Look! It's a red one

Look! It's a red one, as a red squirrel dashed across the road as we neared our destination. Looking for a week of country peace, this was a good start. We have come to stay in deepest Galloway, no noise except for birds, bees and cows. No technology, except for an iPad and a camera, but, as there is minimal internet those don't really count. Oh, and for noise I should have added in the gentle clicking of needles and the scraping of a knife tidying up plastic model kit pieces.

 

 

This was yesterday, not the 1950's. The road entrance was slightly blocked, by a herd of cows that weren't at all fazed by a large, black car. William actually had to get out of the car and shoo them away.

 

Prior to getting here we went to Culzean Castle were they were doing a reanactment day, Bruce's men to Vietnam. Some military vehicles were shot to add to Williams reference library, and I was shot by him while doing so! Someone actually recognised the camo I was wearing, Swiss Alpenflage, turned out he was ex Swiss army himself. Best camo ever for photo stuff, masses of built in pockets, and most people don't even realise it is real, plenty of odd stares, but not the same as when wearing British army stuff.

Plenty of flowers here and today as I was sitting quietly knitting a hare hopped up beside me and sat watching me while I watched him (or her). A smallish one, so I think this years crop. Didn't have a camera to hand. Lots of bees and insects as well.

 

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Colours of my Mind

Once upon a time there was, and still is, a knitwear designer calle Kaffe. He really went in for colour, colour blocks, patters, stripes, squares and triangles. I had no idea that my mother was interested in his designs. However some months back she dug in one of her many drawers and pulled out a bag of about 20 small skeins that were meant to make a cardigan with lots of triangles. This I couldn't face, so, some frogging and re-rolling later I started to use them.

 

First: a multicoloured and textured scarf

Second: a shawl in colour blocks

Third: ? Must think.

I find the use of colours fascinating. How they blend and mix, what the 'rules' are. Who uses which, and why. I tend to wear neutrals, nothing very bright. This year though, I have indulged in reds, reds and more reds. Am I getting old, is this a breakout in life, a personal crazy streak or what? The plan is to be cheerful.

This, however, does not look cheerful, she looks positively ferocious. Cats have been a part of my life since I was 9. The only time I have been without them is when at boarding school and at university.

I started by bringing cats home from the farm. Mum hated it, but I was persistent, and eventually she gave in.

Originally there was a constant stream of moggies, many of whom were rescue cats, but, more recently, we have had mainly British Shorthairs, one Norwegian Forest and a pair of Bengals. Bengals, I have discovered, need endless patience and an ability to shout loudly enough to interrupt the latest mischief. Tonight it was running around the house with the packaging from the meat.

This one is less naughty, but has a very definite mind of her own, and a good ability to understand the English language, especially the VET word, even when spelt.

 

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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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Thinking about Life

I haven't written anything for ages. That doesn't mean that I haven't knitted anything, or done anything or gone anywhere. It is just because my life has been overtaken recently by a bogieman. Cancer! The thing that you always think happens to someone else. Initially I thought that I would record things as they happened, but that didn't work for me. I kept starting to write and giving up, all my energy was going into existing, and then into healing and now - we'll now I'm in the waiting stage, so it's a good time to start recording things again. 

One thing I have realised that's it's all the little things that keep you going. Not the big, dramatic moments, but the small ones, that make you laugh or smile and get you through another day. This was today's. A bottle of beer carefully placed in a shoe so it wasn't knocked over.

Now, why would anyone do that? 6 months ago I wouldn't have been capable of noticing it. 1 year ago I wouldn't have cared. Now it's the small moments that truly matter. The silly ones, the tiny things, the quiet times. The times I can just live without thinking about the future. Mindfulness.