Personal

Don't Dream It's Over

It has been a day of upheaval here in Britain. Gordon Brown resigned as Prime Minister and then Britain finally got its new government five days after the election. And Neil Finn sported a moustache on BBC's Later With Jools Holland. Sadly, I'm all a-Twittering about that bit rather than the other bits..

.. I told my Other Half that I did not feel like breaking up my long-term relationship with Neil Finn (after all, it's been nearly twenty years - that is commitment, I'll have you know) but more like entering couples' therapy. My Other Half did not answer me. He is also not going with me to see The Crowdies next week. I wonder why?

Despite the upheaval and emotional turmoil (in more than one way - I am not that shallow), today has been a nice day. I was given a big box of posh chocolate because I did someone a favour. It was unexpected, but very lovely. I also have a finished object to show off (if I can decide whether it is a fascinator or a corsage).

The Candle in the Window

I put a lit candle on my window-sill tonight. It is a Danish tradition to do on the evening of May 4 in memory of May 4, 1945, the evening the Nazi Occupation of Denmark ended. I lit the candle in memory of family members, now long gone, who fought with the Danish Resistance. I also lit the candle thinking about democracy and the forth-coming British general election. I cannot vote in this election, and I have a sinking feeling about its likely outcome, but I appreciate living in a democracy (albeit one with a wacky voting system). I liked this little re-drawn map of Europe (and in related news, my Eurovision Pundit Podcast debút)

And BIG, MASSIVE congratulations to the Hand-Knitted Pirate who is now Doctor Hand-Knitted Pirate.

Books 2010: Tóibín - Brooklyn

Last week I finished reading Colm Tóibín's Brooklyn, a quiet novel about a girl who moves from one country to another in order to improve her prospects. I have a lot of time for Tóibín: his novel about Henry James, The Master, was one of my favourite reads in the past decade, and I remember being shocked and moved by another deceptively quiet Tóibín novel,  The Story of the Night. With Tóibín, you wait for the story to hit you. His books are not fast-paced caper filled with unbridled emotions - you have to be a patient reader and put your trust in the story-telling. The quiet rooms, the things left unsaid and the thoughts the characters keep to themselves - Colm Tóibín knows that is where the real stories exist. That is not to say that Nothing Ever Happens in Brooklyn. Eilis Lacey, our protagonist, goes to dances, finds a job, meets people and falls in love. Brooklyn has comedic touches too - some colourful characters, a baseball game, a stomach-churning journey across the Atlantic - but admittedly even the comedic touches are low-key. Oh, and there are some very, very big decisions being made by ordinary people in Brooklyn.

Brooklyn is about the the émigré experience. What does it really feel like leaving your country, your culture, your family and your friends for somewhere else? Reading Matters has an excellent take on this:

[Brooklyn] might be set in the 1950s but it touches on universal themes that resonate today, and I've yet to read anything that so perfectly captures the profound sense of dislocation you feel when you swap one country for another and then return to your homeland for the first time.

In short, Brooklyn is a superb paean to homesickness and the émigré experience. I think I identified with it so strongly because it shows, in an understated but powerful manner, how all emigrants have to make that god-awful decision about whether to stay or go (..).

I took my time reading Brooklyn, mostly because I did not want to become upset on public transport or in my workplace. I hesitate to use this word, but reading this novel was a profound reading experience - I put much of myself and my own life into it. It will stay with me for a long time.

I am now currently reading Sarah Waters' The Little Stranger. I have a little theory about Waters the novelist and so far The Little Stranger plays along with my theory. It is also very good thus far.

Day One: Starting Out

Fourth Edition is taking part in the Knitting & Crocheting Blog Week, and you can read more about that blog project here. My great-great-grandmother, Ingeborg, died in the 1960s but lives on in the stories told by my grandmother and my mother. Ingeborg was nearly blind when she died, but she kept knitting socks until her final days. My grandmother tells me that Ingeborg would worry about her tension becoming wonky and about dropped stitches, but despite failing eyesight Ingeborg's socks were as immaculate as they were back in the early 20th century when she kept her sons and one daughter, my great-grandmother, in steady supply of socks.

Intriguingly, Ingeborg used the English method, unlike her daughter (and subsequent generations) who were/are Continental knitters. I was taught to knit by my great-grandmother who was an important influence upon my life. She would knit long strips of garterstitch and sew them together into huge throws (and as I am writing this, I am awaiting a parcel from Denmark containing one of her huge, colourful throws). She would normally use whatever she had to hand - my momse had raised eighteen children through the 1930s and 1940s, and had very little time for anyone complaining about fibres or colours: if it kept you warm, you better be happy (and keep quiet about blue not being your favourite colour).

