Seasonal Tales And Skeining Yarns

I was struck by how many people responded joyfully to my mention of Susan Cooper's Dark is Rising sequence and how many of you read this wonderful fantasy series regularly. I loved the thought of it being read and enjoyed every Christmas, (as Rosie certainly does, and Chris as well and many more) and that got me thinking of all those other books which I traditionally bring out at this season to pile by the fireplace and browse through between now and the New Year. What are your festive favourites?


Top of the list for me, every year since childhood, is Dickens' Christmas Carol. At first I read it for those wonderful descriptions of a Victorian Christmas - the shops crowded, everybody full of goodwill for mankind, the delights of the Cratchits' festive table - but now I see far more in it - a plea for genuine good feeling for all our fellow creatures and a generous heart for those less fortunate than ourselves. It's been filmed many times, but nothing can beat the sheer magic of the original 1840s tale. I've read this in many editions, in many parts of the world around Christmas Eve - London, North Africa, the Tirol, Tobago, California, even Kathmandu - and it never fails.


For the past decade or so, Lucy M. Boston's The Children of Green Knowe has come out of the juvenile bookcase in early December and into a place of honour by the fire. I only discovered this classic in relatively recent years when I saw that perfect gem of a BBC production one winter. I wish, oh I wish they would repeat it, or if not, bring out a DVD; fortunately a friend had taped the series and gave me a copy, but it's not very good and I live in fear of its disintegration. The BBC film is such an exquisite interpretation of an amazing book - everybody should read of this wonderful ancient house in the Norfolk Fens where children of different centuries play together and dark dangerous powers emerge late at night.


Then of course there is the evergreen 'Twas The Night Before Christmas. I have loved this poem ever since I saw an old black and white movie version for the first time as a toddler; now I have picked out a really well illustrated large-format copy and open a different page for each day in December.


Susan Cooper's Dark Is Rising volume will of course be there, with its wonderful evocation of woodlands and whisperings and strange happenings one Christmas when a young boy realises his destiny. There is so much of the old knowledge, the old wisdom in this book that I think Susan Cooper must have been - well, if not of the old religion, then certainly very well versed in it.


And another poem, one very dear to my heart, Robert Frost's Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening. I've always loved that, and when, some years ago, I discovered a beautifully illustrated version in an American bookstore, I made Richard buy it for me. I could have bought it for myself, but I felt very strongly that it should be a gift. The pictures are heart-turningly lovely. I'll get Richard to copy a few and put them on for you to enjoy over the next few weeks.


I'm sure there are more but I can't think of them right now. Do tell me your festive special reads - the books you choose to curl up with when the wind is blowing outside and the fire is flickering brightly. There is something about reading that television can never replace. (Although I will admit to watching Polar Express several times during December - have it on DVD. Yes, and Ghost Train too.)


It's been a very busy couple of days, skeining up a whole bunch of glorious mohair yarns to list on eBay. I've been trying to do this for a week, but work commitments simply wouldn't let me. However, made a real push last night and eventually this morning it was just about fine enough to photograph them. Richard had to lend a hand - the watery sunshine wasn't sufficient to do justice to the colours, so he had to bring in his flash photography know-how.


Here is one of the finished results of his work:





Two fine kid mohairs there, to left and right, lavender and pale pistachio green respectively; the others are all heavier gauge. Two variegateds from the Elements range - Earth to the left, Fire to the right, with that unusual greeny-blue mohair in between (Ms. Knitingale you recognise that one, don't you?) Plus turquoise, black and a lovely silvery grey that positively shimmers like a dewy spider's web.




And here is a rare picture of the photographer in action, snapped quickly by me while he was otherwise occupied. He'll not be best pleased to see this up on the post; it is his firmly held conviction that a photographer does NOT himself get captured on screen.


All up and listed now, so I can relax on that front for a while. Next week I'll list some more sock yarns and a few colours in that lovely merino 'mousse' yarn which I think would be ideal for kimonos and the like, being soft, warm and very very light. I'm certainly going to use that for my proposed charcoal/poppy red kimono creation - WHEN I get round to it!

In the meantime, although several pairs of socks, St. Enda, Dogi Vest and Ragna are all clamouring for my attention, I am having to restrain myself forcibly from winding up dear Roggey's Seasilk, threading on the beads, and starting straight into a Swallowtail...

Temptation, Thy Name Is Sock Yarn

We've had some really cold weather here recently (well, cold for us - don't suppose Lene or Charity or Laurie M would consider it cold just because it got down close to zero for one or two nights). But it was enough for me to dig out the heavier duvet and get the stove lit in the evenings, while the days were beautifully clear and chilly, with those trees which still had their leaves showing off to a fine degree. It won't last of course - that's one of the main differences between West Cork and Lapland - as milder weather and rain are forecast, but it was nice to wear sweaters and see bright skies for a while.








Here is Carrigaphooka castle almost upstaged by this splendid tree, just a few miles from home, on the Killarney road. Carrigaphooka stands on a rocky little outcrop overlooking the river valley and I've known it since childhood, playing around its ruins quite happily without ever meeting the Puca himself. Still, he's more likely to play tricks on inebriated men staggering home late from the pub, throwing them across his back and making off with them to the far side of the mountain, there to dump them in a boggy morass and leave them to find their own way back. No harm in him really, just mischief.


Sophy Wackles has decided she doesn't like cold weather, and spends much of the time (until I catch her), roosting on my favourite knitting chair with a close companion.








Can you tell which one is which?



Now for a fanfare. The Blue Ridge Mountain Socks are finished! These are the ones in the Claudia Handpaint with which I had some trouble, if you remember - or with one of which I had trouble, to be accurate. In the end I decided that if I didn't make a determined push, they were never going to be done, so I pretended we were back in the insanity of Sock Madness and knitted like it was 3 am and the deadline was first light (been there, done that, I know some more of you have too). And so they were FINISHED at last.








Today was rather a special day in fact. I wore not only the new Blue Mountain socks (which are divinely comfortable and make my feet feel really happy), but ALSO that little vest in blue I whipped up for instant gratification earlier this year (crochet, but don't hate me for that, please - it really does work up far more speedily). I think it's the first time ever I've worn two items that I've made - three if you count each sock individually, and considering the time that goes into each one, I think that's only fair. Oh this is Wear What You Make with a vengeance!






