Cats

I’ve left the last instalment of my Palermo adventure untold. It went smoothly. EasyJet turns around on a dime, as I may already have said – so a delay in London means a delay in Palermo. But that didn’t happen, that day. We got back on time. I was re-admitted to the UK without fuss (there’s a frisson of anxiety there, these days). Rachel met us and drove us to James’ and Cathy’s house, a great blessing.

The next day we Uber’d to Kings Cross. Cathy phoned half way through our journey to tell us that I had left my iPad behind. We had departed in good time, and public transport Sydenham-Kings Cross is very swift. She got there in time to give it to me, a truly heroic deed.

Our southward journey on January 1 had been very austere, despite First Class. This time things went better. Archie had declined to drink anything more exciting than Coca Cola the whole time in Palermo, but on that homeward journey he allowed Richard Branson to ply him with gin and tonic.

When I got home, Paradox came bounding to meet me, all enthusiastic purr. I walked about the house looking for Perdita and calling her. Niente. Ten minutes later she came strolling into the kitchen, and Paradox flew at her, fists flying, like a jealous toddler.

Perdita had worried her feeders during my absence, by not being there. She worried me again last night. She couldn’t have left the house – but she could be shut in a room, or cupboard, or drawer. I slept badly and got up early. There she was waiting – never too early for pussy cat’s breakfast.

I wasted some time today by watching part of Visconti’s “Gattopardo” on my iPad. Burt Lancaster is perfect, for the Prince, and Claudia Cardinale, for Angelica. But Alain Delon won’t do at all, for Tancred. Feeble. Although I can’t think of an actor, French or Italian or American or British, whom I would suggest to Visconti instead.

This is a picture of Gioacchino Lanza (the “real” Tancred) in 1955.

This is a picture of me (in my “Relax”) sitting next to him at lunch, 63 years later. Better late than never.

Yes, Karen! (comment yesterday) I, too, got an email from Susan Crawford telling me to fill out a survey or else I couldn’t have my book. The point of the survey was to establish whether contact details had changed in the considerable amount of time that has elapsed since we crowdfunded. The website wasn’t entirely confidence-inspiring, and I particularly regretted the absence of a “Submit” button at the end.

We shall see.

There is happy news, too, on other fronts. Kate Davies is now in full swing with the West Highland Way club. The current offering is an oversized Fair Isle called Strathendrick. Interesting, tempting.

And the Early Winter VK turned up today. You Americans, at least, must have seen it weeks ago. It’s almost all rather interestingly Nordic. I am seriously tempted by Meg’s “Danish Sontag Shawl” which looks like something that would be useful in weather like this – chest warm, garment secure, hands and arms free. The cast-on is more than a bit daunting.

And I’m going to want Vivian Hoxbro’s new book, “Strik Danske Stjernetrojer”. It concerns Danish “nattrojer” – “night shirts” – decorated with knit and purl patterns and worn day and night, under other clothes. They sound as if they may be even earlier than the first Shetland knitting. (My friends and I, in the Shetland museum, were shown interesting 19^th century onesies into which the wearer was sewn for the winter. But they weren’t decorated.)

If all else fails, Meg will find someone to translate it.

And I have more or less re-engaged with the shawl, and am determined to finish the current chart before turning in this evening. Only another half-row of plain-vanilla garter stitch.

Non-knit

The rest of the UK has had quite a lot of bad weather in the last 24 hours, but Edinburgh has been OK. More snow was forecast for last night, but instead we had a thaw, the streets and pavements were clear this morning, and I got out to the supermarket. A good thing, too: we were getting low on cat food. 

So, Monday morning, we went to the Cathedral of Monreale – a splendid end to the week. The website says that only 350 people are allowed in at a time, and visits are restricted to half an hour. It wasn’t like that. There were perhaps as many as four dozen people there – and seats were available for sitting on. And it is gloriously, astonishingly beautiful. I wondered if Hagia Sophia in Constantinople had once been like that, a whole golden space.

This is, I am afraid, the only picture I took the whole time we were there, as Archie and I sat in a café waiting for the time we had assigned to the taxi driver. Those are oranges on those clipped trees. Archie took lots of pictures, and I will soon post (I hope) the one I signalled to him to take, of me and Tancred at lunch in the Palazzo Lanzi Tomasi. It’s not a very good picture, but there we both are.

Our plane left late on Tuesday afternoon – EasyJet does one round-trip per day, and turns around on a dime. Archie pointed out that we had been there a whole week and hadn’t been to a museum or art gallery, so we went to the Museum of Sicilian Art. We’d have done better with Archaeology, but it isn’t as conveniently located. Sicilian Art has one beautiful Antonello, and is located in an old palazzo. Otherwise little to recommend.

BUT, by good luck rather than good management, we happened upon the best meal we’d had all week (except for the one we cooked ourselves) at the Ristorantino Palazzo Sambuca nearby. I had a Sicilian version of a prawn cocktail/salad – the prawns (those little ones) were raw, and they were delicious.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the homeward journey – smooth – and the reunion with my dear cats.

I enjoyed the new Fruity Knitting, although not the best; and I have done a row and a half, perhaps, on the shawl. I had forgotten how long those rows are, all four borders. And here we are in ’18 and the baby is due in April, so I had better keep my nose to the grindstone.

Snow, today. Helen turned up at 7:30, still pitch dark, me dozing to the Today programme, my happiest hour of the day. She cleared the steps and the car and told me to stay in. Alexander came over from Glasgow and reiterated the advice. More snow is forecast for tonight.

Not much tonight. I am tireder and weaker than ever. And there’s a new episode of Fruity Knitting, with which I and my iPad can go to bed. Again, no knitting.

Palermo: I left you as Archie and I were leaving the Catacombe dei Cappuccini on Saturday morning. I think there are several other places in Italy where you can see skulls and bones piled up in church, but Palermo may be unique in offering mummies in their Sunday best.

