A month or so back, the local camera club met to discuss upcoming events. One of the outcomes was, “Let’s Put on a Show!”. Accordingly, the venue was chosen, someone was contacted to matt and mount all the photos, and the size of the prints was determined. Any camera club member was welcome to take part. After having acquired an elderly but excellent photo printer near the start of lockdown, I decided to participate. It was high time to get to grips with printing photographs at home. Little did I realise the work involved.
Since the printer had run out of ink, it was necessary to source some. Original cartridges are pricey, and don’t last very long. There are alternatives, but the only viable one was refillable cartridges. Accordingly I purchased a starter kit which included cartridges, ink, gloves, and the bits needed to refill the cartridges. Then the learning curve got steeper. I had to fill the cartridges, but the kit had no instructions. The internet, as usual, was the fount of all knowledge.
‘Aquarelle’
Ink cartridges are little marvels of design. Filling them for the first time is more involved than squirting ink into a hole. They need to be ‘primed’ to fill a tiny reservoir within the cartridge. After watching a video, the first cartridge was primed successfully. But the second one . . . there was yellow ink everywhere. There is a reason the kit included disposable gloves! The cartridge flew out of my hand, leaving essential parts behind and the cartridge on the floor (the carpet was o.k.!). The rest of the cartridges – there are 9 in total – were filled without any serious incident.
So, if you’re in the area between 5 April – 11 May, the Thurso Camera Club is having an exhibit at the art gallery in Thurso Library. The exhibit consists of prints and a slideshow, with 5 prints and 5 slides per participant. Entry is free.
Thomson of Thurso
In gansey news, the chart is now done. It took a lot of thinking to arrive at nearly the same chart I’d begun with. The nub of the problem was fitting in 8 stitches. One solution would be to enlarge motifs, making the panels wider. But if the diamonds are wider, they’re also taller, so at the final height of the yoke there might be a partial diamond instead of a complete one. Eventually, a solution appeared – add one stitch to each edge, and one stitch either side of the diamond panels, without enlarging the diamonds.
But there was a heart-stopping moment at the end of the first round of the pattern, when there seemed to be about 5 extra stitches. A recount was in order, during which various fixes rolled were thought of, none of them pleasant. Fortunately, there was only one extra stitch. To avoid decreasing, a 1×1 cable moved the purl at the gusset edge over the extra knit stitch, which moved under the purl to become the increase on that side of the gusset. As a workaround, it’s satisfactory – a good mantra is “no one will ever stare at your armpit”.
I doubt that many of you will have played handbells.Over the past 15 or so years I’ve come across them and had a go, mostly at taster sessions run at other courses I was attending.About seven years ago, in an attempt to Get Out and Meet More People, I contacted one of the local handbell ‘teams’.Making music on a regular basis was also a factor in Getting Out.The local orchestra wasn’t a possibility, as I didn’t play an orchestral instrument. Eventually I also joined a handbell group in Thurso.
Handbells
Ringing handbells takes a bit of getting used to.With most music, you’re able to play the tune or at least a continuous line.But with handbells, you’re lucky if you play two consecutive notes.If you can recall the version of ‘Jingle Bells’ with barking dogs, and if you can imagine that each dog can bark two notes, then you’ll get a vague idea.The ‘dog’ on the left of you is playing E and F, you’re playing G and A, and the ‘dog to the right plays B and C. Expand this to two or three octaves, and there are enough notes to play tunes and harmony. The next thing to get accustomed to is playingat the right time and for the correct length of time.This is of course the same as any music, but it requires more concentration when you’re only playing two notes scattered throughout the piece.You need to keep track of where you are, and damp (stop the bell ringing) at the right time.A sense of rhythm helps immensely, as well as being able to count up to at least 5.
Celandine
There’s also a technique involved in ringing a bell so it sounds its best, all quickly learnt. Other ringing techniques include shakes – the equivalent of a trill, but on one note, and thumb damping – placing your thumb on the bell while it rings, for a staccato effect.All in all, it’s good fun.It’s a team effort, a real community, where each ringer depends on the others to keep the music going.
Waves by the Lighthouse
Why am I wittering on about handbells?This past Saturday, the Assembly Rooms in Wick was the venue for the Scottish Regional Rally of the Handbell Ringers of Great Britain.From morning to late afternoon, ringers from teams from all over the UK rang their bells en masse and as individual teams.Including the local teams from Wick and Thurso, there were about 65 ringers there, from as far south as Hereford and as far north as Orkney.At the end of the day, there was a brief concert featuring the pieces we’d practiced during the day.
