Old Roads and New Life

We were talking some time back - it was probably last year - about old roads and how powerful they can be. I was referring in particular then to the Gearagh, an ancient post-glacial alluvial forest, flooded by a hydro-electric scheme, and how its old pathways can sometimes reappear in dry periods.

That's only a mile or so away, but I realised rather tardily this morning, as I went down through the orchard to see how the fruit blossom was doing (chilly for May as yet, they need a watchful eye, although I've never tried that country remedy of lighting little brush fires on frosty nights to protect their delicate petals), that I have entirely omitted to let you into a rather nice secret. Some people claim to have fairies at the bottom of their garden - Celtic Memory has an old road. Yes, a genuine stretch of old boreen, running right along the boundary. You cross the lawns, go under the rose arch, through the long grass of the orchard, and down to the fence. It's shadowy there, under the overhanging trees, but peek down about a 6' drop and what do you see?

That wall once bordered the busy little highway to Macroom. Donkeys pulling cartloads of turf, black-cloaked women taking butter to the market, herds of cattle and flocks of sheep, all made their way on the old route. The new, wider road, more suitable for fast cars and big trucks, is about forty or fifty feet beyond. The trees have grown up, and you would never know this little stretch of the old road was here unless you happened to come down into my orchard and look over the fence. Which you are very welcome to do if you are passing. I like to think that at night, if you go and stand very quietly in the orchard, leaning on an apple tree (their magic is just as powerful as that of rowan, and that's why they're planted in so many old hedgerows and boundaries), you just might hear the soft tapping of a donkey's neat hooves or the trudging of a tired woman of the roads with her heavy basket. Surely old roads must retain memories of all they have seen, all those who have passed by?

We're pretty rich in this particular corner with highways of former days in fact - across the main road, there's a stretch of another one to be seen - the route that branched off from mine and headed out across a valley, now hidden beneath a lake.

You could walk along this for half a mile or so, but after that you would need a wet suit and breathing apparatus as there is a fairly deep stretch of water between you and Macroom. Denis Murphy's farm is up to the left, and his sheep often gather down here at night or on warm summer days, enjoying the peaceful shade. Nice to have so many vestiges of the older, slower world still there to be found, if you take the trouble to look for them.

The primroses and violets are blooming all along these old ways now, undisturbed by traffic.

Out on the lakeshore, the gorse is in full bloom, and if it's a warm sunshiny day, you can get that delicious coconut scent from its flowers. (Did try to make gorse wine once or twice, but since you have to add grape concentrate, raisins, and dozens of other rich encouragements, you do wonder what part the gorse blossoms play in the preparation at all, if any. Maybe it's just the thought that counts.) Tufts of wool caught on the thorny branches tempt you to gather pocketsful and take them home to spin. When I was learning that craft, a long time ago in England's West Country, I was told very severely that this hedgerow fleece was no good at all and should not even be gathered. If it hadn't been cut directly from the sheep, then it wasn't worth using. Well, I was in fairly penurious circumstances at the time and my Irish heritage wouldn't let me leave such generous offerings unheeded (I'll even pick up dry branches laid on the road in front of me by the wood spirits, and say 'Thank you' for good measure.) I gathered lots and lots of the tufts I found on the Devon moors and it was just fine for spinning. Made several Christmas gift scarves with it. Just goes to show you can't believe everything you're told by the experts.

If you're quiet enough on these rambles, and stay in the shadow of the trees, you might be lucky enough to spot some of the residents going about their business.

Mr. Tod on his way to the fast food outlet at the local chicken run (or possibly Mrs. Tod going shopping, although this chap looks too resplendent to be an exhausted mother in springtime).

A treecreeper bringing food to its own young family

and out on the lake, a proud mama little grebe taking her firstborn for a nice swim in the sun.

DH was very excited about the fox and went off for the afternoon in the car to a spot by a grassy bank where he could park and sit very quietly with the big lens positioned at the window. He figured that where there was one, there could be more, and probably, in May, some babies as well.

He said it was a long afternoon, as he waited, afraid even to move an inch or change position, but in the end it was worth it.

Two curious little fox cubs came out to regard the car gravely, wondering what this strange shiny monster might be.

It was a warm day, and after a while, the temptation to fall asleep was overwhelming, said DH. But that was all right, since everybody felt the same.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Celtic Memory was busy dyeing up some new yarns - both sockweight and a new blend, cashmere silk laceweight.

