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Showing posts from February, 2014

Ooh La Laar

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I wasn't going to do it. Not so soon. Start my Laar cardigan that is. But it seemed expedient to have something mindless to knit while watching TV, chatting with family or friends, or travelling in the car. And the first part of this project certainly fits into that category.

Twenty-five centimetres of stocking stitch over 300+ stitches equates to knitting that allows the mind to be engaged elsewhere. Once you get over the picot cast-on that is. I had trouble with that. Not that it was difficult: it just required a certain degree of concentration that was lacking as we watched Dr Blake's Murder Mysteries. So ... I undid it after several attempts and cast on the 300+ stitches required. But I still wanted a pretty edge and remembered that several years ago I had knitted a gorgeous cardigan for The Most Adorable Granddaughter#3 that had an easy picot edge which I decided to use for this project.

In this method you cast on using needles a size smaller than those used for the bod…

Win

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I've never won anything in my life that I can recall (oh, apart from a book on a blog competition that never arrived - I'm sure it was legit so I guess we must blame the postal service) so it was with much surprise that I received the news from Son#5 that there'd been a phone call to say that I'd won a prize at our local wool shop.

I was a little wary. After all, I can't recall the last time I bought wool there. If you remember, I was going through my love affair with Malabrigo yarns last year and they were all purchased online. I may have made a small purchase at my local shop last year, otherwise I know I did in August/September the previous year when The Most Adorable Granddaughter in the World#5 was born prematurely and I was loving on her by knitting some of the tiniest garments imaginable (which I'm glad to say she quickly outgrew).

So, wondering if someone was playing a joke on me, I went into the wool shop and hesitatingly inquired if it was true. It wa…

Confession

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DH was right: Roses are too much work. Having been denied my usual catch-up-on-gardening time (because we were either busy getting ready to go away or away) I'm trying to get some done now. It doesn't matter that today was probably the hottest day we've had so far this summer; I was determined to get in and get the garden cleaned up.

I managed to do only this section and another area not quite as big as this. I pulled out three roses that were not doing well (okay, I know these ones don't look particularly healthy either but I'm hoping that with a little bit of care and a whole lot of water - something our 'house-sitter' failed to take into consideration while we were away - that they'll pick up - if not, they might suffer the same fate as their neighbours) and several lavenders that had become woody, and I don't know how many forget-me-nots which have made it their mission to take over my garden.
Now I'm wondering when I'm going to get the re…

Creature Comforts

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Having just had a night away camping where we slept on the ground in a tent that leaked by the bucketful, I am reminded that we humans - and Westerners in particular - like our creature comforts. Some of us like them more than others and while I was certainly appreciative of a hot shower and soft mattress when we arrived home last night, I hope I realise that even when we think we're low on comfort, we have so much for which to be thankful.

In all honesty, we don't really know what it is like to go without our creature comforts. Even in South East Asia we were blessed to have such comforts. They just weren't always what we expected or were used to.

Food. You hear dreadful stories of food poisoning or worse when eating whilst on holidays, and we were careful to heed warnings not to eat anything that hadn't been cooked or which we couldn't peel, but we had absolutely no problems while we were away. There was one public eatery where I chose to eat only bananas but ever…

If It Moves

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Having had all sons I know that they tend to be fascinated from an early age with things that move us from one point to another: cars, bikes, trains, buses, motorbikes (especially motorbikes!), planes, helicopters, etc. Not so their mother.

Especially not so in a foreign country where there are no seatbelts, no recognisable road rules (I did eventually work out that he who sounds his horn the loudest has right of way), where a red light doesn't mean what I assume a red light to mean (did the driver even see it?), and where road signs are few and far between (I think I saw one destination sign and no speed signs).

For someone who is always a little nervous getting in a car for any long journey, this was frightening to say the least. It was one of my greatest fears after flying and the boat (I never got over my fear of the boat but I did become rather blasé about flying).

The passage and poem I took with me to South East Asia really helped me every time I had to step onto a plane, i…