Conversations on a Train: Part 1

I was knitting on the train the other evening on my way home from work. Three women in their seventies or so sat in the adjoining seats and conversation soon turned to the rarity of seeing someone knitting these days. We got chatting. They had all been prolific knitters before the advent of machine knits and, for one, osteoarthritis in her hand. They told me stories of wartime knitting, which was part of the primary school curriculum with compulsory homework in the evenings. They made sweaters and long socks for soldiers, the wool laden with oil that left their hands rather rough. Each evening they had to complete a required length of knitting for inspection at school the following day. The soldiers, never previously known to the children, would write to say thank you, sending notes about the sweaters and socks from the battle zones and postings. They also talked of soldiers going through recovery and rehabilitation who were taught to knit (though this may predate WWII, from the look of the photo I found).


This had been utilitarian knitting at its utmost, and there I was, with my ball of fairly high-end wool and a half-formed sock, knitting for no other reason than pure luxury. I don't need any more socks, and already have far more than is sensible. Knitting with yarn imported from Japan is hardly a frugal option; for the price of one ball of wool I could probably buy five pairs of mass-produced socks from a chain store. I could not think of a single reason other than luxury, creativity, relaxation and entertainment for what I was doing. A sign of the times.

A London so rarely seen

We have snow, proper snow, not a sprinkling, not a dash, but proper drifts. It's the first time in my life I have not been able to get to work or travel because of the snow. For anyone for whom snow is not unusual it may be difficult to convey just how exciting it is to have heavy snow in London. Indulge me - there are a few pictures of the snow.







A road normally busy with cars, shut to traffic this morning

My sister just looked out of her window in another part of London and saw this:

Unbowed despite the rain

I no longer have 'flu, thank goodness. I've been dashing around again as usual. There has been activity, but the likelihood of good-quality daylight + camera + me all converging in the same place at the same time this winter remains small. So, here's something someone else prepared earlier to brighten things up.

Your rainbow is shaded red.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What is says about you: You are a passionate person. You appreciate energetic people. You get bored easily and want friends who will keep up with you.

Find the colors of your rainbow at spacefem.com.

A strange-looking rainbow, if you ask me, but bizarrely accurate in certain ways. Except the boredom bit. On the one hand, life might be easier if I did get bored more quickly. On the other hand, if I anthropomorphised balls of wool it would explain my severe case of knitting Startitis.

Influenza

Two types of painkiller. One type of antibiotic. Lots of soothing tissues. Many glasses of water.

Don't even think about picking up a knitting needle until Day 8. You won't remember what it's for until then.

Primavera mitts

Just before Christmas, while thinking about Secret Christmas knitting, I went to the Rothko: The Late Series exhibition at the Tate Modern. I had not been expecting to think of wool when in the third room, filled with large canvases from the Seagram murals. However, all the paintings were composed of shades so similar to the yarn I was using at home that it made me wonder if Sundara derives some of her inspiration from Rothko's art.

Primavera Mitts
inspired by the beautiful Primavera Socks by S(t)ockinette
Yarn: Sundara Sock Yarn, burgundy over apricot (half a skein)
Needles: 2.75 mm
I borrowed the thumb gusset pattern from Javajem's Merletto Fingerless Mitts.

Does anyone want the pattern? If so, let me know and I'll write it up.

Shafts of light

Wow - what a sky.

If only I could speak or read Norwegian then I'd know where it was.

It seems an apt picture for the first day of the new year.

Out with the old, in with the new...

I'm looking forward to 2009. I'm hoping for many eccentric, funny and improbable moments. Parts of this year have been unexpectedly and discombobulatingly grim, thanks to the hand that fate deals sometimes. I'm determined that the new year will be lighter, more frivolous and without too many sideswiping events directed by chance and the inevitable vagaries of life and death.

People here have been invaluable in providing a gentle cushion during the grimmer moments, but it's been those who are far, far away who have touched and moved me with their consistent good humour, optimism, conversation and friendship. They have provided a greatly appreciated counterpoint, probably without knowing just how much they have helped.

I have various existential resolutions but they are works in progress. It is for the moment far easier to consider some knitting resolutions:

• to learn how to do a provisional cast on
• to stop being stubborn about avoiding charts (I can use them, I just remain fixed in my preference for letters and numbers over squiggles)
• to practise kitchener stitch from the right side (though doing it inside out is working for me at the moment)
• to reduce my stash (or find a way to make it invisible and to take up a third of its volume)

Overall, I could do with being less impatient with my knitting, and less patient in non-knitting matters. Patience is not always a virtue. Here's to frivolity, excitement, novelty and adventure, whether in knitting or other matters.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!