A small touch of silence.

Bubbly under the lights at the Hippodrome

 I have these great expectations that I'll write a blog post every week but the days seem to speed away from me. Here I am again wincing at the date of the last post written and resolving to buck up my ideas. Much as I love routine, it is also something that I find difficult to stick to. There is an unseasonable heatwave hitting our coast making it very hard to stay inside when I could be sitting in the sun with the cat and the knitting. Not to worry, better to be late than not at all.

Beautiful curves.

I spent a weekend recently, at the Hippodrome Festival of Silent Film in Bo'ness. The Hippodrome is Scotland's oldest purpose built cinema and was restored a few years ago. It is a small gem of a place, all curves and plush reds. The only way to tell that the seats are not the originals is the lack of ashtrays on the back.  When this cinema ( and film itself ) was a youngster, everything on and off screen was wrapped in a blue haze of cigarette smoke.  These days the smokers stand outside in the cold but you can guarantee a very warm welcome inside. We watched everything from extravagantly camp swash buckling from Douglas Fairbanks to early Stan Laurel and a revelation ( to me ) of the genius of Charley Chase. The Scottish Screen Archive showed some of their films of Scottish life which, like the wonderful Japanese film, I Was Born, But proved that time and distance are no match for our common experiences. Although the films were silent they were far from quiet. They were all accompanied by musicians, some of whom had written new scores and in one case we also had the talents of a film explainer who added a whole new dimension to what we were watching.  Great fun and a wonderful community feeling, the local shops had special window displays and I could swear that in one cafe Charlie Chaplin was doing the cooking!

In the Ivy cafe

 And now a heat wave, how strange to be putting on suncream in March. The garden is shimmering with light and the bees and butterflies are beginning to show themselves. In a moment of terrible timing I decided to knit an aran jumper after finishing a lovely fiddly lace scarf last week.  My knitting bag is filled with thick heavy handspun and size five needles. Even if it wasn't too hot to knit the damn thing it would certainly be too hot to wear it when I'm finished. The good news? There is snow forecast for the hills this weekend!

Too hot for Aran!

I am happy with these socks.

Tidying up the spirals.

Spring is continuing to make itself known with an outbreak of gardening and the odd chance to bask in the sunshine,  so long as the wind is blowing in the right direction and you sit in the one place at the bottom of the stairs where there are no draughts.  It is only possible to sit out for a short spell but while it lasts, what bliss.

Quick glimpse of sunny colour at the foot of the Silver Birch.

Last time I wrote about my sock making efforts I was less than complimentary. I had made some ugly but serviceable bed-fellows. They kept my feet warm but were the colour of cat vomit. I've just finished another pair, featuring some of the self-same vomit yarn but with the addition of two other colours.  Three cheers for orange and brown, they have restored my faith in scrappy handspun socks. The pattern is based on the Toe To Toe socks which can be found in this book. My yarn, being scrappy and handspun is a lot thicker than the one recommended for the pattern so I made a few changes. I am utterly in love with the corrugated rib at the top, it is a great example of why simple is beautiful.

Smitten with this rib.

A finished sock and a seal impersonation, now that's multitasking!

Next on the list of knitting intended to use up the handpsun scrappy bits is at least one pair of Mucklemitts. Not only are they designed by my erstwhile imaginary friend and now true pal, Mary Jane Mucklestone, they are also the only knitting pattern I know of that has been immortalised in a Guardian cartoon.  I have been spinning purple, yellow, turquoise and there is some pink still to be spun. I'm thinking that all together they will look like those little Easter eggs that are covered in sugary pastel coloured coatings. Springy colours. Let's hope I finish them before summer comes.

Magnus would respectfully like to suggest that it is time to clean out the greenhouse.

Shedding some light.

I didn't sit there all the time, honest.

Much of last week was spent in darkened rooms. It was one of the most enlightening weeks of the year. I saw Iceland, Alaska, Spain, Argentina, Mexico, France, Norfolk, Germany and Australia. There were scenes of Gothic terror, exuberant dancing and utter incredulity.  Sentimental sniffs and moments of such anger that the tears dried on my face.  I was minded of a Mindfulness saying - Don't just do something - sit there. Sometimes the best way to learn is to stay still. Thank you very much Glasgow Film Festival.
Our festival headquarters were on the Southside of the town courtesy of my stepdaughter Caroline, in her flat filled with books and crafty things. It is very easy to feel at home there. We were able to catch up with some friends and relations too and I indulged my love of Fazzi's pizza far too many times than was good for me.

