An industrious day, and I got it all done. The Whiskey Barrel sock must be within two or three hospital-visits of completion. I did five rows of the Uncia, a struggle, and am now ready for row 264 in Chart E. The chart ends with row 284 – that's four more days at this pace, if I can keep it up. Chart F really does look easier – considerable stretches of either knits or purls, instead of struggling with every stitch.
But that leaves Charts G and H. G, at least, is small – not many rows, shorter repeats.
And then, later on, I added another point to the Hansel Hap edging, and watched to the end of Part 2 of “Victoria”. No sign of Prince Albert yet, but he couldn’t be far away.
Shandy, what can I say? I’m not the one to turn to for advice. There must be far more competent Uncia-knitters than I. I’m finding the charts difficult, needless to say. Many of the symbols are familiar, others aren’t. I haven’t yet tried using my printer to enlarge the charts, but that might help.
One thing: a common manoeuvre turns out to be the crossing of a knit stitch either left or right, when the purl stitches which started out on either side of it, are purled together. The symbol looks like an ordinary cross-1-right or cross-1-left, with whiskers on it. I’m now used to it.
Otherwise, just the ordinary. I attach a card to the book with a paper clip, either above or below the row to be knit. I read through the right side rows before beginning, in case any fancy symbols loom.
Keep at it. Someone once said something on the lines of, It’s wonderful what we can do, if we be ever doing.
Kathy of Kathy's Knits is going -- or has gone -- to Shetland Wool Week. Will Lucy Hague be filling in behind the counter?
What’s wrong with “Oriental”, Peggy, when applied to a gardening tool? How else can you say, “of Eastern origin”? What a minefield is language! I remember how surprised I was when James told me not to say “Chinaman”. I no longer do.
One of you wrote to me yesterday with this excellent link for an American source for the OGT.
I also remember during or just after the little lifetime of David and Helen’s eldest son, Oliver, when an old-fashioned friend referred to him as a “Mongol”. He had Down’s Syndrome, and died of various organ failures related to that syndrome, after a valiant struggle on the part of the NHS and his loving parents to keep him going. I wouldn’t have used the word myself, but it was the only available term when I was young. I wasn’t offended, and didn’t begrudge it to my friend.