One Small Step or One Giant Leap?

Yesterday marked the first time I could vote in Scotland. I clutched my polling card, brought ID with me and walked down to the polling place fully expecting to queue for maybe five or ten minutes.  I was the only voter, of course, and in no need of  ID either. I told the poll official that this was my first Scottish election and that I was very excited. She laughed and asked if I had brought my camera as she'd be happy to take my photo. Then I walked into the wrong room through sheer excitement, but finally managed to vote.

Excitement? Quite apart from the joy I always get from seeing democracy at work, I think that yesterday marked the day when I felt I finally have a voice here in Scotland. I'm that tiny bit more Scottish now. A bit more 'home'.

And then I visited a handknitting pirate who showed me how to needle-felt. The technique involves sharp, barbed needles  and obviously I stabbed my thigh a couple of times. I ended up with a little pin cushion which looks quite like a Microsoft icon circa 1996, but I don't really think needle-felting is my thing.

However, then the Pirate showed me how to use a drop-spindle and - holy caramel - I was instantly hooked. I was so hooked that I immediately found a good deal on eBay UK for a drop-spindle kit complete with fibre. It'll arrive tomorrow with any luck. Again, as with knitting, I think it is the feeling of connecting with tradition and history which hooks me.

Remembrance of Things Past

When You Get Ticked - a blog entry by Lolly - made me stop in my tracks this morning. It made me think back to October 14, 1996 when I woke up, went to brush my teeth and stared with horror at my reflection in the mirror. A partially paralysed face is not something you expect to stare back at you when you look in the mirror. The paralysis was the culmination of several months' fatigue, cognitive confusion and persistent neck/ear pain. My best friend took me to see my doctor. Within two hours of waking up, I was in a hospital bed with brain scans and extensive blood work lined up.

Lyme Disease is a real bitch, boys and girls. It has been almost thirteen years and, although treated at the time, LD is still with me in tiny, unexpected ways. When I move my mouth, the weakened muscles around my left eye twitch.  My body is slightly more susceptible to stress than most people. And I wear a lot of hats because an ear infection can affect the nerves controlling the facial muscles (ask me how I know).

So check your body for tiny black dots if you have been walking in the woods or through tall grass. Some get the famous bullseye rash after a few weeks of being bitten (I didn't). If you start getting flu-like symptoms, a persistent neck/ear pain and what can best be described as "a cognitive fog", then go see your doctor.

Thank you, Lolly, for reminding me about all this because some things need to be remembered, some things need to be shared.

The Art of Being

After spending the afternoon drawing, laughing and singing at Dr Sketchy's (brief nudity, beware), it was a bit of a downer heading back onto Glasgow's streets to find that Rangers winning the football league equalled people heckling other people and a lot of drunken aggression. Sectarianism is such an ugly thing and never fails to scare me just a little bit. It's been a week of settling back into Glasgow, then. I have been a bit quiet - much preferring my book and my knitting projects to social interaction. Saturday we did go out to West Kilbride - which markets itself as Craft Town Scotland - to visit the Old Maiden Aunt Yarns workshop. Following my recent yarn adventures, I decided against buying any yarn but I did commission Lorna of Chookiebirdie to make me a customised handstitched needle case. Weakness, thy name is Karie Bookish.

Finally, our good friend Gabi Reith has been involved in a big, big art project on the East Coast. She has taken a derelict building, covered it in fabric and decorated it with a giant sketch. It's very cool. See for yourself, if you don't believe me.

A Lovely Land Is Ours

From left to right, going clockwise: Copenhagen pedestrian street (Fiolstræde) with secondhand booksellers, quirky fashion and a Japanese supermarket; typical Danish pedestrian street in Holbæk with parked bikes (and bike helmets); Copenhagen City Hall tower; Mjølnir (Thor's Hammer) seen at an exhibition on amulets at the National Museum; cloudy skies over a field in north-west Zealand (note the characteristic gentle slopes); early Viking Age/Late Iron Age drinking vessel seen at the National Museum; some of the yarn I bought; and some sheep at the sheep farm just south of where I grew up.

Not pictured: the nineteen people I saw during my visit, the copious amount of delicious (and mostly organic) food I had, and the six yarn shops I visited.

