My sister and her husband should be airborne now, between
Next will come London-Paris, then, after a longish layover, Paris-NY. Then, by
land, NYC-New Haven, where they will finally be reunited with their car for an
hour’s drive through the night to Old Saybrook. A hard day’s work. London
It was a good visit. We have reached the stage of life where we can only say, as Brutus to Cassius, I think it was, before Philippi, If we should meet again, why, we shall smile; if not, why then this parting was well made.
And I decided that the next socks, when Lizzie’s are finished with their Gibson-Roberts heels, will be my sister’s. She chose the cranberry Zauberball I bought recently. That’ll be fun – something really to look forward to. I had a message from Kristie this morning, from which I learn, to my surprise, that she hadn’t yet knit a Zauberball herself when she gave me mine last year. She’s knitting one now – but I had assumed her gift was to introduce me to an old friend.
I am afraid the Sky Scarf has been abandoned. I think I said some time ago that one would know when it happened, one day neglected, then the next. In the same message, and knowing that I was sagging but not that I had given up, Kristie suggests resuming in the winter. I have marked the months with st st stripes, so such a resumption would be possible. Winter skies are vastly more interesting, beyond doubt. And I am glad to put four months' scarf away with some hope that something will come of it.
I haven’t blocked the snood yet. Today, I hope.
The Summer IK turned up yesterday. Absolutely the last thing I need now is to fall in love with a new yarn, but I fear it is happening – “Freia Fine Handpaints distributed by KnitWhits” – that cardigan p.80. I am less than totally enthusiastic about the cardigan itself – any suggestion that there is any difficulty in buttoning across the stomach (as in the photograph) is not a look to which I aspire.
And I could wish the photography had been more explicit about the tuck stitch. As seen, it might just be wrinkles in the fabric. But it might be seriously interesting. Buy an armload of the yarn, Jean, and swatch it? Perhaps not today.
I am grateful for everybody’s comments. The Fishwife, in particular, may well be right that contents insurance is an essential feature of life in an
But I would say – we have lived above our dear downstairs neighbours for nearly 20 years now, and kept them dry. That includes the birth, brief life, and death of Helen and David’s son Oliver, who had Down’s Syndrome and was born and died here in Edinburgh. Been there, done that, when it comes to keeping neighbours dry through pain.
Last night was sleepless, a rare symptom here, and during it I thought this: our contents insurers have appointed a firm to try to get Upstairs’ insurers to pay for the ceiling. They sent me some questions, and were kind enough to say that my answers were helpful. If they succeed, surely Upstairs’ insurers have also thereby acknowledged their responsibility for our things, a few feet below. Whether they (the things) were insured or not is totally irrelevant. And if Upstairs’ insurance doesn’t extend to our things, then…
Or so it seemed during the night.