The snow plow finally turned up on the slopes on Mt Pelion, leaving the road a sheet of ice:
Grit seems to be unknown. Greek Helen and her family thought they would have to stay another day, but “we ended up sliding down the hill behind a neighbour's truck”. They are safe and well in Athens. Here is a picture of the path David dug:
And here is one of a Greek pussy cat in the village, sheltering from the elements in a Nativity scene outside the baker's:
We will see Archie on Tuesday who can fill in some of the details.
Yesterday went less well here. I didn't get back to the tax, and, perhaps for that reason, felt panicky all day. Today should be better – Sunday usually offers a clear couple of hours at the end of the afternoon for desk work.
Thank you for your suggestions about the Calcutta Cup scarf. I've got Alasdair Post-Quinn's Double Knitting book – I'm not altogether sure I haven't signed up for a Craftsy class on the subject, but have never viewed it, if so. It has always sounded too complicated for me. I'll look into it.
Another thing that has always sounded too complicated is Shadow Knitting. Would boys find that fun? I'll investigate that one, too. Am I right in thinking it only uses one colour at a time?
Actual knitting moved forward. I have marked off the remaining live sitches on the Unst Bridal Shawl in 12-stitch groups (=two scallops, a normal day's work). I used those split-ring stitch markers which are normally nothing but a nuisance. It would appear, if I've got it right, that the final scallop will have only five stitches to attach itself to. One of the returns will have to be left unattached – not too serious a fudge.
Another week might see it done. Finishing, as I've said, I'll leave until after the tax is filed. Archie's sweater will go fast, once it's the only project in action. I began to give serious thought last night to the important question of, what next? I can go on knitting the Queen Ring forever, of course, but I need something else. The problem about the Little Boys on Loch Fyne who only wear fleeces, isn't confined to the Little Boys on Loch Fyne. Nobody wears sweaters. I don't wear sweaters.
(This time of year I wear an old, very moth-eaten Manos del Uruguay sleeveless vest under a sweatshirt.)
Maybe that's not true. Maybe bigger boys do. Joe wore his Grandson Sweater all through university, I think. Archie wears sweaters – that's why I'm knitting one for him. Alistair Miles, formerly of Beijing and now at Glasgow University, will be here for a weekend with Archie soon. I'll sound him out on the subject.
And then there's the Tokyo Shawl. I think someone would wear that – maybe even me.
This time of year is very odd – a series of days each feeling like Sunday, but Monday never comes. Here at last is a Real Sunday. Tomorrow our soap opera will be back on television, after too long a break. My husband has two hospital appts this week, rheumatology and diabetes. Archie's coming, and I hope to be able to drive him back to school on Wednesday. Life resumes, insh'Allah.