Tip of the...

 mountain just visible over the hills. On our way to the grocery store--Mt Errigal, the wind farm, hills, and green fields.

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Power in the Stitches

 The comments people kindly left on my last post set me off on a trip down memory lane. In that post, I mentioned how cool I still think it is every time I turn a heel on a sock. I started to wonder how many stitches I have made in the past 4 decades since I taught myself to knit and crochet when our daughter was a toddler. I'd done some needlepoint and crewel embroidery using small kits when I was a kid, but wanted to make more functional things, so taught myself knitting and crocheting. When I started higher education, I had less time, but I still looked forward to my little bit of stitching time. I remember how, in my first couple years of grad school, I was under a lot of time pressure. Bill was working graveyard shift and I was working as a TA, taking a full load of classes as required for the TAship, doing my own research, then writing my thesis. Bill would leave for work at about 9:30 pm. I would set the alarm for 1 or 2 am and place it across the room, so I would have to get up to turn it off. Had it been within reach, I would have simply turned it off and kept sleeping. I'd get up, make coffee, and do my reading for the day. I wouldn't have time once things got going--Bill would swing by from work in the morning, pick us up, drop me off at the university, take our daughter to school, then go home and go to bed. If I was TAing a night class, he'd pick me up when it was done, drop me off and head to work. If not, he'd pick me up at 5ish, we'd go home, help with homework if necessary, have dinner, hang out together, then he'd go to work. I would sit in bed and crochet, usually for just 10 or 15 minutes, since I was too tired to do much more, then I'd sleep for a few hours. I looked forward to those few minutes all day, though! I made a lot of blankets during that time. The first one was just a scrap blanket. I'd gone through all my scraps, tied them together in a big ball, chose a mindless stitch pattern, made a chain, and crocheted. I didn't have to count after the chain was made and I could just crochet away, even when half asleep. we had that blanket for a decade and it was still going strong, but we left it behind in a move, because it was heavy. When that was done, I started another, less scrappy blanket and gave it to a friend. Then a fellow student's wife was having a baby, so I made a blanket for the baby. It was so important to my mental health to have those projects to work on.

Throughout my time in the higher education system, I always felt like I was really on break when I could read novels instead of academic writing and I could spend more time knitting, crocheting, and doing a bit of cross stitch. Every Christmas break, I would spend at least one or two nights up almost all night listening to Christmas music, watching a Christmas Carol, and working on a big project that would be a Christmas gift. I loved that and looked forward to those nights. Sometimes this was a blanket or other thing for our daughter, but later on, near the end of my time in academia, I was working on a large project for Bill. I took a filet crochet chart, usually done with thread, and made it with yarn and a bigger hook instead. We had a large wall of dark paneling that it would be perfect for.

This was one of our dogs at the time--she was highly bonded to Bill. She loved all of us, but he was her favourite person.

She made it clear from the moment she came home from the shelter that she was a bed dog, not a sled dog!

Later on, after we'd moved and life took a different turn, I had more opportunities to see the power of stitching. I was asked to teach a crochet class to women in the shelter for those fleeing domestic violence and abuse. I did. We were there with donated supplies and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. The person who organized these classes sat in a corner and watched with her mouth open. Near the end of the class, one of the women looked at me while sort of hugging her project and asked, 'Can I keep this?' 'Oh, yes,' I replied, 'It's yours to keep.' 'Thank you,' she said,' I am making a blanket for my daughter's doll. I hope she likes it.' Later, we'd gone to a dinner in which both the organizer and the director of the shelter were present. They told me that they had their doubts about the usefulness of the classes, but that they were the ones that the women liked the most and they all said they got a lot out of them. That made me really happy.

When I'd left academia, I taught myself other techniques, including needle tatting. When we moved to a place with a new yarn shop in town, They held a meeting looking for instructors and I went. when they saw I could needle tat, they jumped on it and we'd scheduled the first class before I left. It was filled and I was able to recommend good resources so the shop always made a lot of sales in addition to the classes always being filled. I taught various things there for a few years and it was always gratifying to see the way people blossomed as they learned a new skill they'd been wanting to learn and often wanted to make something for someone they loved. This was true in all my classes, but especially in the needle tatting classes. Almost all of my students there were older and they'd talk about their grandmothers--one brought her grandma's crochet hook to join her picots. She cried at the end of the class, saying she never thought she'd be able to do it and how much it reminded her of her grandmother. Once, two friends attended the class together and they told us how they'd been talking on the phone with one another, cheering each other on. When one of their husbands asked what was for dinner, she replied, 'Make your own dinner. I'm tatting!' 

I have so many happy memories that involve yarn and thread. Thank you to Vicki, Linda, and Iris for your comments that brought me to this little journey down memory lane!

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Simple Pleasures

 Last night, I made myself a mocha, grabbed a piece of chocolate, plunked myself under my blanket and worked on a sock while listening to part of an audiobook and then some music. It was lovely. And I still get irrationally chuffed when I turn a heel! 👵😉👣

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I Lost One

 When we looked at this apartment, we noted that two of the windows had outer panes that were cracked and had small holes. We later learned that this damage was the result of a friend of the previous tenant throwing stones at the window to get his attention, since the main door locks automatically so people can't just walk in. When we signed the lease, we checked to see that this issue was included as a landlord responsibility to fix. It was. And the letting agent made sure to note the windows in the video he took of the place. When the owner came by later that day, which was almost three months ago now, he said that he'd been trying to have someone come and fix the windows for weeks, but was having no luck so far. We believed this because that's how things roll here. When we next saw him, he asked if he could give the glass guy a phone number because he was here once and we were not. He'd thought he could fix it from the outside but needed to get in. We gave him a number and said to tell glass guy (GG) to let us know when he was coming so we could be sure to be around. 

