Far too glorious outside to be sitting indoors at a computer. Big littl’un declares that we’ve missed spring and gone straight to summer, and has been seen wearing a floaty frock. I’m not going that far – the voices in my head sound a lot like my Nanna, who would warn us ‘cast ne’er a clout ’til May be out’ – the inference being that if you were foolish enough to remove a layer and consequently caught a cold, don’t go crying to her about it. I did refrain from passing on those words of wisdom, but I didn’t take my jumper off.
I can’t get enough of my anemones. I thought I’d prefer the white ones (classy and understated, you know?), but secretly the rather garish purple blooms are the ones making me smile most.
The thing that made me smile most of all though was finding this little posy on the bathroom sink. It’s little littl’uns doing. She will be known, for the rest of the day, as Mrs Treasure.
I have been pondering the size of things, hands in particular, more of which tomorrow if not the next day.
So what’s a knitter to do when it’s too dreich* outside to model a finished scarf? Use the banisters of course.
This was such an easy knit, it’s been my mindless knitting for the past week; picked up and worked on for a row or two whenever there’s been a spare minute – waiting for the kettle to boil or the bath to fill – all those little bits of time that add up to hours and hours over seven days.
Having yarn-overs and decreases on right- and wrong- sides makes it interesting enough not to become tedious, and a great project for anyone wanting to practise wrong-side lace work (that would be me).
I’ll write up the pattern (all two rows of it) once the weather cheers up enough for a photo shoot without risking hypothermia.
* Driech = Scots term for miserable cold wet weather. Wikipedia calls it “Fit tha wether is like in Ab’rdin. Ispecially whun they hiv haar which is like fog but bluidy worse.” They’re not wrong.
If you watched the news you’d think there was some crazy weather going on – but, given that it’s January in the northern hemisphere, below zero temperatures and snow seem perfectly reasonable. Normal even.
Big littl’un and little littl’un got a bonus day off school. There’s been plenty of sledging, walking the dog and general oooh-ing and aaah-ing at the quiet beauty of it all.
Clockwise from top L: Snow on rosehips; snow in Maryculter woods; snaw-day cowl; Casper in snow.
Pushing past snow-laden birch trees in our local wood popped Robert Frost’s poem ‘Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening‘ into my head. It was a favourite of my Mum when we were growing up; she’d read it to us in bed on snowy nights. It’s the only poem I know off by heart.
The big and little littl’uns have to memorise poems in the local dialect Scots – known as Doric – ready for Robert Burns’ night on January 25th. Big littl’un has ‘Fin I sit doon tae hae ma maet’ by Margaret Boyd – roughly translated as ‘When I sit down to have my food’. I love listening to people using Doric, but still have to smile and nod along sometimes when I’m having a chat with some of our neighbours. They probably say the same about not understanding my English accent too. Give me another ten years here and I might get it!
Watching the snow falling in the streetlight got me itching to cast on something snow inspired, or, if we’re talking Doric, SNAW inspired. I grabbed the nearest snow-coloured yarn (Patons Fairytale Dreamtime 4ply), leftovers from my pre-Christmas knitting of Arne and Carlos’s Balls. A wee cowl is emerging. I’m thinking of carrying on with a really simple snowflake-like eyelet pattern on top of the border (adapted from the Mimosa border in Barbara Walker’s Second Treasury of Knitting Patterns). I wonder if a matching hat might be in order?