Since it is in the same quadrant of town, we went on to see the Royal Palace – which contains the Cappella Palatina, No. 2 on the mosaic list. Unfortunately, just as we arrived, they were launching into a baptism (you’d think it was a Roman Catholic church or something), and there was a good deal of standing around on the part of the tourists before we were allowed in. And I was feeling pretty feeble by the time that happened. And the seats were roped off – one could but lean on a pillar.

And the crowd which had gathered behind us, once admitted to the chapel, was of Sistine Chapel dimensions.

So I don’t have very happy memories of the Cappella Palatina. Archie dispatched some pictures to his mosaicist mother.

I reported every evening while we were there to friends and family back in Blighty, and the reaction from London, at least, was that we must take Sunday off. So we did – except for going (by taxi) back to the restaurant Jamie Oliver mentions in his Italy book. I asked our young, intelligent waitress about him. “Celebrity chef” was beyond my Italian vocabulary. I settled for “English writer” and told her that it was because of him that we were there. She had never heard of him. The restaurant is small and very Italian – clearly, despite Jamie, not yet on the tourist trail. Da Pippo la Gondola, should you find yourself there.

I’ve still done no knitting to speak of, since we got back: but I think perhaps I feel slightly better today. I watched the programme last night, with great pleasure, in which the Queen talked about her coronation . There was mention of burying the Crown Jewels in a biscuit tin somewhere in the grounds of Windsor Castle. And I wondered – I am pretty sure I have mentioned the thought here before – about where they were planning to hide the Princesses, when the invasion happened.

That winter of 40-41, when invasion was expected with every full moon, must have had an extra measure of anxiety for families – like that of the King and Queen – who had adolescent daughters. Churchill (let alone the King and Queen) was very thorough in his planning. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know what he had in mind. I wonder if the Queen knows.  It could have been somewhere close to Kirkmichael, which is close-ish to Balmoral. What you need is a village united in not talking to Germans (we’d have been great for that), and a big house (but not too big) where an extra English girl with her auntie – I think the sisters would have had to be separated – wouldn’t have attracted too much notice.

Palermo: we’re now finished with the Gattopardo, at least for the time being. The next day, Friday, was one of the best. We embarked on mosaics, and by good luck rather than good management, saw them in the right order. We started with the Church of the Martorana that day, well-attended but not what you would call crowded, beautiful, interesting.

Then we went on to the market we had visited the day before with the Duchess.

On Saturday, we started with the Catacombe dei Cappuccini. Archie is something of a connoisseur of horror, so I thought he really ought to see that. Well-off Palermitani used to leave themselves to the Cappuchins to be mummified and then dressed in their Sunday best and suspended from the walls. There they still are. It was a bit on the depressing side, but not quite as bad as you might expect.

I learned afterwards that Giuseppe di Lampedusa is buried there –not, thank God a suspended mummy, but in the adjacent cemetery. I am sorry not to have seen his grave, but profoundly glad not to have walked past his skeleton.

On our second full day in Palermo, we went “Cooking with the Duchess”, with me still shaking from my fell.  This needs a bit of preliminary explanation.

Giuseppe Tomasi, Prince of Lampedusa, author of the “Leopard”, had no children. Late in life he adopted Gioacchino di Lanza, a distant cousin from an even grander family. Gioacchino is still alive – indeed, some months younger than I am. Giuseppe never did much of anything in life, except write a masterpiece. Gioacchino has had a distinguished career as a musicologist.

The title character in the book is based on Giuseppe’s great-grandfather (Burt Lancaster, in Visconti’s film). The great-grandfather had a princely nephew who appears in the book as Tancredi. His adventures may or may not be vaguely historical – but his physical presence and mannerisms are based on Gioacchino.

OK: so here we are, me and Archie, presenting ourselves at the Palazzo Lanza Tomasi on Thursday morning. Lampedusa lived there during the last months of his life, and sets the death of the Gattopardo in an hotel next door. He – Lampedusa – actually died in Rome.

It all went swimmingly. Archie said afterwards that he had feared they would be “snooty”. They weren’t. We strolled with the Duchess on the terrace, picking herbs and lemons for lunch. We went with her to the market to buy fennel and fish and olives and bread. We worked in the kitchen. All was brilliantly organised and totally calm. We had a break for wine and another for coffee. And, somehow or other, at one, we discovered that we had cooked a four-course lunch for 14 people.

White-gloved servitors appeared at that point to serve lunch to us in the rather grand dining room. We were all good friends by that time – an American couple, a German one, and me and Archie. A bit of a WWII morality play. And I sat next to Tancred. And I can tell you that his eyes are, indeed, blue. And that he is delightful.

Most of the time, however, he talked to the German woman on his right, and I to his son Giuseppe on my left. When I read about that fatal dinner party at Donnafugata, I always picture Concetta to the left of Tancredi, with Angelica beyond, in the position of the German woman. I don’t know if there is any textual evidence for that.

Now I will go watch the Queen on television and knit onwards with Archie’s sock. I must get back to that shawl.

I am greatly encouraged, Mary Lou, by your comment which suggests you know what it means to sit next to Tancred. But that’s for tomorrow. We’ll start at the beginning.

I am very grateful for all your comments. Tamar, you are never wrong – I will see a doctor if weakness and unsteadiness persist. I gather that the NHS is currently overwhelmed by flu. I’ll stay away if I can.

So: our outward journey was smooth. I was consumed by anxiety – could a taxi really thread its way through the post-Hogmanay detritus? Would a train really be running on 1/1/18? Yes, to both. Branson had us on starvation rations – a choice of Sandwich A or Sandwich B, and no alcohol, for 1^st Class catering. But we got there, and took a taxi to Sydenham, where we fared a good deal better with Cathy and James.

