Nothing to see here

I am currently experiencing something that I don't have a lot of experience with - I have no desire to knit.

Last week I got sick (yet again) and since then my knitting mojo has fled. I just don't have any motivation (or spare concentration) to donate towards the knitting thangs. Instead I'm lying on the couch blogging, with "American Chopper" on the TV, the dog chewing on his rawhide on the rug, and wishing I didn't feel like my lungs were going to erupt out of my throat every time I inhale. WebMD informs me that I probably have viral pneumonia (hooray!) which I believe about as much as I do the idea that Bram Stoker covered up the real existence of vampires. Here's hoping that I've got more knitting mojo by the end of the week!

Into the wild

Last weekend we packed up and went off to Yorkshire, just for fun. I was very excited because, after looking at the map, it became quite apparent that we were heading into the mother lode of sheepdom. Masham, Swaledale, Wensleydale..swoon

We drove up on Friday afternoon, and Saturday morning found us out and about wandering in the Yorkshire Dales National Park, a place that has now imprinted itself on my heart because there's a sheep head in their logo.

I found out later that it's a Swaledale sheep head, to be specific. Anyway, there we were, wandering about in the hills, and guess what we found wandering around all on their lonesome?

Sheep, strangely enough. There was something very unexpected (to me) about these sheep.

They've got tails! Long, shaggy, kind of gross tails! Once I got over that excitement, I had a lovely time running down the trail, calling out to the sheep and stopping to take even more crappy mobile phone photos (I dropped my point-and-shoot digital camera a couple of weeks ago, and while it still takes pictures just fine, the display screen doesn't work, so I have no idea what I'm taking pictures of).

My family thinks I'm nuts, but thankfully, they still put up with me. The Fleece and Fiber Sourcebook identifies these babies as the famous Swaledale sheep breed, which is both yay! and boo!, because we were in Wensleydale and I wanted to see some sheep dredlocks.

Sunday dawned (and stayed!) extremely foggy, so we wandered around York, walking along the medieval city wall, disturbing Sunday services at York Minster, and checking out the Vikings at the Jorvik Viking Centre.

These would be the disturbances

Twas a fab trip, and has only instilled a desire to go back and wander the Dales until I find some more sheep. Barring that, I have some pictures of what I've been doing with all the dye and fiber that's been flying around my house of late for the next post. Don't miss the pretties!

Dragonlady

Those of you who know me in real life (and maybe some of you who don't) may be aware that I have *ehem* a small book problem. Or rather, a large book problem. To be more specific, a large collection of what my husband lovingly* refers to as "trashy science fiction". I can trace the origins of this problem directly to two people: my father, who (perhaps by intention?) put his extensive sci-fi collection within easy reach (Thanks Dad!) and, more indirectly, my Aunt Laura.

We moved to Boston when I was seven, and there I discovered my aunt's fabulous house and her books. Oh the books. Hallways and rooms covered floor to ceiling with packed bookshelves, which she was more then happy to loan to me. It was like my own private library. And one of the first authors she introduced me to was Anne McCaffrey. She handed me "Dragonsinger" and that was it - I was hooked. I read it cover to cover, barely pausing to take a breath, and then I went out and read all the other Pern books I could find. And then the Crystal Singer series, and then The Ship Who Sang. And on, and on, and on.

In sixth grade, my very writing-centric teacher had us all write a letter to our favorite authors, and I chose her. I sent off my letter, and lo and behold, some months later, I got a reply. That she had actually written (or dictated - it was typed) and signed and sent to me. This was heady stuff for a ten year old, and I was thrilled. I wanted to have green eyes and white hair and live on a farm in Ireland and write books about dragons when I grew up.

My eyes are still blue, and my hair is going a bit grey around the edges, and I don't live on a farm - London is as close as I've managed to get to Ireland, and the books I've managed to write typically don't have dragons in them. I have spent the intervening 30-odd years since that first introduction obsessively reading and rereading Anne's fantastically accessible and thoroughly engaging books. And I still enjoy them every single time. In this season of thankfulness and celebration, I would like to say "Thank you Anne. Thank you so very much. You will be missed."

* Really. It's loving when he says this. I promise...

A four handknit day

And it should have been five...

The list: socks, sweater, scarf and mittens. One handspun, one of my own designs, and four (!) different color families. The thing that's missing is the hat my mom knit me, in yet another color group.

I guess this means winter is here, hunh? Brrrrr!

Wednesday and a(nother) trip to Islington

The Thursday before we left for Houston, I trekked up to Loop in Islington for some present shopping (the Wollmeise in Monday's post). I also picked up a couple of balls of grey merino for a re-try of the Gherkin mittens that I was designing about this time last year, that stalled out. The stalling was due to 1) I wasn't happy with the way the stitch pattern was working out and the charting was making me INSANE, and 2) fingering weight yarn on US 2 needles = slow progress. So the lovely StR that was going to be these mittens is now repurposed to something else, and I'm doing them in a much heavier yarn*. Not surprisingly, they are going much faster this time around!

First finished mitten on top of the book I just finished (it's brilliant and made me cry)

In any event, after my shopping spree (which also included a couple skeins of Cascade 220 for the 4th London-inspired pattern...), I decided to walk back towards Waterloo and set off down the road in a somewhat southerly direction. It was raining a little bit, so I went along under my somewhat tattered cheap umbrella, watching the buses and taxis go by, through a part of London I'd never been through before, just generally enjoying being able to wander about on my own. I finally found the river, after passing Fleet St. and St. Paul's, had lunch and took the train home. It was lovely.

And in striking contrast to the following week in Houston, where walking a few miles on a whim just isn't an option. It's something I'd managed to forget about (largely), since my childhood in Boston certainly involved much walking/public transportation/getting myself places using things other then a motor ve-hicle. I was the last of my high school friends to get my driver's license, partly because they could drive me around, but also because it wasn't really necessary. I realize that the presence of accessible public transportation is something of an anomaly in US cities, and that seems truly unfortunate.

Today I "had" to go back to Loop, because two balls of the merino was not enough. Thankfully they still had some of the same dyelot left, so the mitten prototype should be done tonight. I also perused the Angel antique market (gorgeous buttons!) and then I took the bus to work - along another new route that I hadn't traveled before, enjoying yet another part of this amazing place where I am lucky enough to live.

* And I have new charting software that makes it all so much easier...