Left to right, we have merino/tencel in Apple Blossom, pure merino superwash in Bluebell Woods, and right down there in the shadows, cashmere/silk laceweight in Mermaid's Garden.

Dyeing them up and hanging them in the grove to dry doesn't take all that long - it's the listing on eBay that can take forever. Perhaps it's because we're right at the end of the possibility line for broadband here, and the connection isn't always as fast as it could be. These days, a project is always in hand so that a few rows can be put in while waiting for a page to refresh. Surprising how much you can get done that way. Next to me now as I type are a pair of tube socks (tube worked on the sock machine, tops, toes, and heels worked by hand) in bright red, plus the latest new excitement, the start of a cropped, heavily cabled little jacket top, with side and back slits, something after the style of Elsebeth Lavold's Ragna, in blue mousse merino.

Here you can see the first panel for the back, and the second in progress above it. They, and the panel for each front, will be joined after two pattern repeats to work to the armhole shaping and after that we'll see. Maybe an Elizabeth Zimmermann raglan decrease to bring the whole thing in to the neckline, including sleeves worked in the round up to the same point (might put a sleeve slit in too).

That mousse is quadrupled to bring it up to chunky weight - not in the mood for millions of stitches right now, want quick gratification.

Which way of thinking is of course because we've just finished Round Four of Sock Madness

Lucky Diamond, designed for Round 4 of Sock Madness by Melissa Goodale.

and although the design was delightful and the result very happy indeed, these fingers don't want to see tiny stitches and endless rounds for another while. Not in fierce competition anyway (you wouldn't believe how fast some of these speedsters knit, especially the Norwegians!)

UK Ravelry Day is on June 6 in Coventry and you wouldn't believe how difficult it is to arrange a quick there-and-back-in-a-day, which is the method of travel most favoured by Celtic Memory. To put it succintly, you can't. Having explored all the options, including camel train to Ulan Bator, onward donkey to Ladakh, flight to Gander and connecting flight to the Outer Hebrides, finally accepted the inevitable and made a long weekend of it. Still, people like Northernlace are genuinely making major multiple-stop trips to get there (Kirkwall to Inverness and onward, anyone?) so CM can hardly complain at having to use Aer Lingus, get in on Friday afternoon, and not leave until Sunday afternoon, since our national airline clearly doesn't believe anybody needs to travel to Birmingham on a Saturday. Added to which, they have the lowest weight allowance for cabin baggage of any short-haul airline I know (half that of Ryanair), which further adds to the load of Celtic grievance. Large raincoats with tons of poachers' pockets are clearly indicated, to assist the carefully-measured, regulation size rucksack, and never mind that it will be June.

Cold enough for May right now, though. The flowers are emerging, as are the young leaves, since they really can't leave it any longer, but they haven't got that vigorous spring in their step that we find when it's muggy warm and damp as it usually should be at this time of year. The clematis is spectacular though, and one particularly energetic plant in the back garden gives me joy every time I look at it. I had fully intended to trim this very tall tree in the hedge last winter but didn't get round to it (knitting or something), and when I saw how the clematis had used it, I was very glad I hadn't.

Can you see how it's climbed right up and thrown its sprays around the very top of the tree? Do you know what it reminds me of? That famous portrait of the Empress Elisabeth of Austria (Sissi) with diamonds in her hair. Let me see if I can find an image.

Yes, here's one. Well, I can see the comparison anyway. Always wanted a climber to create that effect on a dark tree, and now the clematis has done it for me. Thank you, clematis!

The lily of the valley, with their seductive scent, are blooming too, recalling memories of First Communions and confirmations when our veils were garlanded with the little perfumed bells. Picked a little bunch to keep on the desktop, to remind me that this is Maytime.

I hope the flowers are blooming for you too. Or if you are still shivering in winter, that they are nevertheless there, just underneath the ground, waiting to gladden your heart when warmer weather returns.

Oh To Be In England When The Yarn Is There...

Took a quick dash last week, across to the UK. All this activity with the sock machine and, more recently, nervous essays in the operation of a battered old Brother flatbed machine, meant that MORE CONED YARN was needed. And the one place well known to Celtic Memory as having all kinds of wonderful one-offs and strange finds is Uppingham Yarns, tucked away in Rutland, England's tiniest county. I used to live in Rutland and visited this treasure trove often - in fact it probably provided the baseline for the Celtic Memory stash which now requires an entire basement room of its own and is starting to murmur about really needing an independent yarny house in the grounds with not only a basement but an attic and big windows and - sorry, where was I? Oh yes, Uppingham Yarns.