I was so pleased at this success, that when we were passing through Cork University today on a job, I got Richard to take a picture of my elegantly clad self in the main quad. You can't see the socks or the vest particularly well, but with a background like that, who cares?



Of course having actually finished a project has the instant effect of igniting the desire to start several more. And the newest love affair is with Ragna. You know, Ragna from Elsebeth Lavold's Viking Knits.







This one. I love the medieval-style tabs at the bottom. I'm going to make it a bit narrower than the original since I think that would be a bit too loose and floppy on me. Got a cone of very nice dark charcoal 'cashwool', which is I think actually merino, very smooth and silky and soft. Unfortunately it's also very fine, so I have had to ply it by six to get gauge, which leads occasionally to splitting problems, but that's a minor price to pay for such beautiful aristocratic yarn.


Have only made one tab so far, but it shouldn't take too long to get another three done for the back. Or maybe I should go the whole hog and make the entire sweater in the round up to the armholes, what do you think? Heidi in Denmark and I are doing a kind of friendly KAL on this - I saw her started project on Ravelry and praised it while swearing gently at her for tempting me beyond endurance. Now we're swapping progress stories. Oh and while I think of it - go check out her list of good knitting resolutions. They are hilarious - as well as sobering, since most of us have thought of most of them quite often, even if we never keep them.



So Ragna is already on the needles. Another project. Will it be finished before or after the charcoal/poppy red kimono? And how about poor neglected St. Enda? And just LOOK at what arrived in the post from darling Roggey!






Yes ma'am, that suttinly is Seasilk! And those are the most gorgeous beads to go with it. What kind of nice person ARE you, Roggey? We've been exchanging surprise packages, but Seasilk... Listen, what, WHAT can I make to do justice to that yarn and those beads? Suggestions please - this is one project that I will have to get right from the beginning. Can you imagine frogging Seasilk? With or without beads? No, neither can I. I just wouldn't have the nerve. Lynn, you did something exquisite with beads, as I remember. Tell me what to make!


And further temptation has come my way today with a wicked and entirely undeserved trip over to the Knitivity website to see what divine new sock yarns Ray had dyed up. I simply can't resist his creative colourways. You remember that glorious Watermelon that I am making up into my Bishop's Lace Socks (no, not for the bishop to wear, silly, for me to wear under a long black skirt so that I can flash the socks and cause him to drop his mitre or whatever). Anyway, I thought the Watermelon might be feeling lonely while it was waiting, so I went over and had a look and fell for these two (well actually I fell in love with a whole lot of them - go look yourself and I defy you not to be tempted, I myself immediately got on to Angeluna, and we emailed back and forth, drooling over the divine options, that girl is no help, BUT NO HELP when it comes to seeking assistance in resisting temptation, she's worse than I am, where was I?) ANYWAY, these were the two I chose.










Blue Jeans (I'm telling myself the resultant socks will be a gift for a friend, but who am I kidding, I won't let them out of my grubby little paws);







- and Glacier Lake which looks so beautiful I want it right here, right NOW. Hurry up, Ray!

You get good yardage from Knitivity, so I might make these as spectacular kneesocks. I love what Ray does, and I think he is one helluva guy, adjusting like that to a new life in Texas after being made homeless by Hurricane Katrina, so he doubly deserves to succeed. Let's hear it for Ray and Knitivity!

It's been one of the busiest weeks I remember, with constant deadlines and waking up each morning with the nagging thought that something is still unwritten that is now urgent. More work kept piling on top, until the temptation to go hide in a cabin somewhere with the latest pair of socks was almost irresistible. Slightly less frenetic now, though, and maybe, just maybe, by tomorrow night I might be able to post up some yarns on eBay. This week's are all going to be mohairs - some laceweight kid mohairs, some heavier ones, all colours and shades. Anyone thinking of making scarves, stoles or shawls for Christmas presents, get your supplies here. They'll all be listed with the Celtic Memory tag, so if you go into Mohair and search for Celtic Memory, you should find them all.

I hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving. We celebrated it here too at home, since we thought we had a lot to give thanks for. One of my biggest causes for thanks is the number of friends I have made since starting blogging. I would not have believed it possible that so many of us could know each other so well all over the world. It has got the most amazing potential for peace and goodwill. Let's use it.

A Ghostly Time of Year

Oh November is well established here in West Cork now. The sun is reluctant to rise much before eight in the morning, and hurries away, gathering its dusky cloak around it, in the late afternoon. We have had some wild stormy nights, with the wind howling around the house and the trees whipping their branches. Only its own mother could love Ireland 'twixt now and late February - anyone thinking of visiting for the festive season, be warned and don't! Wait until the primroses and violets are out, and the country is waking and stretching itself into spring. I really really wouldn't want you to see the Emerald Isle looking less than her best.


There are some beautiful things to be seen still, though. The Albertine rose - she of the vicious thorns - is still blooming happily in a sheltered sunny corner, and one little tree is holding on to her golden leaves as long as possible, shining like a beacon on a grey day.




Look at that - isn't it like a bright lamp? Want to see it closeup?



Little pet, glowing to keep spirits high and remind us of the power still within the landscape at this time of year. Most of the rest of the trees have lost their leaves and every morning when I let the dogs out, we have a quiet and tranquil pre-dawn session of raking, sweeping and piling leaves to rot down into good mulch for the flowerbeds and fruit trees.

The fields are often beautifully cloaked in mist in the early morning now, and lovely little places like the lost bridge at Dooniskey take on a strange unearthly beauty,





while swathes of mist eddy and swirl around the hawthorn trees (it is considered most unlucky to move a hawthorn, which is why you often find them standing alone in the middle of vast fields as well as in hedgerows).







It's all very atmospheric and conducive to ghostly happenings. Perhaps that is why I'm experiencing something very odd with my Claudia Handpaint socks.





Here they are, looking perfectly innocent and harmless. As indeed the sock on the right is. Working down the foot just finely. But the one on the left.... Well -


You may recall (I think I told you) that I had got down to the heel on this second sock and then discovered unaccountably that there were four stitches too many. I couldn't understand it, but, swearing mightily under my breath, frogged back and started all over again. Halfway down the leg, the needle parted company with its cable. First time that has happened. Swear again, out loud this time, find a replacement, put broken needle on one side to be mended if possible. Work on.

Work the second heel, start on the foot. Now perhaps we can finish, yes?

No.