Consequently, there was no time to knit that day.But the keen-eyed among you will see that the yoke has been reached, after the long slog up the foothills of the stockinette body.The yoke pattern is in process of calculation and will be done soon.
We’ve paid off mortgages before, but as far as my fading recall can tell, only when we’ve moved house. Late last week, having decided it was a Good Idea, I phoned the building society for a redemption figure. It was about what I’d expected, and the next day the payment was set up to redeem the mortgage on Tuesday. The mortgage was originally due to be repaid when Gordon retired, in just under two years. I reasoned, Gordon is effectively retired now, so I may as well pay it off and reduce monthly outgoings.
Stormy Shore
It should be a joyful occasion, but it felt like just another transaction. Maybe it will sink in when the paperwork is completed. But I did my best to celebrate: I bought an iron. I’d been looking at it for months, watching it become unavailable, then available, then the price spooling up and down like a yo-yo. The old one, bought in 1985, gave up the ghost last summer. This sturdy old iron was a good hefty weight for pressing seams. Of course, I don’t really need a new iron – the backlog of Gordon’s shirts, which were about the only things ironed regularly – were ironed at the end of last year. Those shirts hung on a door for months, glaring at me as I went up and down the stairs to my office. I had to iron them, it just wasn’t right to hang them in the wardrobe unironed. And now, to justify the purchase of the new iron, I’ll have to carve time to sew out of my flabby schedule.
St Fergus at end of day
And what exactly is a ‘mortgage’? Where does that strange word come from? The OED, always a go-to source, says it comes from Middle French – ‘mort’ + ‘gage’, or ‘dead pledge’. The explanation gets a bit complicated after that; the concept seems to be that the loan (pledge) is ‘dead’ after it’s been paid off. But I’m happy enough to know that it came from French.
Looking South from The Trinkie
There has been better progress on the gansey this week. I was able to do a good tranche of knitting on Saturday afternoon, when I visited a friend. We sat in the sun lounge listening to music and knitting. I’d taken the gansey along, just in case. It was windy and cold, not a great day to wander the muddy back lanes of Caithness. But even with the chilly weather, I was thankful. Looking through photos yesterday, I saw that last year at this time there was snow and ice on the ground. We were supervised in our knitting by the wise old cat Solomon. Though I’m sure he must have been a young, silly, and carefree kitten in his earlier years, chasing leaves around the garden and being the terror of the bird population. Now he watches them from the comfort of his favourite chair in the sun, cursing them for their flightiness.
Which reminds me of a bit of trivia I heard the other evening: a collective noun for kittens is ‘kindle’. It comes from Middle English, and was apparently revived in the 20th C, according to the OED.
It’s been more of a rollercoaster week than some.This week’s ‘potholes’ were mostly aural.Over the past three months, I’ve listened to the radio more.We’ve always been regular listeners, mostly the classical music stations.It would wake us up gently in the morning and send us off to sleep in the evening. Now, I’m tuning in more frequently, mostly to keep me company while I’m brushing my teeth or cooking or another household task.But generally, most of the listening is done while I sit in bed of a morning, slowly gathering speed to start the day.
Snowdrops on a bank
Monday’s aural pothole was the CanCan, from Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld.I am sure you all know the tune.Just pause, for a moment, to visualise it being sung by dancing cartoon cats – meow, meow meow meow meow, meow meow meow-meow meow-meow . . . .This is the image that would appear in our heads whenever we heard it. It comes from an episode of the cartoon series Futurama, where alien talking cats take over the world by feline cuteness in order to reverse the earth’s spin.The power thus generated would cause their stationary home planet to resume its rotation.This chorus line of singing, dancing cats never failed to amuse Gordon; it was one of his favourite scenes from the series.
Monday also brought a minor pothole with ‘Never Weather-beaten Sail’, an Elizabethan piece with a beautiful tune and mournful words.It’s not a tune I ever associated with Gordon; its sadness is what was affecting.
The Bremner Monument
Last Sunday and Thursday mornings had the same pothole, in slightly different forms.Sunday was a choral version of John Dowland’s Frog Galliard, and Thursday’s was the version on lute,also known as The Earl of Essex Galliard.I made it through the lute version, the choral version I had to mute, because of the words:
Now, O now, I needs must part,
Parting though I absent mourn.
Absence can no joy impart:
Joy once fled cannot return.
While I live I needs must love,
Love lives not when Hope is gone.