Uber and EasyJet went smoothly on Tuesday. Archie persuaded me to take a taxi from the airport – the slippery slope. The Hotel del Centro, chosen because it offered single rooms, proved to be an excellent choice. Quiet, clean, comfortable, as conveniently located as its name suggests. I’ll write something for Trip Advisor soon.

Wednesday was our Gattopardo walking tour with a local expert. It was excellent, although it stretched me to the limit. The best part was when we went to the site of the Palazzo Lampedusa, where the author grew up, an only child who loved the house. It was destroyed by an American bomb in ’43 – Palermo had a hard time, that year. But for that bomb, however, we wouldn’t have had the book.

For many years, it lay in ruins, but has now been rebuilt as an apartment block. In the book, it is Prince Fabrizio’s town house. His principal residence is a couple of miles out of the city, just beyond Monte Pellegrino. We walked along the route the carriage took from that house to the ball at the Ponteleones’, -- it's not far -- past the church where they met a priest carrying the Sacrament to someone in extremis, and the Prince got out of the carriage and knelt on the paving stones.

I rested in the afternoon, but in the evening we set off – too far – to a restaurant Jamie Oliver mentions in “Jamie’s Italy”. We ate well, but it was on the return journey that I fell. I didn’t trip on anything, I just fell. At least I didn’t hit my head.

More tomorrow.

I enjoyed “Three Billboards” a lot – but is it that good? The end seemed to me to drag, as ends often do. The actor who ran away with it, secondo me, was neither Frances McD (whom I love) nor Woody Harrelson, but Sam Rockwell (whom I had never heard of before). I guess you’d better go see it.

Otherwise, nothing to report. No knitting.

At the end of our first full day in Palermo – might as well plunge in at the deep end – I fell, on our way back home in the evening, only a few yards from the hotel door. No bones broken. I got to my feet unaided. But I was both shaken and stirred. And for the rest of the week, both weak and lacking in appetite.

I thought I was getting better the last couple of days, but have been weaker than ever, these two full days back here. Archie and I took taxis to and from the Filmhouse this afternoon. This can’t go on.

One thing on the knitting front, though: perhaps in itself a worrying symptom. We “West Highland Way” club members have had our first pattern from KD, a delicious hat and mitten set. My reaction was, that’s great! But what about the yarn? I signed up for that, too.

Then I discovered – from no less a source than this blog – that I had already received the yarn. Then I looked where it should be, and there it is. Perhaps I should knit the hat as an act of penance.

I hope, tomorrow, to get started on telling you about the actual Palermo adventures.

Here I am in Edinburgh. Tired, weak – but it was a very successful venture, thanks to Archie. The high points were “Cooking with the Duchess” and the cathedral of Monreale. You’ll hear all about it in the days to come. It will be more interesting, at least at first, if you love “Il Gattopardo” as I do. I sat next to Tancred at lunch and I can tell you that in old age – he is some months younger than I am – he retains presence and charm. And blue eyes.

There is little to report on the knitting front. I think I looked up Palermo at some point and found little. I gave no thought to the matter while we were there, and no LYS’s presented themselves as we walked about in the Historic Centre. I started a pair of socks for Archie with an Arne & Carlos self-patterning yarn. I've nearly reached the heel – and I knit gents’ socks big. The socks I turn out to be knitting are not those illustrated on the ball band, although obviously from the same stable.

One piece of news, though: I had sort of hoped for an episode of Fruity Knitting this week, but there is nothing. However, someone asked a question in the Ravelry group which produced an answer from Andrea revealing that she is going to take a class in pattern-writing at the EYF!

They were here last year, but that was before I had discovered them. This year, surely, they will be in the podcast room at some point, and I can admire them from afar, as I did Jared last year.

Tomorrow Archie and our niece C. and I are going to see “Three Billboards” on its opening day in the UK. We will represent the three ages of man.

The promised extra message…

I have been very touched by all your comments. They are much more than I deserve. I’ll have my beloved iPad with me on my hoped-for travels, and will try to send at least an “Eccoci a Palermo!” message from the spot. Assuming we get there.

Kate Davies’ yarn arrived today (the day after the solstice). It’s pretty wonderful. I’m not entirely keen on tweed, and I am ever wary of scratchy, but I’m very glad that I went for the Full Monty with this club. The yarn is marvellous, beautiful colours, soft to the skin – no doubt because of the mohair. The club itself begins next month, I think. And I’m more or less in a position to begin to think of knitting it.

Indeed, I finished the second ball of lace yarn last night, knitting the borders of the baby shawl. That’s a big step forward.

So here we are at the dread pivot of the year, but at least with the solstice behind us. It’s rather good to have a two-day Christmas Eve. Tomorrow for last-minute shopping, Sunday for setting up the tree and once-in-royal-david’s-city and tears.

We had a nice day in Glasgow – no need even to think of productivity, although I did get those presents wrapped in time. Paradox hadn’t been thought of, this time last year. This is her first Christmas, and she thinks it’s great fun. She was a very great help.

Helen drove. Archie and Fergus and I were the passengers. Utter luxury. Good weather, too. Alexander and his family took us out for a rather delicious Chinese lunch. Then they all went off to Loch Fyne – the boys’ term is over, and Ketki seems to be free of banking duties. And we came back.

Despite Paradox’ having assumed the role of the Cat Who’s Always Where I Am, and who sleeps with me at night, Perdita’s is still the anxious furry face which greets me when I get home.

 I now have two unscheduled days in which, at least, to lay in a good supply of cat food for the festive weekend.

The borders of the shawl advanced last night with no further disasters – and the cardboard is showing through, around which the second ball of yarn is wound.

And the big knitting news is that I’ve had an email from Kate Davies to say that my yarn has been dispatched – that is, the samples of her new tweed, to go with the new yarn club. She had last-minute trouble with the supplier. I’ve sort of forgotten – one of the colours was short. When she was able to start dispatching yarn, she started with those of us most distant. If she’s worked her way all the way down to Edinburgh, the job must be very nearly done.

