The good news is that Archie and his suitcase got to Athens in the small hours of yesterday morning. Credit to British Airways, under the circumstances.
There was only one incoming Christmas card yesterday, from an American friend to whom I had already written. She sent a new address – she's 90, and has moved into a retirement community which she seems to be enjoying. I think the US does that sort of thing better than we do here, as I have probably said before. So today I'll send her a whole new card.
And that's really about all I have to report, apart from another disaster-free evening of knitting.
I have decided on two little Christmas treats for myself. One is to start the edging of the Queen Ring Shawl when we are at Loch Fyne for Christmas. I can't very well knit Unst Bridal Shawl while Hellie and Matt are there.
It's a solemn step, to embark on something like that which I may very well not have enough lifetime to finish. Except that that's true of all of us, whenever we cast anything on. There is nothing for it but to press Onward, as EZ recommended.
The other treat was to order a whole new skein of madelinetosh for the hems of Archie's sweater, instead of rooting around in the stash for something. I've done that. It's called Tart – a strong, cheerful red. Loop had only one skein of it in stock – kismet! I ran the idea past Archie, who seemed to think it was all right. This is for the invisible inside of the hems, of course.
At the very end, a couple of rows of something are added to finish the sweater off around the top. I may suggest red for that as well, but I won't do it unless I am sure he buys the idea.
A new issue of Knitty is out – lots of hats and shawls. Franklin's historical pattern is for a rather nice-looking pair of gloves (also red). I knit my father a pair of gloves once, when “Men's Gloves” was one of the knitting categories at the Games. I won First Prize – because nobody else entered. I gave them to him for Christmas, thus killing two birds with one stone. And resolved never to knit gloves again, not even for Franklin.
I am oppressed this morning by a feeling of foreboding, which is even worse than panic. Only one more week to the solstice.