Halfway down the foot, counting steadily as I go, I find what?

Four stitches too many on the sole.

Now how can this happen? The pattern on the leg is a four stitch repeat with no yarnovers, so it's not that easy to go wrong and increase a stitch. The heel is counted stitch by stitch. The pattern on the front remains the same. There is simply no opportunity for adding stitches on.

So how in the name of all that's strange did I end up ONCE AGAIN with four stitches too many?

This time I wasn't frogging back. I simply (shut your eyes, those with a persnickety nature) did a few quick pssos where the stitches had created themselves, and carried on.

But I have a feeling this isn't over yet. For some reason that second sock is trying to stop me finishing.


And again, maybe that was why I took out my much-read copy of The Dark Is Rising and started to reacquaint myself with its wonderful story. Do you know Susan Cooper's classic sequence? If you don't, get a copy now. It won all kinds of awards when first published in the 1960s, so you shouldn't have any trouble.

When the Dark comes rising, six shall turn it back;

Three from the circle, three from the track;

Wood, bronze, iron; water, fire, stone;

Five will return, and one go alone.

Be sure to get a copy which contains all five tales in the sequence: Over Sea, Under Stone; The Dark Is Rising; Greenwitch; The Grey King; and Silver On The Tree. These stories predate Harry Potter but to my mind are far better and far more powerfully written. I'd be surprised if a few of you didn't feel that strange stir of recognition when you read them, that feeling you very occasionally get of remembering rather than discovering, recalling rather than learning for the first time. The old knowledge is like that.



Oddly enough, I found myself in a shopping mall yesterday, next to a cinema complex. And what should they be showing but - yes, you guessed it - The Dark Is Rising, with a performance due in exactly five minutes.



It's not a particularly good rendering of the story, but then what film could be of any good book? The mind can create so much more than we could ever get from someone else's interpretation. And yet, the feeling was still there in the film, despite all the trendy special effects and fast-moving images designed to enthral the younger viewer, reared on TV. Do yourself a favour, get the book and read it for yourself.



And as a reward for your promise to go look for that book, I'll tell you the tale of that strange experience I had many years ago. At the end of this posting. A few other things to mention first.


Roggey had a lovely idea on her blog the other day, suggested to her by a friend as I recall. The idea was that you should undertake to finish 50% of your WIPs before acquiring any more yarn. Now this I think I could go along with. It's the same with any huge amount of work really, isn't it? The sheer thought of it all overwhelms you, and you end up doing none of it. But half - that should be achievable, shouldn't it? Well - if we only counted the WIPs actually in view, out in the open, this year's WIPs anyway. Not the forgotten disasters tucked away in the back of a cupboard. Roggey, would you like to start a Finish 50% KAL? Who'll design the button? I'm on board for one.

Speaking of the backs of cupboards, I decided to emulate Angeluna the other day, and emptied out an entire wardrobe (she's doing it to make room for more yarn, acquired in the Texas Hill Country recently, but for anyone with a stash-storing problem, it's always a good idea - as Angeluna says, who needs clothes, bed linen, towels, when there is yarn to be cared for?) Millions of discarded sweaters, forgotten cardigans, betrayed vests tumbled into the light of day. Among them I found this one:






It's actually in rich black, but I sacrificed the colour somewhat to allow the pattern to show up for you. Now I know I knitted this years ago - did one in cream wool as well - but for the life of me can't remember working that entertaining pattern. The leaflet has long since disappeared of course, so I am going to have to try to recreate it from the finished object if I want to make it again. What I liked, however, was that the shaping of the fronts was done at the side, in the moss stitch, so that the cabling would not be disturbed. Nice idea. I'll use that elsewhere.

OK, now for the ghost story, which doesn't have any real ghosts or clanking chains or icy hands, but was nevertheless an experience I never want to repeat. Go get your hot chocolate. Sitting comfortably? Right, I'll begin.

THE PRESENCE OF EVIL

It was quite a number of years ago - I was still living in the UK at the time. I'd just finished with one job and had a few days to spare before starting the new one, so decided to betake myself up to Scotland for a break. It had been an exhausting time, and a complete getaway from people and places and everyday things was required.


The very far north west of Scotland isn't visited all that much, so although it was July, I had the tiny winding roads mostly to myself as I drove further and further out towards the coast. I remember that buzzards perched on the roadside telegraph poles like crows, barely bothering to move as I trundled past, keeping a sharp eye out for sheep lying comfortably across my route.


Accommodation isn't all that easy to find, so I was grateful towards evening when I came down a steep hill to this tiny fishing village. Yes, I remember its name very well - it's engraved on my heart - and no, I won't tell you it. There was hardly anything there - a few cottages, and a pub which doubled as a hotel. The old Scot who ran it was hardly able to move, due to arthritis, and gave me a key to check out the room myself as he couldn't manage the stairs. It was fine, looking out over the harbour, so I took it. Had a pleasant evening chatting with my host over a plate of haggis and turned in around eleven, tired and ready for sleep.


At this time of year in the far north of Scotland, it doesn't really get dark - you have what is called the 'glimmer dim' until morning. I left the curtains open and the window too, so I could enjoy the glowing skyscape and the cry of seagulls even in my sleep.


I don't know what time it was when I woke, suddenly, totally aware that there was someone or something standing over my bed. I couldn't look at my watch - firstly, despite the fact that the room should have been at least visible in the summer evening light, it was pitch black and horribly stuffy, as if all the curtains had been drawn close and the window hermetically sealed. And secondly, I was paralysed with an inexplicable terror, a gripping fear of something entirely outside my experience.


My sane mind tried to bring up the suggestion that perhaps my landlord couldn't resist the temptation of a woman staying alone upstairs - this was quite a few years ago, remember! - but I knew that such an easy solution wasn't on offer, even if his crippled limbs had regained their strength miraculously to the extent that he could climb the steep stairs. No, unfortunately, this was something much worse. I clenched my hands and dug my nails into my palms, a trick I usually try when I've woken from a nightmare, but the terror didn't go. I was fully awake, and something indescribably evil and malevolent was standing right over me, trying, it seemed, to - I don't know - take me over, suck me in. A sort of possession.