Rutland, although tiny, is a very old region and thus well placed on the Great North Road, the ancient route from London to Scotland (or Scotland to London if you prefer). Some may refer to it rather prosaically as the A1 but to me it's always the romantic Great North Road. It's quite possible to nip into Stansted airport on the early morning flight from Cork, grab a rental car, and be in Uppingham by eleven in the morning.




Now Uppingham Yarns is not one of your predictable little LYSs. It does have some ball banded yarns, true, but not many. Its huge attraction is in its vast range of coned goodies, stacked high on tall shelving units in numbers of rooms. Aladdin's Cave has nothing on this place!





Heaven bless the Traylen family who opened their business back in 1980 to provide ex-industrial supplies for home knitters, whether hand or machine. That's Nick there, explaining the difference between two gauges of cashmere (be still my beating heart). You might well have met Nick at various Woolfests or Ally Pally knit days, but his stand at those events, delightful though it may be, isn't a patch on the home ground.





This is the Shetland room - all of those lovely shades are the repeatable ones, I think, but round the sides and down at the back, you find smaller cones, discontinued colours, one-offs - you know, the kind that is even more fun to track down than the always-available sort.





Every room has more treasures, aisles to be explored carefully and painstakingly, not a corner left searched. You simply never know what you're going to find.




It's hard not to get carried away in the fancy section, where the most incredible Italian ribbons and glitters and eyelashes are piled in profusion. You get new ideas for designer combinations on every shelf.





This room is devoted to cotton. And silk. And silk tops for spinning. And some hemp. And more. Small wonder that after five minutes in the building I suggested kindly to DH that he might prefer to wander around the picturesque little town and take pictures while I totally lost myself. Being an understanding soul he did - so the images you see here were all taken fairly early on in the visit, and then he left me to get gently hysterical in peace.



Not before we made a couple of nice discoveries though -





I just don't remember these from my last visit, so maybe Nick Traylen has only just put them on display. My mother had just such an old high-standing heavy iron flatbed machine as this. I still have one of the sweaters she made me on it.






And look at this lovely thing! A sock machine with lots of shiny brass, and its own useful iron table with handy inset containers for needles and hooks and things.







But this one I'd never come across before. A circular knitting machine, but a tiny one. It has only about six needle slots. It has to be a cord maker, right? Fascinating. Love it!





Had a most enjoyable couple of hours, going around each room, going back again, starting in the opposite direction, taking turns around shelves from unexpected angles, scouring dark corners - you know how much fun it can be. And got some pretty nice loot to play with over the next while (thank heaven DH had a spacious rucksack with him as well). Always nice to revisit Uppingham Yarns and come away with treasure.

In the meantime of course, DH had been wandering happily around the town of Uppingham, which is gloriously photogenic with that unique character which rural England does so well -





The main street was basking in the warm sunshine (warm sunshine! It was pouring with rain and chilly to boot when we left Cork!) and you could hear the echo of peaceful footsteps as people went about their shopping.





The churchyard of Ss Peter & Paul was looking impossibly picturesque





- and the wallflowers were blooming on old moss-covered roofs and walls. A lovely place. I do like Uppingham and indeed all of Rutland. Multum in Parvo is the county motto, much in little.



Rutland, you may or may not know, lost its independence back in the 1970s, despite public outcry, and was hauled into neighbouring Leicestershire. The local people, however, never accepted this (a bit like Iowa taking over Nebraska maybe, or Massachusetts airily grabbing Maine) and fought constantly to get back their independent status. It is a source of gentle pride to me that I was part of that campaign, and was there in the House of Lords on the night that Rutland regained county status, in the 1990s. Good on you, Rutland! Always remember you with deep affection even though I'm back on my own native soil now.



By the way, this day trip took place during Round Three of Sock Madness, so, although you haven't seen much evidence of them, the socks were very much part of the day's activity, being worked on during the flight, in cafes, in the car when DH was driving, and even back at the airport.








A particularly lovely design this time, created by YarnYenta and called Talia's Wings.