As I wrote in my previous entry, visiting Denmark feels bitter-sweet. I feel so connected to Danish history - how could I not when I grew up in an area which has been populated since Pre-Historic times and where you interact with History everytime you go for a walk - and I love speaking Danish with its quirky pronounciation and lightly-nuanced intonation. I love Denmark and the Danish landscape. You are never far from the sea, the rolling hills have such gentle slopes and the woods are friendly and inviting. Denmark in spring is a beauty to behold.

It's just a shame that Denmark is populated by the Danes. This is when my problems with my nationality set in. Denmark is a tiny, tiny country with a huge ego. The average Dane truly believes he lives in the best country in the entire world and that right way to do things is the Danish way. He travels abroad and marvels at the idiotic way that other nationalities do things. He returns to Denmark, smug in the knowledge that all other nationalities envy him his Danishness. Paranoia sets in: because Denmark is the envy of all other nations on earth, Denmark must be protected from intruders. This has led to xenophobia, protectionism and a deep distrust of anything which is not readily identifiable as being Proper Danish Behaviour (such as preferring non-Danish cultural products, dressing unlike the masses, questioning rampant xenophobia or even criticising Denmark just like I'm doing here). I've always struggled to be a proper Dane and that was part of why I moved to Britain, I suppose.

So this visit was bitter-sweet. I looked with horror at how a key Danish MEP called for the exclusion of  Romania and Bulgaria from the EU on the basis of them being unhealthy and "less than clever". On the other hand, I really enjoyed the new Pre-Historic exhibition at the National Museum and I have found the bestest and nicest LYS in all of Denmark. And it was so damn good to see my family and all of my fantastic friends.

Conflicting Emotions

Being back in my native Denmark feels bitter-sweet. On one hand, I'm loving speaking Danish. It's really, really good seeing my loved ones. I am enjoying simple pleasures taking a walk around the beautiful countryside with its gentle rolling hills and soft green hues. The food is super-fresh and tasty. The streets are clean and public transport is a joy.

On the other hand, Denmark is populated by Danes. I need to write about my nationality and why I continue to have huge problems embracing my being a Dane - but I have limited computer time at the moment, so watch this space post-holiday. I have also received some upsetting news from Scotland, so I'm feeling a bit strange.

Long live retail therapy, then, and particularly the yarn shops. Today I went to a local sheep farm where I bought both some of their own "homegrown" wool as well as some beautiful 1-ply mohair/silk in stunning colours. Yesterday I went to a more traditional yarn shop and spent almost two hours looking through their inventory. I escaped with a sought-after pattern book and enough wool for a pullover. I also found a 1940s knitting book in a second-hand shop and it is proving a most educational/entertaining read.

Tomorrow looks to be another day of sunshine, excellent food and maybe a yarn shop or two..

If all time is eternally present ...

A deadline has been and gone. Yesterday, in fact. So I can finally start thinking about packing for Denmark, buying Branston Pickle for my Danish friends (don't ask) and even post-Denmark things. As I'm flying out on Monday, you could argue it is about time.

I'm still torn on whether I should buy A.S. Byatt's new novel, The Children's Book, for my holiday or whether I should wait until I come back and will have actual time to read (isn't it funny how these things work?). Part of me wants to tear into it as soon as possible and another part of me wants to savour it. A new Byatt novel is always a cause for celebration, even The Biographer's Tale which I read travelling around New Zealand and cannot remember very well except for a faint pang of disappointment.

After the deadline was met yesterday I met up with Tigerlilith as she wanted my opinion during button shopping. We found the perfect buttons at Mandors where they also had the most stunning Liberty fabrics. Specifically this red/blue print called out to me - I was already visualising a 1930s inspired tailored shirt when I reminded myself that I need a new hobby like I need a hole in my head. A reminder I also needed last night when Kirstie Allsop was trying to wheel-spinning yarn on primetime TV.

Finally, I'm completely sold on Patrick Wolf's new single, Vulture, and the streamed bits I've heard of his forthcoming album, The Batchelor, sound amazing. My 2007 was soundtracked by his The Magic Position and if 2009 turns out to be soundtracked by him again, I shall be rather pleased.

(Title is from TS Eliot as per usual, you might say..)