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todayiamadaisyIn keeping with my not often implemented something in/something out policy, today I cleaned out my wool stash in readiness for the leftovers from my soon to be commenced scarf. I kept half a ball of magic sock wool and a few other odds and ends, but the bulk of it is neatly wound and in a bag to give to my mother to give to a friend who knits for charity.
Already in the bag was my mother's contribution: what's left of her mohair cardigan. She started knitting it sometime in the 1980s (oh yes, my procrastination has a genetic basis) and finished the back and half a sleeve before she made the fatal mistake of putting it away, not to be sighted again for another quarter of a century. It was quite stylish, given the decade that spawned it: a longline jacket-style cardigan, cream with one mauve stripe over the shoulder and one rust stripe around the hips. Oh, and enormous shoulder pads (of course).
Not so stylish is the advertisement on the back of the pattern book, which, in what is becoming something of a Sunday trend, I have reproduced here for your pleasure.
I also spent an exorbitant amount of time today cracking walnuts. Net result: pieces of shattered walnut shell in divers places (including my hair) and two hundred grams of walnut flesh. It does seem like a great deal of effort expended for little reward.
Then I went to the beach, lured by the alleged presence of whales in the bay. Ha! If they were there, they were hiding. But since I'd actually remembered to take the camera with me I thought I'd better take a photo of something.
This kestrel was sitting on a rock just in front of the lookout platform, watching me just as much as I was watching him.
Something I always used to find headspinning when I was little was that this piece of coast is the edge of the map. It's a definite line - it doesn't just peter out like a beach - and it would be possible to trace it out along a map. Since that's what maps are for, I can't really see why that freaked me out so much, but there you go.
There was a fisherman sitting on these rocks just before I took this. One set of those footprints is his.
So that was my Sunday. How was yours?
Already in the bag was my mother's contribution: what's left of her mohair cardigan. She started knitting it sometime in the 1980s (oh yes, my procrastination has a genetic basis) and finished the back and half a sleeve before she made the fatal mistake of putting it away, not to be sighted again for another quarter of a century. It was quite stylish, given the decade that spawned it: a longline jacket-style cardigan, cream with one mauve stripe over the shoulder and one rust stripe around the hips. Oh, and enormous shoulder pads (of course).
Not so stylish is the advertisement on the back of the pattern book, which, in what is becoming something of a Sunday trend, I have reproduced here for your pleasure.
I also spent an exorbitant amount of time today cracking walnuts. Net result: pieces of shattered walnut shell in divers places (including my hair) and two hundred grams of walnut flesh. It does seem like a great deal of effort expended for little reward.
Then I went to the beach, lured by the alleged presence of whales in the bay. Ha! If they were there, they were hiding. But since I'd actually remembered to take the camera with me I thought I'd better take a photo of something.
This kestrel was sitting on a rock just in front of the lookout platform, watching me just as much as I was watching him.
Something I always used to find headspinning when I was little was that this piece of coast is the edge of the map. It's a definite line - it doesn't just peter out like a beach - and it would be possible to trace it out along a map. Since that's what maps are for, I can't really see why that freaked me out so much, but there you go.
There was a fisherman sitting on these rocks just before I took this. One set of those footprints is his.
So that was my Sunday. How was yours?