I couldn't move, only my mind was working frantically, terrified beyond reason. I knew I had to fight it, had to push it back, but didn't think I had the strength. Gradually I remembered the old words, the old speech, the phrases that you can use. I said them as strongly as I could in my mind, directing them against this force. I called on every good power I could think of - some from established religion, some from far older times - and asked them to help me. With every fibre of my consciousness I pushed against that terrifying presence and all the powers I'd called on pushed with me.


I don't know how long it took, but gradually I became aware that the room was lighter again, that the curtains were blowing gently in the breeze from the open window. It was cool again, and I could breathe.


I switched on the bedside light and read a very boring travel book for the rest of the night. I didn't dare to relax into sleep again and let my defences down.


I asked casually about ghosts at breakfast next morning, but the old landlord hadn't heard of any in the vicinity, other than a sailor who was said to haunt a lonely beach not far away. This was no drowned sailor, though. This was the most malevolent, terrifying, elemental force I had ever come across. I don't want to come across it again. I don't even want to risk opening the connection in any way. Which is why I won't write the name of the village.


I truly hope such terror never comes to you. Whatever it was, it was very very bad. The essence of evil. The memory will stay with me lifelong.

One Small Step For Socks...

But it was a very decisive step. New wandering around shoes were required - the kind you can lace up before heading off into the woods, galloping up a mountainside, leaping from heather tuft to heather tuft across a bogland. Not serious Himalayan trekking boots, just outdoor shoes. And they were deliberately purchased HALF A SIZE BIGGER. So that handknitted socks would fit comfortably inside. Been wearing clogs all summer of course, which allow for the handknits, but this is the first time that 'enclosing' footwear has been sized up. It's a watershed. From now on, that purchase said, Celtic Memory is wearing nothing but handknit socks.


Well, maybe not with evening shoes at the opera. But the rest of the time. This of course means several black pairs will have to be made, for state occasions when bright orange or lurid green are inappropriate. Fortunately there are some balls of Bamboo cotton hanging around for just such a purpose. Otherwise, there is now a very real likelihood of some of that huge crate of sock yarn actually getting used up over the next few months, as knee-lengths, ankle-highs, thick ones, thin ones, cabled and lacy, ribbed and downright weird, get cast on, worked up, finished off, and tucked into the Celtic Memory sock drawer thereafter to emerge in strict rotation (or any old how, as the mood strikes), to amaze and delight my fellow citizens.

When did you make the complete changeover? Did it take time? Did you feel at first (I certainly did) that the new, rather thicker, home-made socks weren't quite as easy to wear as the store-bought ones? And how long did it take for the complete opposite to be the case, when you couldn't stand the commercial socks and could only wear superbly hand-crafted ones? Do tell. I'd love to know.

Have you seen the preview of Winter IK? Now this is one magazine for which Celtic Memory is waiting with ill-concealed impatience. There are actually four - count 'em, four - projects on which I would like to get going immediately, and that's pretty good - often you're lucky to find one, aren't you? What did you like? Me I'm going for the Refined Aran Jacket, the Sweater Girl Pullover, the Celtic Tote and the Tilting Cable Socks for definite. (Do we detect a pattern here? A cabled pattern certainly.)


The Dogi vest is progressing. At last got to the stage of putting the right front on a spare length of yarn and working away on the back, which is going much more speedily since there is only half the number of stitches.







I've folded it at the shoulder here, so you're seeing one half of the overall vest. I love this Wool in the Woods yarn - it's so smooth and crisp you can't believe it's wool but it is. And the colourway, Tropical Storm, is glorious. Looks as though there will be plenty in the five skeins which is just as well, since there isn't any more to be had. However, won't uncross fingers just yet - the pattern for that neckband looks pretty greedy on yarn.


The weather has been grey and November-ish here in West Cork, so much so that a bout of dyeing was required to bring back a little colour to the scenery.

These are some of the new merino-tencel sock yarns which will be going on eBay tonight as soon as the Mi na Samnha listing ends. Here's a close-up of Tidal Pool looking a little drier than when it was dripping on the line.

and here is Strawberry Cream:







So it's sock yarn on eBay this week. Next week will be another SECRET STASH SALE, when (most reluctantly), some of those sumptuous coned yarns are taken out of their shrines and grudgingly skeined up to let other people have a go. Prepare for cashmere/lambswool, kid mohair, cashwool, wool/cotton, and heaven knows what else. Lots of laceweight too, if you're planning shawls as Christmas presents (and who isn't, for Pete's sake?)

Oh and on that topic, listen, listen, Celtic Memory HAS STARTED HER CHRISTMAS GIFT KNITTING! Now this isn't really typical - about mid-December is more usual - but it so happened that I was skeining up some rather nice green sock yarn with a fleck of yellow gold in it, for washing to remove factory dressing, and found faults several times within the first few yards. This often happens when you nab a cone of yarn from the back door of a factory - either it's been tried out and wound back on roughly, or it's been tossed around the place, maybe nibbled by mice, or caught on machinery. You keep going until it reaches the undamaged area and ditch the outer layers.





Which is what I was about to do. And then I stopped and thought again. Waste not, want not. Somewhere there is a little person who would really value that yarn. In my case, a little furry person.

Yes, that tangled yarn in the foreground is going into a washcloth. No, I am not bothered about the idea of a pure wool washcloth. Neither will the recipient be remotely concerned. It's going to be knitted or crocheted in a very loose gauge. It will then be equally loosely wrapped in tissue paper with perhaps the merest thread of tying up. And it will be put on a safely high shelf until Christmas Day when Muffy the Yarnslayer will get her very own festive washcloth. What she does with it is her own business. Yes, I will take pictures.

You think I'm wimping out of that ghost story, don't you? I'm not. Not really. It's just - well, it's just that it doesn't have white-sheeted figures and clanking chains. Nothing you could put your finger on (would you want to put your finger on a ghost? No, neither would I). It's just about an inexplicable experience of terrifyingly elemental evil and stark terror. And it didn't even take place in Ireland but in the far far north west of Scotland. Quite a few years ago. So maybe it's not appropriate. I'll think a bit more about it. Curiously reluctant and not quite sure why.

Finally wearied of wearing out the Celtic Memory eyes trying to see fine stitches by poor light late at night, and took the plunge. An Ott-Lite has been ordered from the UK and should be here next week. Yay! What did we do before the Internet?