I’ll write again tomorrow (insh’Allah) just to record a high-fives for the passing of the solstice. And perhaps I won’t be able to resist telling you about the yarn, when it comes. Otherwise, I think it’s time to knock off until I get back from Palermo.

Another day nearer the solstice. Tomorrow Helen and Archie and I are going to Glasgow to have lunch with Alexander. I meant to get his presents wrapped today, but didn’t. Perhaps I could just give him the presents with some wrapping paper. Or get started briskly in the morning instead of sitting hunched over the on-line Times for an hour.

Helen is going to drive, which will be very luxurious for me. I had thought to get the Palermo Socks cast on and started on the train. They can wait. I have never seen their Glasgow house.

I am very grateful for all of your advice about money. My sister has chimed in too, reminding me of unhappy experiences she and her husband had in Africa. I have opted – quite possibly too late – for the idea of a card onto which you load money and then use like a credit or debit card. That will at least limit the damage, if anything goes wrong. Assuming the card arrives in time.

I had my hair done today. That’s something achieved, I guess.

I thought, last night, that I had made a pretty thorough mess of two of the shawl borders. YO’s on the wrong side of the decreases, that sort of thing. I wasn’t going to rip back, no matter what. But it meant that I had to knit and knit (because the rows are so long) to get back to the trouble spot and assess the damage.

So that’s what I’ve been doing, and things aren’t as bad as I thought. I’ll pass the galloping horse test. And I’m more than halfway through Chart B. I feel that the current ball of yarn (second of eight) should give up the ghost soon, but it shows little intention of doing so.

The solstice will be at 4:28 p.m. on Thursday afternoon, British time. We’ve just got to hold out until then – and trust those in charge up there to remember to throw the switch; I never entirely believe that they will. The new light gets to be perceptible around about Groundhog Day.

I don’t know whether to class today as “productive” or not. I got up to Boots and got my next set of blood-thinning pills, enough to take to Palermo and sustain me until February. It’s a steep hill. In the old days, all I had to do was get to the top of Broughton Street and then ride the John Lewis escalators for two more stories, and on out into the St James Centre where Boots then was.

But the St James Centre has been knocked down, so John Lewis’ escalators are of no use to me. I’ve got to walk up that extra distance, and it gets harder every time.

However, I did it, and then went on (on the level) to the Royal Bank in St Andrew Square, a beautiful space where it is always a pleasure to be. It used to be somebody’s very, very grand town house. The domed central hall where you queue for your euros is one of the sights of Edinburgh.

I got enough euros to pay the professor who is going to take us to places associated with Il Gattopardo on Wednesday January 3, and the duchess who is going to teach us to cook on Thursday the 4^th, and a bit of pocket money to spare.

The young man who fetched them out of the vault for me is himself going to Palermo on January 1. He has never been there before. What were the odds? It’s not as if it were Rome or Paris or Athens. It seems to me an extraordinary coincidence. He is flying from Edinburgh and enduring the long lay-over in an Italian airport. Should I have done that? I should have asked him how he is taking money. I’m going to need enough cash right away that I didn’t want to trust a possibly-non-functioning airport ATM.

But perhaps I’m being too much of an old woman.

I got some more of the shawl borders done – the knitting is very compelling at this stage. The “right side” rows now have lots of k2tog, YO’s in them and are a bit slow, but more fun than they were. I mustn’t neglect that poor scarf.

I’m binge-ing a bit on the second series of The Crown on my iPad. We’ve now moved on to events which I can remember from my early adult life, living here. 

Now we begin the darkest week. Courage!

I have had not so much an unproductive day, as a deliberately idle one. The outcome seems much the same. I posted the Christmas cards, and was interested to discover the pillar-box not to be overflowing, on this of all days (the weekend before Christmas, and the box not emptied since yesterday noon). Maybe they slotted in another collection. Or maybe Christmas-card-sending is really on the wane.

I worked out (not difficult) how much I will need in cash (euro-wise) to pay for our “Gattopardo” walking tour and to pay the Duchess, our first two days in Palermo. We’ll need food and bus fare as well. I gather one can put one’s card into an ATM as readily in Palermo as in Edinburgh. How did we manage in the old days? (Ans: traveller’s cheques, money belts)

I bought a pocket Italian phrase book. Despite all my learning, such things have proved to be very useful in the past.

And I knit ever onwards on the borders of the baby shawl. I’ve done another decrease row – 16 stitches down, now, on the original count.

I went back and re-watched the Fruity Knitting episode with Gayle Roehm. It turned out to be the EYF one, and therefore particularly interesting. She didn’t go into any detail about how to decipher Japanese patterns. I gather from the Ravelry group that there was a lucid article in Knitter’s Spring ’97. I must look tomorrow to see if I have it in my pile. But I suspect I’ve got all I need anyway, from my Japenese Knitting Phase.

The new book has a particularly interesting section of wedge-shaped patterns, which could easily become the yoke of a sweater. Well, somewhat easily…

I suppose the only thing to do is to rejoice in the days when I don’t actually go backwards. The Christmas cards I have so far written now have stamps on them – I’ll post tomorrow. I washed quite a few dishes. I knit a bit more. The new J&S version of the pattern divides the borders into a series of separate charts, A through G. I’ve finished A. Amedro just gives it row by row, 1 to 99.

I finished the first ball of yarn the other day. I will use them, rather than any calculations about the pattern, for the progress bar to the right over there. I think I can trust J&S to have got it right – they sent 8 balls, so 12.5% per ball. Assuming the last ball isn’t consumed down to the last few inches, that will leave me a percentage point or two for weaving in ends and blocking.

We had a good Italian lesson this morning, all about Palermo. There are lots and lots of interesting and beautiful things there. Italian lessons always leave me semi-prostrate. That was the last one for a while – Federica is going home to Rome on Wednesday.

