Like Knitting in the Sky

There was an air display in our coastal town this week.
The weather was spectacular for it. Dry, at last! Hot as a hot place and wonderful clear blue skies, hooray!
Most of the population of the UK was either in our town or trying to get into our town.
(Visitor numbers courtesy of my husband)

Sitting on the sea wall next to us was a lovely couple with a young family. The boy was about six years old and the girl, about five. She was dressed in pink, from top to toe, as pretty a picture.
Oh, OK, in case the equality police are reading, the boy was in khaki shorts and a tea shirt with writing on, looking… just like a boy. (Happy?)

The Red Arrows were the highlight of the afternoon and gave us a stunning display with their usual effortless precision.
When they whizz off into the middle distance between manoeuvres, where do they go?
Well they completely wowed us all, except the young boy.
He was completely disappointed that they didn’t fire any guns or drop any bombs in our sea!
The little girl on the other hand was enthralled with their smoke trails. She thought they looked just like knitting in the sky.

Brought to you by Sian, she that is High in the Sky and her wonderful Story Telling Sunday.

Story Telling Sunday

It is the first Sunday in the month. That means it’s time to visit Sian at High in the Sky for a wonderful day of story telling. Story telling Sunday is wonderful in it’s self but I just love the way that reading a story can trigger a memory for the reader. That was me last month!

Amy‘s story in March reminded me of this.

Spring term 1992 Playschool

Ben was in trouble with Mrs. Malone, our playschool leader, again!
“What for this time?” I asked her.
“To encourage thinking about numbers we have some goldfish at playschool this week.” She told me.
“Today we have some pictures of empty goldfish bowls, each bowl has a number written above it. We asked the children to read the number and then draw that amount of goldfish in the bowl”. She showed me a template picture of a goldfish bowl. Bens had the number five printed over it.
Ben had only drawn four fish and apparently couldn’t be persuaded to draw any more.
He had drawn three skinny little fish and one fat little fish, coloured this way and that in orange of course. It was probably the only colour available to the children.
He had at least done that bit right for her.

“Why have you only drawn four fish Ben? Mrs Malone wanted you to draw five?”
Nowadays of course self-expression would receive a pat on the back but sadly we are in the early nineties…

“There are five fish mummy” chirped up my lad.
I looked harder… no, definitely only four.
“mummy can only see four darling” I said brightly.

“That one has a baby fish inside her tummy” He pointed to the fat one with the darker orangey bit in the middle (sounds like a little Jaffa cake!)
“That makes five fishes Mummy”

Can you imagine the smug smile I had on my face as I picked up my beautiful, funny, bright little chap and almost flounced out of play school?

There will be wonderful stories for you here today. Thank you Sian and Amy.

Story Telling Sunday

A loaf of bread, two boys and two pence

In the supermaket last night my husband was searching looking for bread among the empty shelves when he heard
“Hey Mister”
He looked around and there were two boys clutching a bottle of milk and a loaf of bread.
“Hey Mister, Mum sent us for bread and milk but they haven’t got our usual bread and this one costs more and we are short of two pence, could you give us two pence please”

There was no need to ask whether he gave them the coins, I know him so well.

I am so thankful for the means to buy beautiful bread.

A very short story from me this week but I have been so touched by this on so many levels, I decided to share it with you.

Sian’s Story Telling Sunday, a perfect read.

Remember When

I was thinking of a story for Sian this weekend (it’s Story Telling Sunday) and this popped into my mind. When I finished it I didn’t know if it was quite right for her so I made it into a LO instead.

Remember when Jane & I used to knit?
We knit all kinds of things, jumpers, scarves, cardigans, hats, for ourselves and for our husbands.
We started off with big wool and huge needles (Oh how they made our hands ache), so that the garment would knit up quickly and then we progressed to ever more complicated and intricate designs. I used to like a very lacy pattern; the more complex the pattern the better I liked it.
I had a little black & white cat at the time. She used to love to jump in the knitting bag or bat the needles when I was trying to concentrate. This wasn’t too bad really, as she made me laugh and I loved to play with her. That is, until I decided to knit with more than one colour of wool. Do you have any idea just how big a knot a cat can make out of a bag of different colour balls of wool?
Big, huge! Enormous!! And very, very tight; too tight and too knotty to unravel.

Remember Mum teaching me to knit. In, over, under, off. In, over, under, off. In, over, under, off…. Easy to write down and say but Oh so difficult to do once you had forgotten the rhythm or dropped a stitch.

Remember when I used to sit on the floor in front of Mum, back against her legs, arms and hands held out as if showing someone how big something was. With fingers held together she would drop a skein of wool over and she would begin to wind the skein into a ball suitable to knit with.
“Arms up the wool is catching in your hair”
“ Hands out the wool is too loose”
“Turn around and face me, you will be able to concentrate better”
“The quicker I get this done, the quicker you can go”

Remember the smell of the skeins of oiled wool that used to arrive in the post. Mum used to knit beautiful Aran sweaters for us. It was more economical for her to buy the wool in skeins rather than balls, but the smell was very strange and it used to feel funny in my hands, kind of coarse and sticky. Complaining was fruitless.

Remember Mum & Nana knitting socks? And gloves? How on earth they knit on four small double ended needles I never did know.

Remember string vests? And dishcloths? Were they the same thing? Did they become the same thing?

Remember Mum & Nana making a garment between them. Only once did they each contribute to the whole thing because nana knit much tighter than mum! This was discoveredwhen you couldn’t get your arms in the sweater because they were so narrow. Mum & Nana hadn’t compensated for the difference in their knitting because they didn’t do their test or tension squares!
Forever afterwards Nana always knit just the welts and the cuffs and the garments used to fit beautifully.
At Nana’s funeral part of cousin Simons eulogy talked about what Nana was ‘famous for’ one of the things was knitting welts! So many of us grandchildren laughed out loud at the memory.

Remember the very first thing I knit? It was a little yellow vest for Linda my beautiful doll. It took me ages, days, weeks, months even. It’s a good thing she was a doll and didn’t grow! I remember Mum saying that she was sure the little vest was yellow to start with; it was brown now and “how am I ever going to get it clean?”

I wish I didn’t remember some things; Mums Irish tongue could be sharp.

p.s. Now the only thing that flies off my needles are flowers!

The date stamp nd the paper are by Katie Pertiet at Designer Digitals

Story Telling Sunday

Thank you Sian for giving me the impetus to post something, anything on my blog. Talk about January blues, blue and definitely black the first few weeks of the year have been over here.
Lets hope this bright but cold morning, a photo and a memory will help spur me on.

Ben reminded me, as I was taking a photo of this picture, (I had a plan for it).
“Do you remember the Christmas you & nanny were drunk and laughing so much you didn’t realise you nearly burnt the house down!”
Now we certainly were not drunk, tipsy maybe, merry possibly, but we were laughing, definitely laughing a great deal together and although we noticed a strange smell we didn’t realise that a candle flame was slowly toasting the paper frame that this picture was hanging in.
I keep the picture in the charred frame as a reminder that laughing and candlelight are beautiful but have a care with a burning flame.

Thank you Sian for this wonderful party full to the brim with stories both long and short, word wise, not height wise!