We chickened out. The trip was a success, really – the house is fine, water, electricity. No tiles seem to have come off the roof, no trees are down in the garden. I think January’s storm was worse in
than there. It was extremely cold,
but we stood up to it. However, on Thursday afternoon it snowed, and again that
evening, after an intermission. We got scared and came home. Edinburgh
Our house is down by the burn, some metres below the level of the road to the village. The driveway curves up through the paddock, then runs straight across the edge of a neighbour’s field, and finally, after the last gate, reaches the road in a short, sharp upward burst. So, too much snow, we’re stuck.
In fact, there wasn’t more than two inches of snow and we got out without difficulty. I have been left feeling embarrassed, to be defeated by a wee bit of weather, and also shaken by good old timor-mortis-conturbat-me. One declines so gently, and one continues to go about shopping and cooking and ironing and occasionally pushing the vacuum cleaner around, and scarcely feels the gradual diminution.
But there, we were up against it. Our last big struggle with snow was four years ago – I know because it was the day after the Iowa caucus where Obama beat Clinton, and all through the struggle I promised myself I would think about that happy outcome when we were finally on the road to Blairgowrie. That time, we got all the way to the last gate by ourselves – it took all morning. Then some angels came along that scarcely-used road, thinly disguised as winter sports enthusiasts, and pushed us up the last little bit.
My husband certainly couldn’t do now what he did that day, and I doubt if I could. Never mind: here we are, safe and warm in
The sky on Thursday morning was “Look! The morn, in russet mantle clad/ walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill”. I didn’t have any russet with me, and had to settle for some of the other colours in the sky. But on Friday morning I saw this:
which couldn’t be overlooked. So I took the pictures and knit the day’s stripe when I had been reunited with my stash.
I am nearly finished, all but a couple of yards, with the first skein of the madelinetosh sock yarn which is turning in to the Japanese shirt. That lets me calculate how I’m doing, and I don’t think I have enough. The initial calculations were based on st st. I’m knitting garter stitch, which is hungrier. So I’ll order some more. I’ll enjoy that.
Back here, I’ve started the “moor” socks, and should finish the ribbing tonight. They are more colourful than “anthracite” and I’m not absolutely sure they will be acceptable. I’ll go down the leg a bit and let the yarn settle into its act before I ask my husband to pronounce. If he says no, I’ll have to rip – no one else among my sock-recipients has so much circumference in the leg.