Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
So bad, in fact that on a visit to the Irish Seal Sanctury this weekend we met some baby seal pups who had been separated from their mothers and rescued the morning after the storm. Poor little things. Such cuteness. BTW, they will be released into the wild at 3 months old when they can catch their own nourishment. But. I digress.
Fortunately, due to a comfortable cabin and liberal doses of anti-travel sickness medication, nobody was actually ill or felt too rotten. This is a minor miracle and I thank heaven for modern medicine. My childhood method of sitting out on deck, clenching my teeth and staring at the horizon would not have been much use to me this time.
It was bliss. For 2 weeks we swam, cycled, ate, knitted (well that was just me actually) and rested. The weather was mixed, but overall it was good and we split the time between the pool, the beach and the deck.
On the less-than-sunny days we had trips to the circus, Sealand, a lovely zoo and some high adventure at the Feeling Forest where we swung, crawled, clamboured and zipped between pine trees at a great height and got some great thrills and many interesting bruises. (Well, again, that was just me.)
Fearless Little Monkey in action
Saturday, August 14, 2010
After the previous post, I remembered that years ago I used to play a game of words with poetry which distilled the rhythm and words of a poem further than the original.
I'm sure I thought it was very clever at the time tho' I wouldn't have been able to describe it in any way.
Therefore I give you:
Try it out yourself. Sometimes of course the meaning and tone of the original poem is completely altered - but that just makes it more interesting!
There's something about that 'perfect love' that gets to me.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Photos and more details in a few days.
In the meantime, look what I found on the ever-entertaining blog of Sheknitupthatball.
by Gayle Brandeis
When you knit my sweater,
leave some holes, some knobbly nubs,
I want to see where your hands have been.
I don't want anyone to think a machine
has knit this, don't want anyone to think
it came from a store. I want you to breathe
through the gaps in the wool, want your knuckles
to bulge at the collar, the hem. I want to feel
your knit and purl like an inhale and exhale,
surrounding me like a fly in the perfect,
imperfect, spiderweb silk of your love.
Isn't that just wonderful? I defy anyone not to be moved by that, and especially knitters.
You already know that I'm very sentimental so I'll freely admit that I got a lump in my throat.