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.
The rest of the verses are here.
Whirl of Grasses
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.
What an amazing photo of the swirling grass…
The spiral….symbol of so much..and all the little connections to Gordon…thanks for your sharing
Margaret, I have not knit for awhile after minor surgery on my hand, and after logging in and reading the previous blogs, realized the very sad news. The first gansey I knit was a Donald Tomson Thurso. I wear it like a uniform, have long forgotten where my mistakes were, and it’s my favorite pattern, simple but balanced. It’s so comfortable, warm and has taken on a new meaning now. I feel blessed that Gordon took the time to reach out to teach people how to knit these beautiful sweaters. I have so enjoyed his writing and your photography over a few years time. I am saddened to learn this, my mother also died of sepsis and I’m sending you my deepest condolences. My very best wishes – snowdrops the first little signs of renewal.
Rebecca
I wonder what caused the grasses to spiral. Could it have been one of the tiny whirlwinds reported to be common in the British Isles?
Hi Tamar
Alas, the grasses have spiralled due to jiggery-pokery. It’s a multiple exposure, done in camera. No grasses were harmed.
Now, O now, I needs must part, reaches directly to the heart. 💔
Keep knitting Margaret, you are doing a marvellous job. It’s been a while since I tuned in because of recent events. I am glad you are still holding the torch.
Lovely post again, poetry, love, loss, emotions and that spiral grass!
Thank you for keep this blog going so inspiringly, Margaret.
Liz and I were asked to play / sing (that was her bit) Never Weatherbeaten Sail as part of a friend’s storytelling performance about the first settlers last year. It is truly beautiful, and yes, melancholy as well – somehow peacefully melancholy, we found, where Now O Now is likewise gorgeous, but truly even more a lament.
I don’t know about you, but I can find such lovely music of that period quite therapeutic in down times.