Comment – non-knit

CKP, I remember learning at Oberlin that the ancient Greeks were horrified to find that the Persians prostrated themselves in prayer. The word is the one you mention, “proskinesis”. (Herodotus, perhaps?) Is it interesting that Muslims still do so, while Greeks still pray standing up?

On we go. Perhaps I might write a few more Christmas cards tonight, before it becomes altogether too late. I’ve done some Italian homework, for once. I have wrapped up a regalino to give my teacher tomorrow. I’ve knit onwards, with the shawl.

The border lace is embarrassingly easy, and constantly interrupted by the long, wrong-side rows where nothing happens at all. I’ve done the first decrease row so there are eight fewer stitches than before. But since the decreases, at this stage, happen only once every six rows, it’ll be a long time before they add up to anything appreciable.

Nevertheless, as I expected, the shawl beckons hypnotically at this stage. And I even begin, rather prematurely, to look forward to the next WIP. Nancy’s Vest is high on the Possibles list. I bought the yarn, Blacker’s Samite Silk-Blend, at the EYF this year, some may remember. That’s the one that changed from an interesting dark red to a dull brown in my hands before the ink was dry on the check. It’s still a good pattern.

And, of course, the Calcutta Cup will be contested here in Edinburgh (meaning, we have a chance) at the end of February. That could lead to Alexander’s Fair Isle vest. Or I could knit him a non-Calcutta-Cup Fair Isle vest. Ketki admires the swatch-scarf. Maybe I could metamorphose it into a cowl.

Anyway, there are things to think about.

Non-knit

The new season of The Crown is up on Netflix. I suspect it is going to be rather tedious, but I’ll watch for a while. Someone has actually published a book about things they get wrong. Here is my contribution.

There is in Italy – at least in southern Italy – a beautiful gesture which I have experienced once. You offer your hand to a man for shaking. Instead, he lifts it slightly, and inclines his head, in a gesture which says, “I kiss your hand”.

New ambassadors and new Prime Ministers go to see the Queen for a ceremony described in the Court Circular as the Kissing of Hands. I can’t prove it, of course, and we’ll never know, but I feel sure that what actually happens is on the Italian model. But in The Crown, it is represented as an actual, embarrassing, smack of lips on royal knuckles.

Another day with a good deal less achievement than I would have liked. No more cards written. More on-line banking which always frets me and gets us nowhere.

The shawl, however, has progressed somewhat. Mary Lou, it’s not quite as bad as that. There are 160 stitches per border now, but by the time we get to the centre it will be only 85. The main reason I so like what I think of as the Amedro System – edging-inwards – is the delicious illusion as one progresses that the knitting is going faster and faster.

Then back and forth on those 85 stitches of one border, taking in one stitch from each of the adjacent borders on every row: that must be 170 rows. Then graft the edge of the finished centre to the stitches of the fourth border.

And, since that’s the way I’m doing it, sew up one corner.

At least it doesn’t have to be finished by Christmas.

At the moment, the only problem is the tedium of the long, long wrong-side rows. The simple lace pattern happens only every other row – and the decreases haven’t even started yet.

Embarrassment

There’s an occasional thread in the Fruity Knitting group on Ravelry where we suggest people we would love to see interviewed. (Kate Davies! Franklin!) Recently someone asked for a Japanese designer – no one specific -- and I lept in to suggest Gayle Roehm, who translated and introduces the new Japanese Stitch Dictionary. Andrea herself has responded to say that Gayle has already been interviewed.

I’ve already watched every single episode of Fruity Knitting. I’ll go back and have another look at that one. It’ll help to keep me going over these tedious holiday weeks.

Comments

Kristen – absolutely! – andarsene. That’s an infinitive meaning something like “to be off”. Whatever languages you know or don’t. you’ll sympathize when I tell you that “I’m off” is “me ne vado”. The “ne” is still there, unchanged in form but in a different place; everything else has altered. 

It has been another fairly unproductive day.

I had a tedious, business-y thing to do, involving the scanning of bank statements. I’ve done it. But that leaves quite a lot of other things undone.

I’ve found the J&S version of the shawl pattern – but have lost my invaluable Italian grammar book. I've reached the bit which any student of Italian will remember, when pronouns and untranslatable "particles" begin to attach themselves to the end of verbs, and then hive off and take their places in the sentence, the pronouns changing, the particles not. Slightly like nuclear physics.

Knitting has progressed well. I have done the first two – plain – rows of the shawl border, counting and counting; and am now establishing the pattern, still counting away. Once that’s done, it should look after itself.

And I was wrong: Mrs Hunter of Unst’s shawl, knit for the previous great-grandchild, has 185 stitches in each border at the beginning. This one has only 160. Should be a doddle.

Knitting the borders back and forth has the very considerable advantage of sparing me the agony of joining all that great length of edging together without twisting it. There was once, long, long ago when I did twist it, despite all my care and caution. I’m afraid I took my scissors to the corner that time.

You’ll have heard that Patreon has backed down, and is not going to impose a surcharge on patrons’ donations after all. Knitty says that their income is down $1000 (per month?) anyway.

And Susan Crawford says that the Vintage Shetland Project will be with us soon. “Eight years ago, when we started work on the Project, we had no idea what we would encounter along the way, but the obstacles we faced have only made the book stronger and better than we ever could have imagined.”

One of those “obstacles” was the fact that crowdfunding produced more money than asked for or expected, so publication was postponed for the first of many times, to allow her to go back to Shetland for more research. It could have been more tactfully expressed.

Tomorrow I mean to start early and Get Things Done.

A good day, but not entirely a productive one.

I went for a walk this morning along the Water of Leith with a dear friend who is determined to get me into shape for Palermo. I’m sure it did some good.