(By the way, UK readers and knitters, have you noticed that daylight bulbs - very useful items - come in the bayonet form, while almost every modern table or desk lamp comes with screw-in facilities? Why don't they match up? Who buys the daylight bulbs besides me, and into what sort of lamp do they put them? Where do they FIND these lamps that actually match the bulbs? And related to that issue, is there a vile secret plot to force the entire world into buying lamps which only take expensive designer bulbs which can only be sourced from one manufacturer?)

In honour of the approaching winter, we got our chimney swept today. Delightful Peter came bouncing around with his industrial-strength vacuum cleaner and all his brushes and did a great job. Muffy went for a long walk in the garden, Sophy Wackles hid in my study, and Tasha lay at his feet and watched every move with fascination.

He even zealously went up on the roof to make sure the job was done from the top down as well, so of course Richard went up as well, camera in hand (you never actually see Richard without a camera. He says it's asking for trouble to leave it down anywhere, even for a moment, and as for people who turn theirs off or, worse still, tuck them away in cases... well, what do you expect when they miss the once-in-a-lifetime shot? Yes of course he takes it to bed. Doesn't everybody?)

UPDATE!

Sorry gang! I was in such a rush, and having to wait until the sun condescended to peek out from behind a big grey cloud and all, before I could get the picture, and then getting it listed before a deadline looming for an interview, and then getting to the theatre on time to review that show, that I omitted to tick the right box on eBay. There are now more skeins of Mi na Samnha up there (id 170164645002). Congratulations to Marian who got in ahead of everyone else to scoop the very first one!

An Inspector Calls was great fun. Classic period drawing-room drama with a twist. Enjoyed it thoroughly. Can't beat J. B. Priestley for theatrecraft. Will wait until tomorrow morning to put in the pithy, to the point, constructive review.

May your Hallow-E'en be powerful and happy. Next posting, a ghost story, I promise.

Yes, I Do Need A Project Manager!

Excellent suggestion, Angeluna. Any takers? Duties light, but stern discipline required when temptation strikes chez Celtic Memory. Can offer soft damp climate ('showers giving way to rain' is the usual forecast), plenty of cloudscapes, the company of cheery if scruffy small dogs, a country where conversation rules supreme and a silence is considered catastrophe - oh, and the chance to run riot in the legendary CM stash (why do you think I never attempted to list any of it on Ravelry?)



Finally got the new yarn finished, skeined up and photographed for eBay (id 170164497606 for anyone who wants to go over and have a look. ) Here's a quick preview of Mi na Samnha:




I can tell you that this one had a mind of its own. I might have thought 'silver', it firmly said 'gold'. I went towards dark greens, it snatched at the light cobwebby greys. I think the Old Ones were working in the background there, but that's what you have to expect when you try to recreate such a powerful ancient time as Samhain. And it would only be photographed on rustling freshly-fallen beech leaves. The druids again!


And Angeluna, I will also take your advice for calming and soothing start-itis. I will indeed work diligently on the Dogi vest from Kimono Knits until I feel relaxed and detached from all those other projects.

Although I have this inspirational idea for a dark charcoal kimono which falls open to reveal brilliant poppy-red linings.... And I HAVE THE YARN!


No, no, no. The Dogi vest is really beautiful. And so is the yarn I'm using. Both are really beautiful. I don't deserve them.


(repeat three times a day, or more as necessary)

No Way To Treat Alpaca!

Celtic Memory is hiding in a cupboard at the moment, peeking nervously out through a knot-hole. She fears that the Yarn Police may be coming after her, set on her tracks by the Society For The Prevention Of Cruelty To Yarn. And she hasn't a leg to stand on. It's true, it's all true.




Here is a large ball of exquisitely soft and snuggly alpaca, thoroughbred all the way through - travelling back from the frogpond. The rosewoods are there to give it support. It's had a bad time.

This was not its first trip to the frogpond. Nor the second. Nor the third.

Let me lead you back down memory lane a little way. Not that I want to. Believe me, I don't want to revisit those scenes of insanity. But it might make you understand the enormity of the crime for which the Yarn Police have put a price on my head.

THIS then is the very alpaca originally sourced at Knit & Stitch in London last year and almost immediately designated for a Norah Gaughan asymmetrical crop cardi (was it VK Fall 2006? Or Winter? Possibly). It soared up the back of the jacket beautifully, right to the armhole shaping. And then something happened. Or not. Whatever. The love of the moment retreated gently into the background to make way for a new passion. We've all had times like that (some of us rather more than others, admittedly). That was OK. It watched contentedly from the sidelines for a while.



LEAP forward now to a couple of weeks back when I was wandering round with that IK Nantucket cardigan pattern tucked in my pocket, trying to find the right yarn for such a nice project. Ah-HA! The charcoal alpaca! Of course! Now where did I leave it...?

I simply cannot understand how so many other things can superimpose themselves upon a single item which you only left down for a moment a little while ago. I searched the Repository Of All Forgotten Things (originally I believe a long bench, but it's so long since I saw the actual piece of furniture that I can't quite remember) and had no luck. Searched the stash basement. Searched the Repository again. Swore exasperatedly and tried to think of an alternative. But no. Nothing else would do now. The alpaca or nothing.

Emptied almost everything off the Repository (oh so that's where that shawl went to! Good heavens, I don't remember starting that crochet vest...) Eureka! The little plastic pouch containing the alpaca and a half-finished jacket back. To the frogpond, mes amis! Time marches on.

Simply couldn't be bothered skeining, washing, drying, rewinding. Sloppy, bad housekeeping, thoughtless, I know. I know. But I did want to cast on for that Nantucket jacket, and was already impatient with all this delay. It isn't as nice to knit with curling, twisting, just-ripped yarn, and I felt guilty, misusing such lovely fibre so callously. At least we were on our way, however!


Four rows in, it became very evident that Nantucket and I were not good bedfellows. I kept getting the patterning wrong, swearing, frogging back, trying again. Got to six rows and measured.


***xx***

This would fit a giant! What happened?

(Stop snarfling! I DID swatch. I did TOO! I swatched and measured and got gauge. It meant two more sessions of ripping back for the first few yards of the already misused alpaca, but I did it. Is it coincidence that today's Knitting Daily topic from the ever-wise Sandi is about swatches and how we can still get it wrong? I think not. More like the influence of Hallow-E'en if you ask me.)

Frogged back. Rewound the by now rather tired ball (somewhere in the centre is the remaining, unused, centre-pull ball, but if you can tell me a way to get the frogged yarn back into the middle, I'd be delighted to hear from you). Cast on again.

