The winter darkness seems to have come down awfully suddenly this year.
I’ve finished the first triangle of the Wingspan. I am working in my head on an essay about monotonous knitting – which much of it is, much of the time – as distinct? from boring knitting, which is relatively rare. But I haven’t got there yet.
So, thots, again.
I learned from Liz Lovick’s blog about the Yarn & Cake shop in
is clearly very near the premises once occupied by K1 Yarns. I believe the owner has given
that one up to concentrate on Glasgow
(to which I link). Maybe Yarn & Cake took over. Edinburgh
And Liz’ pictures of Scotland, taken from the train as she travelled home from
to Orkney, are
worth looking at, too. Glasgow
Thanks, Kristie. It is exactly as you say. If I had access to a polling booth, I’d vote for Obama, sort of sadly. I will lie awake that night listening to the radio in an unusual state of mind, terribly interested in what is happening but not cheering wildly for either side. (It’s not the Calcutta Cup, in other words.)
I am struck increasingly these days with the way Americans refer to each other as “Democrat” or “Republican” in tones that seem to imply that the labels refer to something permanent and inbred. (“Goodness, he can’t marry her – she’s a Republican”, sort of thing). The number of voters who actually might change sides in any given election must be very small. Which, of course, is why the parties work so hard to get their partisans to turn out on the day.
I’m terribly in favour of voting. I remember once when Alexander was in a plague-on-both-your-houses state of mind about a British General Election. I urged him strongly to go along and spoil his ballot paper rather than stay at home. But I’m also old and tired – struggling with
is too much for me, this time. Monmouth County
Angel, it’s great to know you’re still reading (even if not blogging). I remember so vividly your blog post? comment here? about Town and Gown dancing together in the streets of Oberlin when Obama won four years ago. It’s different this time, undoubtedly.
And I agree with you that great racehorses probably love to run. And, surely, they must also in some sense enjoy cooperating with the man who has taught them to lie in fourth place until the moment comes to move forward. As a sheepdog patently loves to boss the silly sheep around, using the technique the man has taught him. And even more patently enjoys being of serious assistance to his beloved master.
But I also agree, Woolly Bits, that it’s hard to imagine that anyone enjoys dressage, horse, rider, or audience.