Last week started on a mournful note, waking up with the feeling that the past was drifting ever further away, that the past 40 years have been a dream. I’ve been thinking more and more lately that it is time to do some house clearing. The thought of re-homing Gordon’s possessions feels like I’m abandoning him as well. I’m assuming this is natural, another stage on the grieving journey. Perhaps I should have done more clearing in the early days, when I was still in shock.
Crocus
However, getting up, bustling about, making breakfast, and swigging coffee soon lifted my spirits enough that I was ready to face the day. It was another morning at the museum, charting gansey patterns. Among the three or four charted, there were some interesting features. One was completely in basketweave – alternating squares of knit and purl about 5 or 6 stitches wide and tall – with a ribbed welt and cuffs. Another had buttons at the centre front instead of at one or both sides of the neck. The shoulder strap of another had a cable flanked by double moss stitch. While I am ever grateful that these photos exist, I sometimes wish that there were some extant ganseys in the museum’s collection. It would be great to see what the gussets look like, as these can’t be seen on the photos.
Quitter
I’ve spent a lot of time on the computer this week, probably too much. Another website I look after that has been broken for five years, and it was time to finally fix it. This has been more complicated than anticipated, but it’s nearly done; the last thing to do is figure out how to get the files from the test site on my computer to the live site.
Snowdrops under the trees
Where would we be without the internet? We first connected via treacly-slow dial-up, which in turn wouldn’t have been possible without the telephone, which had its start on this day in 1876. For today is National Landline Telephone Day, to commemorate Bell’s first telephone call to his assistant Watson. Other ‘days’ today are National Skirt Day, International Bagpipe Day, Harriet Tubman Day, Commonwealth Day, and, um, International Day of Awesomeness.
Celandine
The gansey, to fit in with one of today’s ‘days’, is coming along awesomely. The interminable ribbing on the body is done and the border beneath the yoke is in progress, with the gussets started at the same time. The border is a simple net pattern and is nearly finished. I’ve used extra stitch markers just before the centre stitch to aid with pattern placement. The gansey is coming right along.
Budding Hydrangea
I’m off on my travels again for the next few weeks – to a handbell day near Edinburgh, a visit to the house in Northamptonshire, which I haven’t visited since last autumn, a workshop near Exeter, and finally a visit to a friend in Cornwall. Which is a long way of saying, I’ll be back in a few weeks.
Here’s something you’ve probably never considered: Clouds, those ephemeral, ever-shifting phenomena in the heavens, have weight. Learning this is akin to pondering if, on your next visit to a Gothic cathedral, the ceiling will come crashing down. It turns out that clouds are heavy, very very heavy. According to the Meteorology Department at the University of Reading, a fluffy cumulus cloud, the kind you see on warm summer days or during the opening credits of The Simpsons, contains approximately 0.25g of water per cubic meter. An average cumulus cloud with an area of 1 km3 would therefore weigh 250 metric tonnes. A bigger cloud, like a meaty thunderstorm cloud, is 10 times larger and contains 8 times as much water – it weighs in at 2 million tonnes.
Spring branches
And these numbers only take into account the water in the cloud – the air has weight too. For the cumulus cloud mentioned above, the air within them weighs about 1 kg per cubic meter, which adds 1 million tonnes. For the thunderstorm cloud, add another 1 billion tonnes. A Gothic cathedral ceiling? If the internet is to be believed, it ranges from 450 to 2000 tonnes. We should worry more about the sky falling than a cathedral ceiling. Chicken Little had it right.
Clouds stay up because of the air – the water vapour is supported by the air’s weight. It’s like resting a feather on an ingot of lead. The feather won’t pass through the lead because it is heavier and denser. I’m still not sure how a cathedral ceiling stays up. I think it’s a combination of luck, craftsmanship, and physics. All this brings to mind, in a roundabout way, the old riddle of which weighs more, a pound of lead or a pound of feathers?
Wave of Snowdrops
Someone who wrote rhymes, riddles, and improbable stories was Theodor Geisel, born on 2 March 1904 in Springfield, MA. He had a productive career as an illustrator and cartoonist before becoming wildly successful with his books for children. They are known the world over – his nom de plume was Dr Suess. I know I had some of his books as a child, and while I can’t remember any of them, thinking of them always has positive associations.