This time I ended up with a totally crazy take on the pattern. Now Celtic Memory is reasonably capable of following clear instructions, and these are fairly clear. But something was not going right. Frogged again. Rewound again (wince, wince by all means, I'm cringing myself as I type this, balancing the laptop on my knees in this dark cupboard. That poor alpaca is like a pussycat that's losing its coat by now). Cast on again.

The fourth try didn't get past Row 2. When I found myself 20 stitches out in the pattern, I drew a deep breath and suggested to Nantucket that it walked one way, I the other.

The worst bit is that I was away from home at this particular point and had specifically chosen Nantucket and Alpaca as my companions for the journey. It seemed like such a good idea at the time - the three of us laughing over drinks, murmuring sleepily across from our separate beds during the night, breakfasting together - but some relationships are doomed. DOOMED.

Then I had a brainwave. What I really really wanted for the winter was a cuddly ribbed hug-me-tight sort of vest or cardigan or sweater-y thing which would snuggle close and keep out the chill. The alpaca would be just right for that.

Oh - I'd frogged, hadn't I? Can I remember the gauge I got? No I can't (selective memory loss, it does happen). Even if I could have remembered, it wouldn't be accurate, given the patterning I'd been following. OK, swatch again. Where's my tape measure?

SURELY I DIDN'T FORGET TO PACK THE TAPE MEASURE?

Yes, the tape was sitting serenely at home, where I'd left it that morning.

No, for heaven's sake. This is Ireland, OK? You simply do not go and find the nearest Joanns and buy another tape measure. These purchases have to be PLANNED, long in advance, and an expedition mounted. You can't just pick one up like that. (Like what? Well - like the USA, I suppose.)

OK, now let's try to remember. Thumb joint one inch, right? No, middle finger first joint - I think. Thumb is inch and a half. Or is it...? Oh let's guess and go for it.

You can complete the rest of it for yourself. I really don't want to. Suffice it to say that the alpaca has been prescribed bed rest for several weeks, with light tasty meals at regular intervals and a total absence of visits from me. I feel bad. Very bad. That is no way to treat alpaca. I shouldn't wonder if I'm cold-shouldered at public events the next time I go out. If I ever do get out.

Would one of you ever ring the Yarn Police and tell them that someone's brutalising a ball of quiviut over in Nova Scotia? Then I might be able to quit this cupboard.

And then I might be able to get on with the socks.

Ah yes, the socks. When we last spoke, I was working on the Austermann Step pair in a nice sort of twisted cable pattern from More Sensational Socks. They're a bit further on.



They're not as well progressed as they should be, I admit. That's partly because of the Alpaca Scandal, but also because I got my greedy mitts on some Claudia Handpaint...






which clearly required to be started instantly. I'm doing them in a sort of 3 st cable with 1 purl in between.



These two socks ought to be the same length. They were. Until I discovered that Sock Two had four more stitches than Sock One. Four, you see, exactly the right number to keep the pattern correct, so I hadn't noticed until I'd got all the way down through three repeats.



No, I don't have an idea how it happened. Yes, I do check. Yes I do count - WILL YOU STOP LAUGHING AT ME! I don't know how it happened and let that be an END to it!



There are days when I wonder if I wouldn't be better off collecting stamps...



And amid all this, have I worked a single stitch on the Dogi vest from Knit Kimono?







I have not. Beautiful the pattern is, absolutely stunning the yarn is. What am I doing, squandering my time being bad to alpaca and making socks of different sizes? I should be devoting my time to the Dogi and that gorgeous Wool in the Woods/Cherry Tree Hill yarn.



But it's almost Hallow-E'en and that means I must get moving on the new designer yarn. This one is going to be called Mi na Samnha (mee-ne-sow-na) because that is the Irish name for November. Hallow-E'en is the Eve of Samhain, the beginning of the dark month, and this is going to be a yarn to work with while cosily tucked up at home by the fire during the dark time of the year.


But it's not going to be all yellows and oranges and blacks like Hallow-E'en Trick or Treat paraphernalia this time. It's going to be a song-poem to the deep dark woods, to the tall forest trees and the branching bushes, to that magical world where animals can shelter safely and knowledgetable human travellers find soft mosses and bracken to make their bed for the night, clear water to drink and nuts to eat. Think greens of every shade from pale lichens caught by a stray ray of sunlight through glossy holly leaves to rich dark fir boughs. Glints of silver too, from a tiny twisting stream or a dew-spangled cobweb - or maybe even one of the Good People hastening to a gathering of the Sidhe.


I know what it should be - but the making of it is always a frantic struggle to create in yarn what is so clear in the mind. Nevertheless, it must be listed on eBay tomorrow night before the clock strikes twelve.

The Old Road

There are a great many traditions in Ireland relating to 'the old road'. Some of them even refer to genuine roads that once took their winding way through the quiet countryside, but have now softened back into grass and overhanging trees. Roads like that over the Leaca Ban between Cork and Kerry, which in my father's time was (just) navigable in a lively car with a sense of adventure, but which is now for hikers only.

Most, however, refer to other-worldly roads, routes to strange places which only appear at certain times of year, when the moon is full, approaching Hallow-E'en or the summer solstice. Roads which, if taken, lead to the camp of the Fianna or the court of the High Kings, or even to Tir na n'Og itself.

A particular favourite of mine is The Secret Road, which, it is said, can be seen on moonlit nights leading across the Bog of Allen in the centre of Ireland. The warriors of old stride along this road with their wolfhounds padding alongside. They won't harm you if you meet them - but it's as well to keep a hold of a crust of bread in your pocket to link you to your own world.

I was reminded of all these legends yesterday when we discovered that the Gearagh had become dry once more and was revealing its secrets. We are fortunate enough to live alongside this wonderful place, which is a flooded river valley and the remains of a very rare type of habitat, an alluvial forest. It's now an international Ramsar site of much importance, but to tell you the truth, I still mourn for what it once was. When I was very young indeed, it was still an unflooded river valley and a place full of magic and secrets. At this wide point, the river Lee spread across half a mile or more of the low-lying landscape and created tiny tree-covered islands, meandering river channels, a fairy world. My father used to tell me that the moonshiners made their brew on these tiny islands and I imagine they did - I can remember seeing rickety handmade bridges linking one to another. But there were communities living in this river valley too, who made their way around and to firm ground by the use of little flat-bottomed boats.