A couple of months went by and there was no sign of GG, until yesterday when he showed up. Fortunately we were home, because there was no advance warning at all. There was just a ladder propped up against the outside windowsill and a head that appeared in the window, followed by a knock. I went and opened the window a crack so as not to knock him off his ladder and he said he was here to replace the windows and he needed to come inside. Would that be OK? Would I go downstairs and let him in? I did, while Bill hustled to clear away the windowsills and stuff around the windows. One has a desk under it and one the counter/breakfast bar. The guy came and removed the windows. Bill has a pic here (link will open in a new window). He said he was done inside and would go and install the new ones. He was on the ladder putting the first one in and I was in the other room. I was walking down the hall when I heard Bill made a noise of dismay. As I turned into the room, I saw the guy with his head back, softly expressing himself using expletives. I understood why and felt bad for the guy. Running from one side to the other, in a lovely curvilinear shape, was a crack in the outer pane of the new window.

He finished installing the cracked window and took a few pictures of it. Then he moved on to the next window. When we appeared in the space he said, 'I lost one.' We said some sympathetic words and he replied, 'This job must be cursed. I came once and Owner was supposed to be here to meet me and wasn't. I couldn't get in another time. There was one day when I had the windows in the back of the van and one of them broke. Now this.' I did feel bad for him. This job, for reasons both in and out of his control, has been hanging over his head for months. Just when he thinks it's about to be done and out of his life, craaaack. 

So we assume he will be back at some point to replace the replacement window. Or maybe not. One never knows here. The best thing to do is to believe it will happen after it happens and not until then. In this case, it doesn't affect our day-to-day life. It's not our responsibility, so if he doesn't show up, not my problem. For his sake, I hope we're home if/when he shows up the next time! 

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Seizing the Moment

 It's been quite rainy here, which is typical. It's also been quite warm--in the high teens--which is not usual. September was warmer than usual too. Of course, 'usual' probably isn't much of a th9ing anymore as the climate crisis deepens.

In any case, it may be bucketing down rain and too warm, but books with my name on them are still showing up at the library! I've had a few in for several days and got another in today. The last one surprised me, since it was just put in transit yesterday or the day before after being processed and entered into the system. I'd requested it several weeks ago after reading a review of it and I'm happy to have it in my pile now!

Today I checked the Met Eireann website to see if there was going to be a window of opportunity we could seize upon to get to the library and back without ending up with waterlogged books. Three o'clock looked good, so around that time, I checked the satellite image and saw that we should be good. We headed out a few minutes later.

On days like this, I am reminded of how spoiled we've become. Since we've lived here, our local libraries have been just a few minutes away and we could be there and back in less than 15 minutes. This is very handy when we're dodging heavy bursts of rain! Now it's a mile away and takes 20 minutes to get there, however much time it takes inside the library, and 20 minutes back, so we need more time.  We were lucky today and avoided downpours. There was just a bit of spitting/mizzle and the books stayed dry. Yay!

These are the books I came home with. The Dawn of Language is quite new. I'm looking forward to reading his ideas about how language evolved and his reasoning behind these ideas. 

I used to think of Georgette Heyer as a romance writer and never read any of her work, since I'm not into that genre. While I think she did write mostly romance, she also wrote some mysteries, which I did not know until I read about it somewhere. This one, Envious Casca, takes place, in part at least, at Christmastime, so I decided to check it out (bad pun, I know!) and see if I like it. If I do, there are more to read. I think there are two different series detectives, but I am not sure.

I found the listing for the Thich Nhat Hanh book when I was looking for his newest book, which I also have on hold. It's still on-order.

The House that Disappeared on Tory Island is quite a (true) story! I recently somehow stumbled across a 5-part podcast that told this story and contained interviews with some of the people involved, as well as dramatized scenes. I am not sure the book will go any deeper than that podcast did, but I decided it was worth reading. Bill didn't listen to the podcast, so he might read it, too. The short summary is that Neville Presho was working as a filmmaker whose work was well-received. At one point, he went out to Tory Island, which is not far from where we are now and is said to be the most remote inhabited island off Ireland. I think it's 7 or 9 miles off the mainland. They used to have their own king--LOL. He fell in love with Tory while he was making the documentary that brought him there and he bought a house. His life took him to New Zealand, where he married and became a father. He was having mental health issues and his wife suggested they go back to Ireland. It wasn't clear to me whether it was to be an extended visit or a move. As the ferry approached Tory Island, he brought his son to see his house, which was visible from the sea. He was very excited, until he realized that his house was not there. Of course, he was frantically trying to find out what had happened, but no one was talking. Things went downhill from there as he slowly pieced things together.

I'm always happy to have a new pile of library books! Glad we were able to seize the moment and collect them.

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Saturday Smiles

 This reminded me of cats I've served in the past--made me laugh!

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Something for Everyone

 It's finally feeling autumnal here--such a relief! Today we had heavy rain, sun, howling wind, and rainbows. Happy October!

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