And here's the finished pair (why does it always seem to be late at night when socks are finally done, and one has to try to photograph them under artificial light?) Very entertaining pattern to knit, and it introduced me to the sewn bind-off (they were worked toe-up, forgot to mention), which is an exceptionally useful technique, giving a stretchy attractive top to the cuff. I've already used the method on several other things, to implant it firmly in the Celtic Memory mind.





Now before Round Four of Sock Madness starts, some dyeing up has got to be done here in West Cork. No use waiting for fine weather, they'll have to hang in the greenhouse to dry. Sock yarns of course, in lovely shades of apple blossom and bluebell and all the other flowers coming out at this time of year, but also some laceweights, since so many have been asking for them. No time to lose!

Muffy the Yarnslayer Enters Sock Madness Contest!

Yes, it's true. Abandon hope all ye who hitherto thought you had a chance - Muffy has entered the arena.

Said she'd had enough and more of all this fuss and was going to show us all how it should be done. Collected a few balls of yarn, unearthed two rather vicious-looking six inch nails from her store, and dragged the lot under her cupboard. She's been clicking away busily in there ever since. Can't wait to see the results. I did point out she would have to make a set of four and she looked at me like I was daft.

Well of course you have to have four socks. How many paws does anybody have, for heaven's sake? I mean, what eegit would make - say two for example? G'wan away and don't be annoying me!

She did have some justification for her sudden decision to become a late entrant for Sock Madness (don't worry, moderators, she's created her own sub-division, called, with blinding simplicity, just Muffy, so she won't be throwing anybody else out of the running) since the one who feeds her and generally looks after her welfare has been noticeably distracted this last week or so, since the second round of the aforesaid Madness started.

The pattern for Round Two was due out on Saturday of last week, on or after 1 pm Irish time. But Celtic Memory was not at home. Nope, she was travelling with DH and was, at the appointed hour, somewhere north of Dublin on an attractive estuary where himself was photographing redshanks feeding.

It was fascinating to see how quickly the gulls had learned how to avoid finding their own food; they simply marked down a redshank, and as soon as that unfortunate creature had snaffled a juicy worm, they would descend and bully it until it reluctantly yielded its prey. Kind of reminds you of some human behaviour, doesn't it?

My mind was only half on the bird activity though, as the clock approached the fateful time. When would I hear that the pattern had been issued? The signal that would mean I had to dash for the nearest Internet access? (No, they tend not to have good websites right by the water on a muddy track, bit of an oversight really, I agree.) An hour passed peacefully. DH clicked away. I worked ferociously on a pair of Jeanie Townsend's Cathedral Socks to keep my mind from fretting. What kind of pattern will it be? Can I manage it? How long will it take? Are there others much faster than me? Why do I do this? And so on.

Then it happened. The bleep of a text arriving, followed almost instantaneously by a phone call. Bless the kinship of knitters. Chris texted to say the pattern was HERE and Rosemary in Somerset actually rang, to make sure I knew. Aren't friends great?

Overriding DH's protestations (he'd spend all day like that if he could, honestly, would we knitters spend all day on something? OK, forget I said that) I got the car turned and dashed for Malahide, a little seaside town. Big hotel on outskirts looked promising, and so it proved. Sitting in the car park gave enough of a signal on their wifi to download the pattern. Really, the things we do for knitting.

Work started immediately and didn't stop for the rest of the day. Continued while DH and a bundle (a flock? A gaggle? A gathering?) of birdwatchers watched short-eared owls at dusk -

- and even when one owl swooped low enough for me to glance up and see it in between frantic rounds of ribbing.

These are beautiful birds and not at all common in Ireland which is why we came to be up in that neck of the woods on that fine Saturday.

I think this owl was rather impressed with my knitting actually. He even made a second pass to get a closer look at the colourwork.

Oo, is that stranded knitting? Lookin' good!

Knitted late into the night in the hotel, knitted in the pre-dawn light (a mistake that, meant several rows needing to be tinked back). Even knitted all the way home (don't recommend following a chart on a bumpy twisting road for more than three hours, really don't).

But we took a break on the way, to visit Warren at Craftspun Yarns in Johnstown.

He's only just moved to this new shop in the town and was still getting the stock in order.

But it's a glorious place, already almost full of the most divine yarns, and big ultra-soft cushiony balls of roving too, of several different types. (Yes, yes, he does ship, check his website.)