Then, it was decided to flood the valley. Electricity was the cry, wonderful progress. Young as I was, I was horrified. What would happen to the trees, the little houses, the farm where we always got our Christmas tree, the ruined castle? Would the animals be saved? I was reassured on all these points, but it didn't help to be told that they would blow up the castle before flooding the valley. My father, being an adventurous sort, made several sallies out on to the increasing lake, painting a pole red and white so that anyone who saw him would think he had a right to be there. I stayed home and mourned the loss of a lovely valley.

That was a long time ago. Today the Gearagh is lauded as a beautiful scenic spot and indeed it is.

That's one of the old roads, crossing the original river, although it is now just a track leading nowhere. Those aren't birds in the foreground - they're the tips of tree stumps, all that remains of the original forest. (And we're talking ORIGINAL forest here, the last remnants of the ancient woodlands which covered Ireland in prehistoric times.)

It looks rather lovely at dusk too. That pointed peak on the left in the background is Shehy, a real fairy mountain if ever there was one. The King of the Cats lives up there - Balgeary is his name.

Now we haven't had much rain for a while but I think there was more to it than that. Perhaps they decided to open the sluices down at the dam and drain more water out for some reason. Whatever. The Gearagh was almost dry, and as we went down to the old bridge, we could see the shape of the original fields, walls, lanes which had once been lined by trees.

The shapes of the little islands that I remembered from childhood were there once again, still holding their own despite so long underneath the dark water. The trees had been brutally hewn in advance of the flooding, but their stumps remained sturdily there. A tree does not forget.

Imagine what it was like when all these tiny islets were covered with a thick canopy of scrub and hazel trees and brambles and bushes. You can see how difficult it would have been to find your way between them. No wonder the police tended to leave the moonshiners strictly alone - it was said that only a Gearagh man born and bred could lead you safely through, by boat or otherwise.

The old road down through the midst of what was once a thriving community still survives (that bridge you saw is part of it). In places you can still even see remains of the tarmacadam which covered it.

But mostly it's a quiet long-ago lane, running on and on in a green tunnel to Fairyland.

'They closed the road through the woods

So many years ago

Weather and rain have undone it again

And now you would never know

There was once a road through the woods...'

(Thanks, Kipling!)

And then we came to the crossroads -

- where once the lane forked left to go across firm and slightly higher ground towards where we now live. It has been deep underwater for many years of course -

- but on this day (and it wasn't the full moon, it wasn't even midnight, we aren't at Hallow-E'en yet) it had miraculously returned to the air and the light and the sun.

I have not walked on this road since I was a tiny child. It was a strange and very moving experience. How did the little boreen feel, being once more in the sunlight, and feeling feet walking on its surface, and hearing voices? I talked to it, of course I talked to it. There was a lump in my throat but I talked to it. Wouldn't you have?

In case all this is getting a bit too emotional, let's air a harsh practical fact. To wit:

It is NOT a good idea to bring a small white dog into a recently flooded area for a walk.

Even if -

- she thinks -

- it's the greatest fun in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD!

Yes, she got dunked good and proper in a briskly flowing stream before being allowed back in the car. Damp patches were infinitely preferable to Eau de Rotting Weed.

It was hard to leave The Old Road. 'Stay a little longer,' it seemed to plead. 'Talk a little more. It's so long since I've heard a human voice.' But it was getting late...

so we turned for home.

And it rained that night. And next day all had disappeared back under the water. I know it's still there. I want to go down, tell it it's not forgotten, tell it it is still mourned. Maybe it will hear me from up here. If I whisper with all my heart?

Here is another lovely picture of the flooded scene as it usually appears. People flock here to take pictures. It's mentioned in tourist guides. But I still feel a lump in my throat every time I look at it.

Thank you, dearest of companions, for your amazing gift of photography. No-one but you could have done it justice.

Too Much Yarn Stimulation!

I'm back, I'm back from the Knit & Stitch Show at Ally Pally, more dead than alive! Did the trip in one day there and back - the alternative being to stay overnight in some crowded and expensive hotel. Much nicer to leave damp West Cork in the dim light of dawn, fly across to London, dive in head first, extricate myself, and arrive home in the soft darkness of evening. But it was pretty exhausting. Hence no blog until today. Lecturing this morning (to journalism students), and now, at last, in front of the computer to take you all on a virtual tour of the show. Anyone, therefore, who couldn't make it down from Lancashire, across the Atlantic, up from the West Country, or even out from Ireland, hop on my blog bus and let's go

Oh - before you get on board - look, look, I finished the Halfobi jacket in time! What do you think?

There were times when it was not at all certain that it would be done before the day. That second side took forever, not least because of that confounded moss-stitch panel about which I'd been so excited. But at last we were on to the second sleeve and then down to the cuff, and finally, DONE!

Here it is being blocked. You might not be able to make out the moss stitch detail (try clicking on the picture and bringing it up a little larger), but as I said before, it's there, believe me it's there!

OK, enough delay. Off to Cork Airport, on to the Ryanair flight to Stansted. Thank heaven for low-fare airlines, even if they do rather resemble a crowded public bus. Off at Stansted, down to the train for London. Quick, we hop off here at Tottenham Hale instead of going right into the centre - it's much quicker to catch the Tube from here to Alexandra Palace.

Look, even here in the London Underground you can sense that something big and exciting is afoot. Hundreds of women in groups or alone, all clutching big holdalls or shopping trolleys, all heading for Ally Pally. Funnily enough though, given the surely strong link of crafts and stitching, nobody speaking to anybody else. Me I'm knitting away merrily, but although women glance, they look away again immediately. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten last year. Keeping my eyes down and not inviting rejections. But if it were the States, or Ireland, or any other part of Europe, the whole train would be talking, I'm sure of it.

Hmm? Oh, the Baby Bolero from the One Skein book. I'm making it in that ropelike cashmere/silk and it really is a delightful little project for a short trip. I got the whole body finished and one sleeve just on the outward journey.

OK, we're at Wood Green. Everybody off! Up that endless escalator to the street. Gosh, what crowds of women - and how silent. No chaffing, no calling out to each other, no excited babbling. Very restrained, the London crowds.

Oh help, just look at the queues for the courtesy bus. They're already stretching way way down the road. We'll never get there!

