Wool, wool and more wool (and other patterns).

OK I am a hoarder, and a collector, and I love wool. But my collection has got to the point that I can't find storage space any longer, it's overrun my storage unit, it's falling out of the cupboard and taken over the living room chest. So I need to either stop acquiring wool or knit more, or both! Trouble is - my scarf/shawl/cowl collection has also reached overspill levels. I need to make socks, gloves and jumpers, especially things to give away.

 

 

 

This is the latest finished item. The 'Original Knitting Game' from Criminal Knits. It's lovely and soft, and warm, and cuddly. It might turn into a gift, but I think not.

I also have 5 scarves on needles, a very large Afghan, a rug for my daughter and enough plans in mind for the next several years.

 

 

 

 

 

Yesterday we went to the Escher exhibition at the Modern Art Gallery in Edinburgh. It was fantastic, I love the tessellated patterns, but wasn't aware of his early stuff, drawings of Italiam villages, cliffsides, all exaggerated and showing distortion of perspective. I would love to be able to draw like that, but if wishes were horses ....

 

 

however I have been playing around with Zentangles, also black and white and making tiles using repeated patterns. A lot of practice is needed, but they are very relaxing to do, which is the idea. I used to love making patterns as a child, I was put off doing so by an art teacher who said they were not 'proper drawings', obviously he had never seen Escher.

 

 

 

 

 

I wonder how many people have been stopped from being creative by those sorts of unthinking (and callous) remarks. I didn't make any art for years after that. But now I do, I knit, choosing the colours and textures, I take photos and alter them to make abstracts, I sometimes do pastel paintings and I cook. All of these are art in their own way. I need time out for my brain! Working with my hands does this.

 

 

 

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We made Jam

My daughter brought home strawberries and raspberries from Culross Palace gardens and wanted to make jam. I haven't made jam for about 25 years. Homemade raspberry jam used to be a regular occurance, but I never finished it, and then the kids were around, and I was too busy. So .... Jam sugar was acquired and of we went using the very simple recipe on the back of the packet. My cooking thermometer was broken long ago, so setting was done by a timed method - I didn't even use the 'wrinkle' test. Fortunately it worked.

 

 

Soft fruit - 800gms

Jam sugar -1000gms

Mix, heat slowly until sugar dissolved

Bring to a rolling boil

Boil for 4 minutes.

Pour into sterilised jam jar

Cool and seal.

 

 

 

This all reminded me of olden times. In the summer we used to go picking endless blackberries, diving into thickets with buckets, my memory paints them as large and juicy, but the blackberries you see in the wild now always seem very small and tart. The kids always seem horrified when I pick them - unclean, unclean!

The other thing we did when young was winkle picking, down on the beach with buckets, bringing them back to wash multiple times to remove the grit, then boil to sell in the shop. None of us drowned, unlike the winkle pickers of recent notoriety, but then we were 'locals' and knew the tides well. The only time I almost got caught out was when walking around the harbour slightly too late on the tide and having to climb the fence into the fields to get around the edge as the path was underwater. I would have been in trouble if I'd waded and got soaked shoes, also, the sand had a nasty tendency to turn into quicksand when wet, so it might have been a bit risky.

Pagham Harbour, a nature reserve, without boats

Pagham harbour, a nature reserve and no boats, seriously disappointed William and Jenny, they wanted boats not sand and wind, but I spent hours here as a child, walking or cycling around it, watching the tide and the birds, sitting and reading. The big house near the harbour used to be owned by friends of my dads and they had a cage full of parrots, and what I thought was a monkey, but, as I remember black and white, might have been a lemur.

Life was much freer then, I wandered everywhere, on foot or bike, frequently away for hours. We played in the farmers barns, building houses from bales of straw, fed the calves, collected eggs at the stables. Sometimes I had company in the summer when the visitors where down, they were regulars and there were 2 girls I met up with every year, who had summer homes on the beach, other times of the year I mainly wandered by myself. No one thought of danger or risks, no mobile phones of course, and one came back when hungry.