If I hadn't already bought tons from him, I'd have snaffled even more of these irresistible fibre goodies. But I did come away with a cone of divinely soft Aran weight Blue Faced Leicester yarn. Well, it'll always come in handy, won't it?

It took a good two and a half days to finish those socks, a beautiful two colour pattern designed by Tricia Weatherston, and called Tokena, the Maori word for sock. It's ages since Celtic Memory has done any colourwork and on size 2mm needles it can be a bit hard on the hand muscles. In fact the thumb joint is still aching. But it was worth it. It's no harm to push your abilities now and again, and the result was pretty satisfying.

Of course the usual thing happened: having completed the socks in fairly quick time, found it impossible to stop knitting the darn things. And this is where Celtic Memory has been having a great deal of fun. A LOT of fun.

You remember that lovely old sock knitting machine I inherited? Well, thanks to the assistance of several helpful friends on Ravelry, it is now working fairly well (no you can't do complex colourwork on it unfortunately, believe me I thought of it!) so the time seemed right for a little bit of experimentation. You see, although I can now crank out tubes of knitting with the best of 'em, I haven't quite mastered turning heels and shaping toes yet. So lots and lots of practice tubes.

Until - like Paul on the road to Damascus, a blinding light hit me. Why not turn these tubes into socks with the addition of some hand knitting? Simple? Undoubtedly. Somebody thought of that already? Probably. But I genuinely thought of it by myself and that's always the best way.

Drum roll please. Remember Celtic Memory decrying cutting, steeking, any form of disfigurement of a piece of knitting? Well -

Here is a tube of beautifully soft merino knit being deliberately cut! Actually it only needed one tiny snip of one stitch and then some careful unpicking. But it was a first, a definite first, and nearly gave me a heart attack. That divided the tube into two. Then picked up stitches at one end on each piece (a 2.5mm needle was just right to match the machine stitches) and knitted the toes.

Then came the heel. Another terrifying, deliberate, counter-to-all-previous-learning snip.

Thank heaven for the training received in last year's Sock Madness. I knew how to do an afterthought heel. Hadn't ever tried it from raw stitches before, but it worked. IT WORKED!

Knitting the tube, about ten minutes. Finishing heels and toes, one evening. A bit of dip-dyeing and drying.

Ta-DAH!

HowZAT?

OK, so they're plain, no patterning, cabling, lace or other decorative stitchwork there. But they were so much fun to make. And already there are ideas forming for stripy heels and toes, colourwork cuffs at the top, so many other options. You just do all that long boring bit first, and then have fun with the decorative bits.

I'll probably be drummed out of the Sock Machine group for doing it this way round, and similarly from all the handknitting sock groups, but it's such a satisfying combination of hand and machine that I'm mad about it. And I've tried cutting a single stitch and it doesn't make everything fall apart! Isn't life full of fun surprises?

Made some new friends at the weekend: Linda and her family were over from Montana to explore West Cork and Kerry, so we met up in Killarney and went down to Kerry Woollen Mills. We saw all that lovely traditional bainin yarn, and also some delectable Jacob wool fingering weight.

Here is Andrew Eadie showing Linda a new design he's rather pleased with, a beautifully soft felted knit jacket.

And here is Linda, wearing one new jacket, carrying another, with husband Bruce and daughter Kimberley, ready to head off to Killorglin for more adventures. And she brought me a skein of Mountain Colors from Montana too, bless her! Hope the rest of the trip goes really well for you Linda, and that the weather holds out.

That same weather has been a bit mixum-gatherum here for the past few weeks. Went out one day about a fortnight ago to explore some lesser-known tracks over the mountains above Inchigeelagh.

It was dank and drizzly and not at all pleasant. Just look at that mountain road winding ahead for miles. It puts you in mind of Bilbo Baggins bumping along on his pony and wishing with all his heart he was safe at home with the kettle just beginning to boil.

Yet a week later, the lambs were gambolling in the fields -

the wild plants were already flowering -

- and even on the driveway at home, a determined little clump of violets had pushed their way up through the tarmac.

If you celebrate Easter, then a joyous Eastertide to you. If you celebrate other festivals, then happiness to you this springtime.

Of March Parades, Sock Madness, And Lost Villages

It's been a busy time. Was committed to two parades on St. Patrick's Day so a blustering bright morning found me setting up the trailer at Ballinagree, aided by a helpful piper.