But when I sat down at the computer, not all that long ago, it fired up all right and then made a little pfffft noise rather like an expiring light bulb, and expired. I went back to the old computer, and even managed to write a couple of paragraphs for you, but couldn’t figure out how to upload them (although I must have been on-line, in some sense).

Then I came back in here and found a loose connection and tightened it, and all is – it would seem – well.

I find I can’t even remember how to connect a computer to the Internet. It just connects, by itself. But goodness! how important that connection is for one’s mental well-being.

Anyway – I think all that distress is excuse enough for not having got much of anything done today.

Knitting has advanced. I’ve picked up the stitches from the flat edge of the lace, and am beginning to knit inwards. The numbers aren’t perfect yet, but nearly. It has been much more of an effort than I remember from Mrs Hunter’s shawl for the last great-granddaughter, not all that long ago. Was that one substantially smaller? I’ll look tomorrow.

The Japanese Stitch Dictionary is here, and is as wonderful as expected. There seem to be a couple more promising-sounding Japanese-derived books promised for next year. This one has more bobbles than I entirely like, but is otherwise entrancing. The only thing to do is to swatch.

Utterly non-knit

Archie came for supper last night, and I asked him about this business of trigger warnings, or whatever they’re called, when Unsuitable Material is about to be discussed in class. I had heard on the radio in the night that Ovid’s Metamorphoses had been so flagged somewhere.

I thought of that delicious passage in Metamorphoses I where Apollo is pursuing Daphne along the Peneus River. Clearly, harassment. The ground is rough, and he is worried that she will trip and fall. He calls out, begging her to run more slowly, and promising that he will, too.

Archie knew the story, but didn’t know that it happened at the very spot, in the Vale of Tempe, where we used to stop on the journey from Thessaloniki to their house on Mount Pelion, to eat delicious barbecued corn cobs and walk for a while beside the river. The path is much smoother these days. 

All well, but not a stitch of knitting has been done.  I’m ready to pick up the stitches for the borders of the baby shawl. I still can’t find the pattern – most peculiar. The advantage of the new one is that everything is charted. But I’ve knit my way through a lot of Amedro in my time, doing it her way without charts, and I’m sure I can do it again.

Archie came to supper, and seems very well.

And I got another five Christmas cards written. And various e-mail-y business attended to. The more I do of that, the more there seems to be.

It’s very cold, and in lots of other places – but not here – there’s enough snow to interfere with movement. Will we get to Palermo? Archie says, of course we will.

As days go, not too bad, not too good.

Archie is coming to supper tomorrow, straight off the train from his university. I have made him a stew in my slow cooker – stews are always better the next day. It’s fairly tasty, but still needs to be decanted and the cooker washed. It’s cast iron, and can’t be neglected overnight like everything else.

And I got a few more Christmas cards done – including ruining one of my well-printed round-robin letters by writing a bold “Dear L. and…” at the top before noticing, in my address book, that L. died a year ago. I’m afraid that’s a fatal error – another sheet of waste paper.

I have tried to concentrate my mind, and extract the names of people from the Christmas card lists of past years – I’ve got all the lists, back until 1994 – who might not have heard of my husband’s death, and who need to hear from me anyway. About a dozen, beyond those done already. I’ll do them in the next couple of days.

No knitting yet today, but last night I got within a scallop or two of the end of the lace edging for the new shawl. If I have the strength to carry on for a while tonight, I could finish it, and even start picking up stitches from the straight edge.

At the moment – I’m sure it’ll turn up – I can’t find the new version of the pattern, which J&S sent me with the yarn. In the old version (and, I think, in the new) Amedro unashamedly does the borders in st st – that is, round and round with every round knit – and the edging and centre in garter. I must, therefore, have done it that way for Archie, 21 years ago. Nobody complained.

For Mrs Hunter’s shawl, last winter, I’m pretty sure I left one corner open, and knit the borders back and forth, thus achieving garter stitch throughout. I could search the blog if I set myself to it. I think that’s what I’ll do this time, anyway.

Non-knit

I happened to see your comment on Mason-Dixon Knitting, Mary Lou, and was very happy to find in you a fellow-fan of the recipe for Toll House cookies on the back of the Nestle’s Semi-Sweet Morsels packet. And, in answer to your question, I think “The dog ate my homework” is as well-known in GB as in the USofA. I’m not sure whether that extends to Italy, but my tutor seemed to understand.

All well here. The Italian lesson – il cane ha mangiato i miei compiti – always leaves me exhausted, but I got a bit of kitchen-cleaning done, and some cooking, and a few Christmas cards written. Well, three. And December won’t be in double figures until tomorrow.

This is my tutor’s first winter in the north. She came to Edinburgh in May (and found it chilly). Like Greek Helen, she is now finding the darkness a bit much. Whereas now that I have grasped how much darkness affects me, I’m doing better.

So far today, no knitting. I should be able to knock off a few more scallops on that lace edging before bed.

There’s a great flutter in the doocot because Patreon has imposed a surcharge on patrons. I didn’t entirely understand the message when I got it at first, but since then I have had agitated messages from both Knitty and Fruity Knitting (my two sponsorships). Apparently I am to pay a bit more – they will get the same – Patreon pockets the difference. I think that’s it.

I’ll hang on. A significant number of Knitty patrons, at least, have dropped out. It’s a shame.

A fairly idle day, recovering from yesterday – and this evening, I must do my Italian homework. I do Italian every day, my Duolingo lessons and Yabla videos. But somehow the real homework always gets left for Friday night, or even Saturday morning – Federica comes at 9, but I get up early.

But I got some sit-down-y, computer-y things done today, including ordering a skirt to wear to Palermo. I think it should be pleasantly warm, Shandy, certainly compared to Edinburgh. It’s a substantial distance due south of Naples. And there will be more light. Rain is probably the danger.