Now at last Despair doth prove,
Love divided loveth none.
In gansey news, there are now just over 7 inches done above the welt.The gusset starts at 12 inches, so it’ll be a few weeks yet.Following suggestions in the comments last week, I’ve learned the Norwegian purl, which I’ve known of for some years but hadn’t yet learnt.Alas, it’s not for me.There’s too much gymnastic wiggling of the needles and then catching the dpns in the work.
Finally, I have totted up all the blog donations over the past three months, so thank you very much for your generous support.With your donations, and those collected at the Service and donated privately, I will be able to give generous donations to the Johnston Collection of the Wick Heritage Society and Cancer Research UK. Many thanks again. You’re the best.
Curtains. Until the other day, they were not a nemesis.
As a bit of background,when we new windows were installed last summer, the lounge curtains had to come down. I planned to get them cleaned or, even, possibly, to get new curtains altogether. The curtains had been very nice curtains once, but after multiple owners (they came with the house), they had seen better days. After being taken down, they were piled on the floor, then pushed into a corner, and finally taken to the dry cleaners in the autumn. It was about three weeks before they were ready, due to their size and weight.By this time, Gordon had gone into hospital. Expecting he’d be back home by Christmas, I thought how nice it would be if the curtains were up when he came home. They would have to come down again when the painter came to paint the bare wood surrounding the new windows, but I thought it was worth the effort. But of course, Gordon never did come home from hospital, so the curtains didn’t go up.
View from the end of the path
At the end of January, the painter started work, and is now nearly finished. The lounge was finished on Friday, and we re-installed the new, uber-sturdy curtain rail. Saturday afternoon I rehung the drapes, using the painter’s stepladder, which he had kindly left for my use. Being both taller, sturdier, and less wobbly than mine, it made the task easier. The curtains still don’t look the best, due to missing curtain hooks, so there are unexpected bulges. But they slide silkily smoothly on the new curtain rail, compared to the old plastic curtain rail, which was not really up to scratch for supporting big heavy curtains.
More snowdrops
As I was descended the ladder, I remembered my initial intentions for hanging the curtains, and understandably it made me very sad indeed – that Gordon wouldn’t be here to enjoy the new blinds in the lounge, nor the newly hung curtains, nor the new windows, nor the immaculate paintwork. He had been quite pleased with the blinds, which he’d specifically requested. The lounge faces south, and at certain times of year the sun is blinding. With his eyesight difficulties, the blinds were the perfect solution. So now when I go into the lounge, I look at the windows, and think how Gordon would have appreciated and enjoyed the rather swish combination of new windows, freshly painted surrounds, new blinds and cleaned and rehung curtains.
Ovine Indecision
The gansey is coming along, and every week there’s a better sense of the glory of this dark pink shade. The body is only a few inches longer than last week, but even so the length above the ribbing is nearly halfway done. I expect progress to slow significantly when I get to the yoke and start the stitch pattern. Although I knit more quickly than Gordon – using the continental style – I am knitting less in terms of time. But one advantage of doing miles of plain knitting is that my continental knitting is getting more efficient, so I’m going even faster. Hopefully this will carriy over into the stitch pattern, where maybe I can get faster at purling too.
A month or so back, the local camera club met to discuss upcoming events. One of the outcomes was, “Let’s Put on a Show!”. Accordingly, the venue was chosen, someone was contacted to matt and mount all the photos, and the size of the prints was determined. Any camera club member was welcome to take part. After having acquired an elderly but excellent photo printer near the start of lockdown, I decided to participate. It was high time to get to grips with printing photographs at home. Little did I realise the work involved.
Since the printer had run out of ink, it was necessary to source some. Original cartridges are pricey, and don’t last very long. There are alternatives, but the only viable one was refillable cartridges. Accordingly I purchased a starter kit which included cartridges, ink, gloves, and the bits needed to refill the cartridges. Then the learning curve got steeper. I had to fill the cartridges, but the kit had no instructions. The internet, as usual, was the fount of all knowledge.
‘Aquarelle’
Thomson of Thurso
But there was a heart-stopping moment at the end of the first round of the pattern, when there seemed to be about 5 extra stitches. A recount was in order, during which various fixes rolled were thought of, none of them pleasant. Fortunately, there was only one extra stitch. To avoid decreasing, a 1×1 cable moved the purl at the gusset edge over the extra knit stitch, which moved under the purl to become the increase on that side of the gusset. As a workaround, it’s satisfactory – a good mantra is “no one will ever stare at your armpit”.