Gorse
Work on the current gansey is slowing, now that I don’t have seven hours on a bus to occupy. The bamboo needles are good to knit with and are thin enough that they have started to shape to my hands. One of the points has become a bit dull, but I have reshaped it with a file, which is something I wouldn’t attempt with metal needles. The joint allows for smooth shifting of stitches from cord to tip, with no snagging. The knitting itself has been more rhythmic than tedious, but concentration is necessary when stopping and starting. I’ve caught myself multiple times doing knitting when I should be ribbing, and vice versa. In a few more inches I’ll start the yoke and gussets.
Last week, I spent a few days in Edinburgh, taking the bus there and back. It was a relatively uneventful trip, apart from the bus being two hours late getting there. The first bus ran out of coolant an hour’s drive from Inverness, where it connects to the next bus. There we sat for nearly two hours. The driver was almost frantic, having made several phone calls but not getting any updates. Eventually an engineer arrived to fix the bus, but it had been without coolant too long and could not be driven. We were shifted to the next scheduled bus when it arrived and caught later connections in Inverness.
Snowdrops in the back yard
The UK government is transitioning to digital eVisas, and the trip south was to complete the last step in the application process. It is necessary to present oneself in person, passport in hand, to have photo and fingerprints taken. I’d left plenty of time for the bus and to find the office, but traffic halted at a bottleneck for 20 minutes, and I was late. Fortunately, others were ahead of me, as I found when escorted into the waiting area. When my turn came, they scanned my passport, and directed me to the other half the room to another bank of chairs. Thinking to pass the time by reading e-mails on my phone, I took it out but was informed ‘no phones’. But it was only a short wait, and I was soon called behind a screen for the photo and fingerprints. This last was not like a police show, where your fingers are rolled on an ink pad. Of course not. It was digital. You press your fingers on a small scanner which has four lights that turn green when the scan is read. If your fingers are too dry, there’s a blue pad where you oil them up and try again. The whole process, from arriving to leaving, took about 15 minutes. In the fulness of time, I’ll have a digital visa, which should speed going through UK borders.
Snow on the Cairngorms
For the rest of my stay in Edinburgh, I had a good rest. The weather was cold, windy, and rainy, so not conducive to long walks or window shopping. I was staying with a friend, and when we weren’t chatting at the kitchen table, I was knitting in the guestroom.
The back of the National Gallery, Edinburgh
I made good use of the long bus rides by knitting nearly the entire way there and back. The 3” of K1P1 ribbing are done, and about 4” of the body. The bottom of the ribbing ripples somewhat, but that should lessen upon blocking. The body ribbing – 5 K, P1, K1, P1, K1, P1 – is almost mindless, and I reckon it’s better than plain stockinette. The ‘new’ yarn was on the mat when I got home. It’s a different dyelot, but I’d be hard-pressed to tell the difference.
For some forgotten reason, I recently researched ‘what is celebrated today’ on the internet. There are some interesting ‘awareness days’. We all know that 14 February is St Valentine’s Day. But what about St Trifon Zarezan? In Bulgaria, he’s the patron saint of viniculture. It’s the day that marks the first vine pruning of the year. In the country of Georgia, it’s the festival of Lamproba, where birchwood fires are lit after dark to celebrate the end of winter. There are many heart health and emotion-related awareness days on 14 February, but some of the others are: National Cream-Filled Chocolates Day, League of Women Voters Day, National Ferris Wheel Day, and National Library Lover’s Day. Some groups need a bigger slice of the year, so there are awareness weeks and months: Random Acts of Kindness Week, Real Bread Week, National Hero Week, International Week of Black Women in the Arts, Pickle Time Week, Love Data Week, National Jello Week. The list is lengthy. February is National Goat Yoga Month. I did not make that up.