Silly me, I'd forgotten - got a London Transport day ticket along with the train ticket from Stansted Airport, so why don't we just jump the next bus to come along, and forget the courtesy service? There's one - quick!

Here we are at last, on a beautiful crisp autumn morning. Look at the crowds pouring in - will there be any room for us at all? Let's go! There's stash diving to do!

You know it really is rather a splendid location for the show. Just look at that soaring roof and the light pouring in. Like a gigantic conservatory. OK, OK, OK, I'm coming! Wait for me!

Oh my!

Oh gosh!

Ooooh, ALPACA!

Knitting books! Those of you who live right down the road from Borders and Barnes & Noble and all the book-heavy LYSs may not realise what a jolt of adrenalin such a sight gives to someone from the Emerald Isle where if a bookshop has a craft section (by no means a given), it will just have something on DIY household repairs. Oh there's that one on Knitting Cuff to Cuff. Must get that. And Knit Kimono! Angeluna, you have that, don't you? Is it a good one to buy? OK, I will then.

Just look at the colours on the Colinette stand! No, Ambermoggie, you have quite enough already! You said you had and specifically asked me to hold you back! Didn't she, Artis-Anne?

Oh and here are some of my old friends, tried and trusted purveyors of yarn by post to West Cork.

Texere Yarns from Bradford -

And Uppingham Yarns from the tiny county of Rutland. It's always good to see these people in person, because no matter how good a website, it doesn't show those one-off unusual little cones of something exotic or strange which was lurking at the back of the shelf.

Oh Angie, Angie, come over here quick, look who I've found!

It's Gill from The Woolly Workshop, where you get all your lovely yarn! And who has she got with her but the legendary Cheryl from Cherry Tree Hill. They're working as a team for this show.

Cheryl tells me that Cherry Tree Hill has bought out Wool in the Woods which is exciting news. Yes, they'll be keeping that evocative name, and also many of the colourways. She just asked me to tell you that Wool in the Woods Lottery colors are now available on Cherry Tree Hill sock yarns for the first time - check out her website.

And look, they've got some of that divine Wool Twist on special OFFER!

Cheryl knows exactly how to get under my guard.

'Jo, these are the last EVER five skeins of the Wool Twist in that Tropical Storm colourway you love. Grab them while you can. If you don't use them all, you'll be able to sell them on eBay - they're collector's items now!'

Well what would you have done?

Ah, at last - THERE is Andy of H. W. Hammand, one of the last spinning mills in Yorkshire and indeed probably all of England (I said ENGLAND, Starmore, not Scotland. ENGLAND! Please don't start stirring up that cauldron...)

Not surprised to find him chatting up the glamour girls - in this case Jeni of Fyberspates, and aren't her handpainted skeins divine?

Wanda, WANDA, where are you? I've found her! I've found Robynn of Purlescence for you!

I hoped I 'd see her. She's got Ed's beautiful knitting needles and crochet hooks perfectly displayed at the front there.

Robynn was actually trying to cast on for a sock on one of Ed's circulars, but business was booming so much she hadn't got past the first few stitches. Such beautiful things she sells. Go check her website and see.

The place was jam packed. This was the first day and I can't imagine what it will be like this weekend. There were workshops and casual get-togethers all over the place, tucked in between the trade stands.

Good heavens, do you see that vest over there? How on earth is it made? Think she'll notice if we get a bit closer?

Looks like.... bits of knitting, linked together with i-cord - I think... If this were the USA I'd just tap her on the back and ask, but in London that's not considered polite.

Now here's something interesting.




A NEW KNITTING MAGAZINE!

Tracy from Hipknits (Kerrie wasn't there on the stand right then) explained that they felt there was a need in the UK for a really good magazine, on the lines of IK or VK, and I have to agree with them. The English publications are - well - sort of mumsy, a bit old-fashioned to my way of thinking, certainly not cutting-edge creative. All good luck to them with this venture - if I can do anything to help them I will. Go look at the Yarn Forward website and see what you think.

Listen, gang, I don't know about you but I'm exhausted and this bag is getting heavier by the minute. Anyone had enough? How's about we head for the Champagne Bar and then for the bus?






I bet Andy Hammand is inside there right now, with the London Stitch n Bitch gang.




Just look at this poster on the way in - The Chronicles of Yarnia. LOVE that!




It's kind of fun, this champagne bar for knitting. And it gives me an idea too. Something I think we could all do... No no, not necessarily fizz with the frogging or Veuve Cliquot with the vest, but a novel approach... Not now, though. Too tired. Talk about it next time. Let's look over the loot on the way home.





Yes, this is all the yarn I bought. I know, I know - but you don't realise the extent of the current Celtic Memory stash. Perhaps not quite visible from space, as Steph suggests, but getting close. How do you think I got on such good terms with all those wholesalers? Heck, I've put their kids through both school and college by this time! Besides which, I've gone beyond the individual ball concept and really prefer BIG cones or bundles these days. Can't be doing with deciding on three balls or four and then finding one more is needed - drives you mad. But isn't this Wool in the Woods beautiful? It's going to make that absolutely stunning vest from Knit Kimono - is it Dogi?






Speaking of which... It was purchases like these which weighed down my bag (thanks for helping me to carry it to the plane, Roggey, I know you feel the same about books).





Plus all three issues to date of Yarn Forward, which will provide bedside perusal for the next week or so.

And Elizabeth Zimmermann's Opinionated Knitter and her Almanac. I really enjoy EZ's writing - she reminds me of Virginia Woolf in full cry, a woman with that enviable possession, a free mind, well able to express her own views and opinions and consider them worth voicing.


Oh and these -



Lene, you've just finished making this baby jacket, haven't you? I didn't want to get a kit (see observations on Celtic Memory stash above), so was glad to find the pattern for sale on its own. And the ebony circular from Susanne is, as far as I know, the famed Holz & Stein under another name - made from the leftover scraps after grand pianos are crafted in Germany. The circular, by the way, is lying on 3 metres of embroidered fine cotton lawn, which I got, all 3 metres, for €5. How could I miss an offer like that. It will make a dramatic Russian high-necked blouse - Russian fashion is going to be big this winter, I prophesy.


Enough, enough. We're home. Let's kick off our shoes and have some cocoa. It was a great day out, but isn't it nice to be home again? And so many new ideas - so much fuel to add to the bonfire of ideas!