And Kristen, yes, naps are planned. Our hotel is called the Hotel del Centro, chosen largely because it offers single rooms (and internet).  I’ve got a street map of Palermo and have located on it various places of interest (including the Duchess’ palazzo) – the hotel seems to live up to its name. It should be easy to get back there for a lie-down.

We’ve gone ahead and said yes to the Magnet kitchen, and I’ve found a reconditioned Aga. That will be something to worry about once I get back from Italy, just as Palermo is something to worry about once I get past Christmas.

I got three more scallops done today – better than nothing. 

I feel a bit more hopeful about Palermo.

Today has been strenuous, by my feeble standards, but very successful. The various people mentioned yesterday came here, and ate their sandwiches, and I think the conversation has moved things slightly but definitely forward towards the publication of my husband’s magnum opus.

After the sandwiches, and with no prospect of a nap, I thought for a while that I might expire. But I revived, and here I am still in gamba at half past eight – although more than ready for my bed.

I have knit only three scallops, I think, but that was enough to take me past the half-way point on the 4^th and final side of the shawl edging.

Blackwell’s have emailed to say that the Japanese Stitch Dictionary is on its way.

And there’s only a fortnight to go until the solstice.

Today was fairly productive, as days go around here. Greek Helen and I went up to Magnet to talk about new-kitchen plans. They are the people who did a kitchen for Kate Davies and Tom, when they moved away from Edinburgh to their Highland fastness. KD was very enthusiastic about their service. I have saved that blog post of hers.

Then I walked home, perhaps a mile, perhaps a bit less, and felt weary and therefore worried again about Palermo. Helen found and retrieved from Kirkmichael the sitting-stool I gave my husband. I think it will be useful, and I’ll take it along.

Walking meant I could pop in to Valvona & Crolla, a famous Edinburgh Italian delicatessen. A friend recently spotted the Princess Royal there.  I bought two presents, one of them a paperback, “Dear Francesca”, by Mary Contini, a member of the original V&C family. It is partly recipes, partly family history. I’ll take it along to Palermo as a regalino for my friend the Duchess.

Then, after a period for recovery, I gathered together photographs and correspondence related to my husband’s work – various people are coming to see me tomorrow with a view to publication. Tomorrow morning I must make sandwiches for them, so tonight I must leave the kitchen fairly tidy. It is a bond, and not entirely a trivial one, between my husband and Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, that both died before their life’s work was accepted for publication.

As for knitting, I have done three more scallops – I should reach the half-way point tomorrow of the fourth side of the edging for the new baby shawl.

The new Fruity Knitting is extremely interesting – I  think I say that every fortnight. I am a patron, and am proud to be – but it’s free for all over on YouTube. Do have a look, if you don’t know it already.

Andrea is a dazingly skilful and meticulous knitter. She showed us some interesting things, this time, about finishing steeks. I was happy to remember that Hazel Tindall said (EYF ’17) she didn’t bother – just cut them, and let them be – when she was knitting a sweater for herself. For competitions, she did a bit more.

The star attraction this time is Sue Blacker of Blacker Yarns. She looks like a Boring Old Woman – rather like me, in fact. She knows a lot about sheep and wool and spinning. For the moment, I’ve even got “woolen-spun” and “worsted-spun” straight in my head. How very wise of the Fruitys to include, every so often, an interview not with a knitter but with a yarn-producer. 

Fruity Knitting is here! I’ve watched half of it and am ready to go to bed with my iPad and the interview with Ms Blacker. I don’t think I had ever consciously registered Blacker Yarns until they turned up as generous sponsors of the Edinburgh Yarn Festival. I bought some of their yarn this year, you may remember – for Carol Sunday’s Nancy’s Vest.

That was the yarn, you may also remember, which looked a beautiful dark russet red until I paid for it, and then turned brown. I suspect, still, that it will make a very good Nancy’s Vest once it gets a bit further forward in the queue.

But otherwise I know nothing about Blacker Yarns.

Today was not a day of progress. My dear Daniella, wife of Vasily, is ill, and couldn’t come. The result was that, although I more or less kept my head above water, I crossed off nothing from my list.

I did a bit of knitting, however. I have now done five scallops of the edging on the final side of the baby shawl – and the ball of yarn is looking weary, although I think it will see me out, edging-wise. There are 20 scallops per side, so five scallops represent half-way to half-way.

And last night I joined in the final colour, the 5^th,  of the gradients which form the “B” shade in the Soutache. Roughly speaking, you are meant to use each one for 8” until you get to the fifth, then knit that for 16”, then knit down the other side with the half-balls left over. Carol Sunday would have you weigh them, on the way up, to make sure that you have enough for a matching section on the way down.

But I don’t think that anyone will notice if you’re even as much as an inch or two out, so I didn’t do that.

The Arne & Carlos sock yarn arrived today. I have selected the non-Pairfect skein, chosen a more-or-less suitable odd-ball for finishing the toes, found the necessary needles, put the tout ensemble in the Palermo pile. That's something done, although not much.

Helen and I are going to talk to another kitchen designer tomorrow morning. It is hard to think of such things as Christmas and the solstice close in.

The big news is that I heard from my friend the Duchess of Palma last night, after writing to you – Archie’s and my Cooking Day with her is all set for January 4, deposit paid and received. Next we must book a street food walking tour – I don’t think that’s urgent, but we ought to get it done before we leave.

That’ll still leave three days for culture.

I think it may be possible to hear Mass in the Cappella Palatina on Sunday -- “Palermo’s top tourist attraction”, according to Lonely Planet. I mean to try. I sometimes think about how, in the Bad Old Days, people who lived in appalling squalor and poverty could and did experience great art – including music – by going to church. I think there are still a couple of Titians in churches in Venice, but such things are a good deal rarer than they were.