Rushes
But it is fair to say that all of these, apart from Valentine’s Day, have gone unnoticed here in the far north. It’s been a week much like the last, with the notable events being a haircut, and attending the Net Loft Thursday evening Zoom, where gansey knitters get together to show their progress, ask advice, and chat. My regular weekly visit to the museum to work on charts from gansey photos was aborted early when the power went out. It flickered on and off for ten minutes, teasing us into thinking it was on permanently, and then went off. At least I hadn’t even started so didn’t lose anything. I set aside that afternoon to do some charting at home and have been doing a bit more during the week. The weather has been conducive for that – cloudy, cold, windy.
First Crocus
I’ve been working steadily on the gansey, aided by some springy bamboo needles. I am occasionally concerned that an end will snap, but given that the grain of bamboo runs lengthways, it would probably take more force than mere knitting. The dual dilemmas of the chart and ‘yarn chicken’ have been resolved. The chart only needed to be widened slightly, so there will be two open diamond panels instead of one. For the yarn, I searched a well-known auction site and found 5+ balls for sale, and I await its arrival.
More rushes
I neglected to mention last week that as well as thinner yarn, I’ve also gone down a needle size to 2mm. It isn’t much of a difference in size, but the swatch felt a bit ‘boardy’ and I didn’t want to go any smaller. The k1 p1 ribbing is about 2.5” now and should be finished in a day or two. Then the body, which will also be ribbed up to the yoke – k5, p1, k1, p1, k1, p1. This style of body is not uncommon in the old photos. I wonder if the knitters then dreaded it. It will be both mindless and very mindful.
Before I opened the curtains this morning, there were sounds outside. Assuming it was pitch dark and that nothing should be stirring, I listened carefully. It was birds in the plum tree, and then I realised that in reality dawn was soon to break, and the sparrows were just going about their business. It’s a harbinger of spring, hearing birds in the morning.
Hawthorn budding
There are other signs of spring, too. The snowdrops around town are blooming, although not yet in the back garden. Daffodils are sending up flower buds. On trees and bushes, shoot tips are starting to swell, and soon there will be pussywillow catkins along the riverside path. Plus it is not dark at 5 p.m.
Last year’s flowers
A few weeks ago, with Spring is in the offing, I made an appointment with the dentist. I haven’t been in over a year. The appointment came round this week, and it was both good and bad. The good: I didn’t need to visit the hygienist. “I can see you have very good dental hygiene,” the dentist said. The bad? A cavity under a decades-old metal filling. It is always disconcerting when the dentist, after poking your gums with the pointy end of the probe, then inserts it into a hole in your tooth and waggles it around. She asked me to turn my head so the trainee assistant could see. “See that white? It’s not tooth, it’s calcification. That bit there (poke poke waggle) is the cavity. We need to fill it or there’s danger of the tooth breaking.” At least there was only one filling, but I have a feeling it will be a big one. I made an appointment for the earliest available date – 1 April – and vowed to cut back on sugar.
Yet I might need that sugar to fuel the next gansey. I’ve cast on with a Channel Island cast on and will start with 1×1 ribbing. Most of the week I’ve been measuring and re-measuring the gauge swatch, restretching and measuring again, and attempting to chart a version of the pattern that would fit the stitches required. The first set of measurements didn’t seem believable, but the second set required complete re-jigging of the chart. I tried for several days to capture the essence of the pattern in a smaller chart. The problem was to reduce the number of rows, but not the number of stitches, and to keep the central panel at about one third of the width. Although the diamonds in the yoke don’t look square, in terms of numbers they are square: a diamond that is 39 st wide will be 39 rows high. To reduce the rows, the width of the motif would also need to change. This might work on side panels, but not the central panel, which needed to retain its width to keep the character of the original. After struggling with this, charting and re-charting, I remembered the first set of measurements, which would give me something much closer to the Johnston photo. It only needed to be slightly wider. It’s a bit of a leap in the dark, particularly with different yarn that may not behave like our old friend, gansey 5-ply.
Last week started on a mournful note, waking up with the feeling that the past was drifting ever further away, that the past 40 years have been a dream. I’ve been thinking more and more lately that it is time to do some house clearing. The thought of re-homing Gordon’s possessions feels like I’m abandoning him as well. I’m assuming this is natural, another stage on the grieving journey. Perhaps I should have done more clearing in the early days, when I was still in shock.