It was the Kromski's first ever public appearance but it took to the open air and the birdsong and the general attention very calmly indeed. And, after adjusting to the stops and starts and bumps, I found it was quite possible to spin the Corriedale as we chugged into the village.

Yes, it's a small place, Ballinagree, but every single man, woman and child that wasn't in the parade turned out to cheer it on. Here we are outside the pub. I'm at the back, sitting on the old wooden settle with Eileen who's crocheting; in the middle are Deirdre with her Ashford Traveller, and Kathy knitting an endless scarf, while in front, standing up, is Sue demonstrating the drop spindle. People really did seem fascinated by it all, and I have lively hopes of resurrecting a once proud Irish tradition, pushed into the background by too-swift progress.

Hey all those of you down there in New Zealand who remember Deirdre with affection, here she is, getting in the warming coffee in the pub after the parade! She's getting married next month is Deirdre, and of course doing all the preparations herself from wedding dress to bridesmaids, so she's got quite enough on her plate, but she turned out for the parade like the good committed spinner that she is.

It was lively outside the pub too. We even had a harpist rattling out the tunes along with the fiddles and squeeze boxes and bodhrans. Real genuine traditional village entertainment, not created by PR companies or TV stations at all.

Nora Casey from the Alpaca Stud decided in the end that it would be enough to lead just one young lad on the day, and it's as well she did, since Vinnie, although he started out well enough, decided he'd have a rest right in the midst of the whole thing, and nothing could move him.

People shouted helpful advice, Nora tugged and pulled, the parade marshals couldn't quite keep their laughter under control, but Vinnie wasn't going anywhere.

Go away and leave me be. Moidering and messing me about. I'll walk in no more parades this day and that's the truth of it.

Eventually Pat stopped his tractor and came down to lend a hand. They lifted Vinnie into the trailer with all his pals, which is what he'd intended in the first place, and he rode in style to Macroom for the second parade.

Here we are waiting for the off in Macroom. We were really lucky with the weather - normally St. Patrick's Day is an excuse for a real downpour (not that the Irish climate really needs an excuse, it does it anyway).

Here are the Woodland String Band from Philadelphia, bringing a touch of American glitz and professionalism to the streets of Macroom town.

It was a grand day.

Two days later, it was Sock Madness 3 - or Sock Madness Forever as it's now called - and there wasn't time to think, let alone post.

The pattern came down at about midday West Cork time and by evening I was able to post a progress pic.

I put them on this Drunkard's Path pillow because the lovely pattern by Ronni (Raspberry on Ravelry) was based on that quilting design. The yarn is one of my own self-striping experiments - didn't turn out quite as intended (do they ever?) but liked it a lot all the same.

On course to finish within my two day record.

Only... the next morning dawned bright and beautiful and DH wouldn't hear of the day being spent indoors knitting. Off to West Cork with us, to gather even more material and pictures for The Book. OK, I could live with that. What did an extra day matter? The socks could come too.

Here they're being worked on Sheep's Head, on an absolutely deserted small boreen winding high above Bantry Bay. Nobody in sight or hearing, even though 'twas a Saturday (well Sophy Wackles was there, but she's being kept out of the picture for the moment).

Oh all right, here she is with some spring narcissi. Can you see the thread of sock yarn in her topknot?

And here is one of the socks, among some early wild violets (know what to call the colourway now, don't I?)

We had a good day, wandering on the lesser-frequented byways and looking for hidden beautiful places.

Like this green lane wandering up to a farmhouse on Three Castle Head -

- and this ruined village beyond Lissagriffin. You'll have to look closely to see the little stone houses blending into the landscape, with the gorse and the bracken and the ivy gradually taking them over, but the more you look, the more of them you'll see. Echoes of the past is the phrase that always comes into my mind when I see a place like this. Those tiny fields, the little houses that once held whole families, the lanes where children ran and men drove cattle - all now silent under the sun and the wind from the sea.

Oh the socks did get done, in only a little over the two days, so there is time to relax and rest the hands before the next round.

They really are divinely comfortable (now that the stitch marker left inside by accident has been located and gently removed) and I'm very happy with them. But of course it's impossible actually to stop knitting the darn things now. Found a pair of Jeanie Townsend's Cathedral Socks that I'd been working on (before Christmas for heaven's sake), and worked out where I was in the pattern (not always an easy task). They'll keep me going until Round 2. The hand resting can wait.