



(After I'd taken this picture, one of the staff told me I wasn't allowed to photograph the yarn. Why on earth not? Did they think I was going to copy it? She was apologetic and said that they had lots of visitors who wanted to be photographed in front of their yarn shelves, but that it wasn't allowed, and that was that. I used the old ploy of saying fine, OK, I'd delete the pics right away, and working busily on my camera - and then doing nothing of the sort.)

Went to John Lewis as well, which is the other source of yarn in London (that's it, you've had the three central ones, there aren't any more unless you journey a fair way outside), but it was really too crowded and hot and unpleasant to take any pictures and they didn't have anything unusual - although I did succumb to a rather nice pattern book from Rowan.

With airport security as high as it is these days, you have to spend more time than you would like in the terminal, and I was back there in good time, getting a bit done on the Blackberry Pie socks on the train.



(Will have to get DH to take a better picture of these so you can see the little alternating cables clearly.)

It wasn't as bad as previously - only about an hour to get through security - so got home in reasonable time, but tired out all the same. A fairly moderate stash from the trip, but then it was as much for the quick fix of different place, different atmosphere, different sounds as anything else. I did take a picture of it, but it looks so awful that I think I'll wait until tomorrow and try again.

In the meantime, yes, the eagle-eyed among you have already noted that not only have I not reported in on the myriad WIPs, but I have started yet another one - the new red Dawn Brocco cabled scarf. (Hopefully you didn't notice that I started and finished a tiny project overnight, so that doesn't really count.) This has got to stop. From now until Christmas, only current projects and gifts - in fact only gifts now that I come to check the date - are to be allowed. I must go and change my beloved teddy bear's clothing from his customary casual sweater and jeans to his Santa Claus outfit, and look out the decorations first, though. 'Tis time, 'tis time.