Nigella Lawson says in one of my magazines that the first thing to do if you want to survive Christmas is to keep a notebook in the kitchen, and make lists. She may be right. I got several important items crossed off mine today,  including facing up to the Elephant in the Room and writing the first five Christmas cards. I wonder if the Internet will make that practice redundant soon – it’s awfully time-consuming and awfully expensive.

The round-robin letter printed with minimal smudging, perfectly legible.

Time-consuming or not, I also got some knitting done, and have at last rounded the final corner with that baby-shawl edging and started the gallop down the home stretch. I’ll do some Soutache before I go to bed.

And tomorrow – a new Fruity Knitting! I must make the best of it. I presume that things will slow down over the hols.

It's always nice, every other Sunday, to see a week arrive which will bring me another episode of Fruity Knitting.

Otherwise, I've had a do-nothing day. I can’t even claim dolce far niente, as it wasn’t particularly dolce.

I did, at least, make a list of the many things I ought to be doing, and did one of them, namely to order some sock yarn for the journey to Palermo. I’ve got some (of course) but nothing very interesting.

I ordered a ball of Arne&Carlos’ “Pairfect” socks – a Regia self-striping yarn which incorporates an ingenious system for producing identical socks. The only trouble with that, as Palermo knitting, is that I really ought to be knitting socks for Archie. And the way I knit gents’ socks, I need more than 100 grams. I finish off the invisible toes with something from the odd-ball bag.

I also ordered a lively ball of one of their other, non-pairfect, colourways. I could take that, and keep the Pairfects back for a daughter.

JennyS, I took your excellent advice, cancelled my Amazon order, and ordered the Japanese Stitch Bible from Blackwell’s. It costs a bit more but so what, if they can actually deliver the book.

Italian & other

Chloe (comment yesterday) I think maybe – without looking it up – “fontanelle” might mean “little fountains”. The cemetery seems to be so-called because the nearest street is the Via delle Fontanelle. That leaves the question of why the hole in the top of a baby’s head is so called.

And, no, my first iPad wasn’t protected with the Find My iPad app. My present one is – but if I ever need it, which Heaven forfend, I will have forgotten how to use it, and even which computer it is installed on.

Now I’ll go do a bit of knitting.

I’ve calmed down a bit since the discovery of the keys, but yesterday will remain a red-letter day. I don’t think it offers any hope for the iPad, though – I think that must have been stolen, although it’s a very uncomfortable thought. The irony was underlined recently when Vasily’s admirable wife Daniella did find one when she was cleaning – it was in the spare room; it was James’s; I had totally failed to spot it, and he, who relies entirely on his telephone, hadn’t registered the loss.

I gave it back to him when I went to London for Orla’s Christening.

Valerie (comment Thursday), thank you very much for the pointer to “News in Slow Italian”. I will persevere. I’ve listened to “Intermediate” and it sounds a bit too slow – I will try to find Advanced. I had a good lesson with my tutor this morning; it was one of the days when I felt I might actually be getting somewhere. I have been very fortunate in her. I have a new friend, as well as somewhat extended fluency.  My homework was to investigate and write a short essay about the Cimitero delle Fontanelle in Naples and I did pretty well.

I agree, Chloe, that Latin and enthusiasm go a long way in Italy. I have been reading “Jamie’s Italy” (a Jamie Oliver cookbook). I’m sure he has about a dozen Italian words and plenty of enthusiasm and gets on fine.

As for knitting, I was too emotionally prostrate yesterday for anything but a few calming rows of the Soutache. Today I returned to the edging of the new baby shawl, but I still haven’t reached the (ever-receding) third corner. One more scallop to go, and then the fourth side.

Hazel Tindall’s DVD’s have arrived, “50 Tips from Shetland Knitters”. I can’t persuade my DVD player to show them to me, despite having used it recently for a tedious Italian movie, but I have every hope that I can play them on the computer.

Japanese Knit Stitch Bible

It is incredibly kind of you to offer to send it, SamKD. I am sure it will turn up here eventually, and I don’t want to burden you (or myself) with trudging to the post office where patience would suffice. But I am and will remain extremely grateful.

I am sure it is wonderful. I had the same sort of feeling you describe, Melfina, when Sharon Miller’s “Heirloom Knitting” was published. For the first six months, at least, I kept it on the table in the sitting room within easy reach. 

Greek Helen has been in Kirkmichael for the last 48 hours, with the husband of the remarkable Romanian woman who cleans for both of us. Vasily is clearly fully as remarkable as his wife, and they – he – got a tremendous amount done. The idea is to clear out and spruce up and bring the house into a state wherein we could make it available for holiday letting so that it might pay its own way.

But today’s big news is that

she found my keys

Some of you will remember the story. They disappeared out of my hand in September, 2014. Both she and I were surprised to discover that it happened so recently. The story is told in my blog post of September 30, 2014.

The keys were in the awkward cupboard under the stairs, under vacuum cleaners and stuff. I’ve no idea how they could have got there.

I often think of them. I thought of them today, as I was leaving the supermarket and putting things in the untidy boot of the car. Could they be somewhere under that mess?

Two nights ago, I dreamt about them. I don’t remember that that has ever happened before. In the dream, they reappeared in my hand as mysteriously as they had left it. I tried to ask myself whether I had put on a long-unworn garment and found them in the pocket. Then I realised I was dreaming and tried to think of a way to keep hold of the keys.

When I was first in Glasgow, in 1954, I came across J.W. Dunne’s “An Experiment with Time”. His idea was – is – that dreams can draw their source from events about-to-happen as well as from the past. The book is still available from Amazon; I’m not going to read it again. But there you have, I think, as neat an example as Dunne could have asked for.

The keys, of course, have long since been duplicated and replaced. The source of today’s great joy, for me, is the recovery of the stag’s-horn fob which Rachel gave me when she was a little girl. I asked her, after the disaster, to give me another, and she did, but it’s not the same.

And for Helen, the removal of her fear that the keys would turn up after my death and renew her grief.