 

 

 

 

 

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On Poodles

 

When I was young I had an assortment of carers, after school, holidays, weekends. It comes with having parents who both worked. It was much less formal than now, I assume they got paid, but there were certainly no checks. The one I remember most clearly was Marion. She lived in a beach house (two railway carriages put together with a space between and a roof over the middle) next door to my best holiday friend and had an assortment of people staying with her and, always, poodles. The small yappy variety, grey and smelly but very affectionate. She had a greenhouse full of fuchsias and, wonder of wonders, a TV. I spent lots of summers there, mostly playing on the beach. Not a beach as you would think, sand and sand castles, but a good, old fashioned, hard to walk on, pebble beach.

One summer was the one my dad died. He was taken ill and I was sent into the garden until the ambulance collected him and then to Marion's. He never came home and I never saw him again, children weren't allowed in hospitals in those days. I sat watching Wimbledon, Chris Evert, so I know it was summer. I was nine.

About me: how much difference has it made growing up without a father? How can you know? My Mum was always busy, but so are many mums. We has enough money for reasonable comfort, very few holidays, but that was usual then. I has a de facto stepfather from when about 12, but no real emotional relationship there, and he didn't live with us until I was at boarding school, and even then wasn't there during the holidays. Physical affection was not a factor in our family. I remember Dad carrying me on his shoulders, but not with enough memory pictures to be sure it was a real event.

 

 

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New Year, New Start

I think I am back at a place where I can write again. I need to record thing past and present, to contemplate, pause and understand. So ..... Let's start with the simple things. A new recipe:

Pear and Raspberry Loaf

Pear and Raspberry variant.

Pear and Cranberry Loaf.

This can probably be made with any mix of softish fruits, (photo above - pear and raspberry, rather on the tart side). Incredibly easy. Great the next day for breakfast, takes about 10 minutes to make.

Ingredients:

• 2/3 cup rolled oats
• 1 cup milk
• 1 cup self-raising flour
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1 cup fresh or dried cranberries
• 1 cup fresh or dried pears, diced
• 1/3 cup brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 3 tablespoons maple syrup
• 1 large egg, lightly beaten

Directions:

• 1. Preheat oven to 350°F. Use greased 5 x 9-inch loaf pan.


• 2. Put oats and milk in a bowl. If you are using dried pears put them in the bowl to soak and plump up before baking. Do leave for plenty of time at this stage.


• 3. Stir remaining ingredients into the soaked oat mixture. Mix together well and spoon the mixture into the prepared loaf pan.


• 4. Bake for 45 minutes, ( check after 35), until the top is golden and toothpick comes out clean. Cool for 5 minutes and then turn out onto a wire rack to
• cool completely.

What has changed? Really not a lot. We still live in the same place. I still work at the same place and I still knit, read and play inane games on an iPad.

Daughter number 1 has very nearly finished her clinical psychology training, and has a new job lined up for October in central Scotland. She will probably live in Glasgow. So, no more excuses for trips up to Lossiemouth. Of course, that doesn't mean we won't go. Still plenty of distillaries to visit, plenty of planes to watch and plenty of wool.

Last week we went up for 3 days,

• Visited Glen Grant Distillary - slightly disappointing tour although a interesting different shape of copper stills.
  
• Sat on the side of Duffus castle and watched planes. In between the roars beautifully peaceful, birdsong and wild meadows. Over the trip saw Tornados, Eurofighters, Hawks (both plane and bird varieties) and BAE164s (a smallish transport plane).
• Went to Knockando Woolmill, restored to full working order, and acquired some spun wool and a glorious tweed wrap in lovely autumn colours.
• Ate lots, the Bakehouse at Burghead did a lovely supper, pizzas and mushroom and venison stroganoff
• Ballindulloch Castle grounds not as good as expected, but an attractive duck pond sans ducks!

 

 

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