You can hardly see the buttons but they do match the ring.

A handknitted cloth and the new ring.

In other news, I finished a cardigan. Made from four ply that my Sister in Law gave me late last year. I added the orange from my own yarn collection and the buttons were a lucky find in the button box. An even luckier find was this ring that I bought in a charity shop. It goes perfectly.
Sometimes I wonder if my colour choices are a bit odd, but then I look out of the window and this happens. I think Spring might be nearly here. I heard the first frog of the year plop into our little pond today.  

I love this - the pink light was so strong that it changed the colour of the living room walls.

Routine Rules.

Rough winds blew me away from home last week on account of a family emergency. Everything is fine now, thanks for asking, due in no small part to the organisational skills and general brilliance of  Fife Council's finest. There was a home visit within hours of broken bones being reported and a plan of care in place the very same evening. Much relief all round.

Bread on the way to the oven.

It was only a few days and nights but it reminded me how much of a homebody I am.  I love the familiarity of things.  I love the freedom to spend a day in my pajamas waiting for a loaf of bread to rise and the daily conversation with my lad as we lean on the kitchen counter and watch the latest activity at the bird feeders, observing the starling numbers ( thirty five yesterday ) and laughing at the goldfinches as they hang upside down and squabble over seeds.  I love it that we live in a house full of books and yarn and pictures.

Toy dog collapses under the weight of all that knowledge.

 Even Magnus, the most unpredictable member of the household has a reassuring routine. Each morning he wakes us up with the sound of his substantial furry body flinging itself at the glass door which is all that separates a cat from his breakfast.  Half past four every afternoon he tries to persuade us that it really is five o' clock and that teatime must be imminent. Every afternoon I have a pointless conversation with him explaining in words I know he can't understand, that it is only four - thirty and that teatime is still many minutes away.

 

Some spun fibre.

As far as I'm concerned, familiarity breeds calm, not contempt. My wee quiet house with the birdwatching window, the lad in the study and an attic full of fibre is what builds me up, keeps me well and sends me off on new adventures knowing it will all be there waiting for me when I come home.

Unspun and waiting to be transformed.

So far so good.

Happy New Year!

Birdfeeders illuminated by this year's best sunset.

 So far 2012 has been unseasonably warm and  prone to spectacular sunsets. The golfinches in the garden are as grumpy and territorial as they were last year with many a wing being raised in anger. I love to watch their squabbles but should really take some time out to wash the bird watching window, you may notice a smear or two.

Squabbly goldinches.

Magnus survived the celebratory fireworks but remained suspicious of the new sofa until this week. Hard to tell what has changed, maybe the new smell has worn off but whatever happened, he is now back in charge of seating arrangements. That leaves three of us to fight over who gets the reclining seats. Maybe it won't just be the goldinches who will squabble this spring.

Magnus - King of Seating.

                           


In other news, I did a little spinning.

Some odds and ends of merino tops that needed a purpose. Most likely to turn into part of a pair of socks.

Ho Ho Humbug.

Compliments of the season from all at Mog Towers. We wish you a peaceful and happy 2012.

Magnus isn't very good at being festive.

Shiny.

Jam and dodgy socks

Old leaves - may be responsible for drabness.

There are times when making something is a slog. The awfulness of the slog is tempered with the knowledge that the end result will make everything worthwhile. Many hours of knitting stocking stitch round and round and round is forgotten when a Cobblestone or a Peasy. is created from them.  Then there are the times when the slog and the end result are equally awful. Take these just finished socks for instance. Please take them.

Maybe I should iron before taking pictures?

 These socks are part of my plan  to use up every scrap of my handspun no matter how scrappy that handspun might be. They were an absolute pain to knit, being made made from the sort of thick and thin yarn that only an enthusiastic but skill-free new spinner can create and then dyed with a variety of sticks and leaves and old tea bags. Combined together, the yarns look like something that Magnus might throw up, minus the distressing bony evidence of whatever he ate to make him sick in the first place. Before synthetic dyes were invented there was a colour named drab. I may have unwittingly made the drabbest of socks.

They are knitted two yarns to the row in Lice Stitch creating a double layer which hopefully cancels out the worst of the thick and thin and whatever else might be wrong with them they will keep my feet from freezing at night and so prevent marital disharmony. For that I will be thankful.

Checking the jellification of the jam.

In other news I emptied the freezer and made jam with the last of the summer's raspberries and redcurrants. The jam is beautiful and tasty without a hint of cat sick or drabness.

Wooden spoon is no match for the stain powers of raspberries.