My grandmother has influenced me more than anyone else. Whenever I am with her, we make things. Arthritis has sadly put a stop to most of her creative endeavours, but she is a wonderfully multi-facetted crafter: sewing, knitting, crocheting, hardanger-embroidery, cross-stitching, and .. I can think of at least five other crafts she has tried.

She started knitting me pullovers and cardigans when I was a baby and, well, she has only stopped now due to her arthritis.  My grandmother made me the pullover I am wearing in the picture below. I think I am about six years old in the photo. She favours cables and textures above all other things, although she is also extremely fond of fair-isle knitting, and as Gran has never done lace knitting, I made her a lace shawl for Christmas (it was very well-received).

The most important craft lesson she has taught me? You can make it yourself.

My mother is no less crafty, although she channels her creative energy into other things such as gardening and writing. Mum crochets more than she knits and she tends towards making things for her home: table cloths, napkins and doilies. I think I get my love of delicate projects from her, as she prefers extremely fine/small-gauge work to quick projects. Her attention to details is legendary.

I do not remember when I was taught to knit or crochet, but I know that all my life I have been Making Things (and now I live with someone who also Makes Things). As a child I would knit fair-isle pullovers for my dolls(!) and made quite good pocket-money selling dolls' clothes to the neighbourhood kids. As a teenager I was mostly caught up in crocheting (and calligraphy, but that is another story) and made myself some, ahem, interesting pullovers. I abandoned knitting and crocheting for almost a decade, but rediscovered my roots when I found myself with some unexpected downtime. Nowadays I cannot imagine myself not creating things with my hands. It calms me and strengthens me in often surprising ways.

And, most of all, I am a fifth-generation* crafter and I feel connected to my family history every time I pick up my needles.

*at least

The Shape of Things To Come

In time you'll recognise that love is larger than lifeAnd praise will come to those whose kindness leaves you without debt and bends the shape of things to come that haven't happened yet

One of the loveliest things ever sung.

Today is a tired, quiet day at Casa Bookish. I have booked train tickets for a trip to West Yorkshire next month. I am spending nearly five hours each way travelling through Berwick-Upon-Tweed, Durham and York until I reach my destination. It sounds heavenly: me, my iPod, my knitting and beautiful vistas. True to style I have already begun plotting my knitting project and have settled upon Peace with a Kidsilk Haze self-designed scarf as back-up plan. Meanwhile, my Millbrook cardigan is flying off the needles. I separated for the sleeves today.

And around the web:

The secret to Farmville's popularity is neither gameplay nor aesthetics. Farmville is popular because in entangles users in a web of social obligations. When users log into Facebook, they are reminded that their neighbors have sent them gifts, posted bonuses on their walls, and helped with each others' farms. In turn, they are obligated to return the courtesies. As the French sociologist Marcel Mauss tells us, gifts are never free: they bind the giver and receiver in a loop of reciprocity.

A very interesting look at the curious popularity of Farmville.

Those who wonder whether the social media will "affect the outcome" of the [British general] election are asking the wrong question. It is affecting the outcome of everything, from having an idea, buying a pair of jeans or going on a date. It is not the dweeby tweets of campaigners, or the sad slanging matches between beer-fuelled political hacks that matter. What matters is that a new conversation is out there, and the first politician to look vaguely like they knew this got a (what may be short term) boost from this.

Paul Mason looks at how technology may be shifting electoral behaviour. I am not eligible to vote in the UK general election, but I still follow the election with a mix of bemusement, incredulity and curiosity. Earlier this week I checked the main candidates running in my local area - let's just say, it was interesting.

Finally, can you believe that these people get to make calls on how we all look? No, me neither..

Knitting In Public: True Stories

The couple approached me as I sat knitting. The woman told me that she had recently begun knitting again and that it was so nice to see a young woman knitting in public (I'm now the age when I appreciate being called a young woman). She then moved away to look at some flowers; her husband sat down on the bench next to me. "So, do you have a special man in your life?" he wondered. I do have a very special man in my life, yes.

"Do you ever KNIT FOR HIM?" His voice grew a bit louder. I admitted that I do occasionally make something for my man.

"Do you KNIT HIM JUMPERS?" Yes, I knit my special one jumpers.

"I bet he LOVES your HANDKNITTED JUMPERS!" The man shot his wife a significant glance. "What a LUCKY MAN!"

Pause. Then his voice grew even louder.

"What about socks? Do you knit socks? Do you ever KNIT SOCKS FOR YOUR MAN?! Ach, NOTHING SAYS LOVE LIKE HANDKNITTED SOCKS!"

And that was when the woman decided she needed to go look at flowers far away from me and my knitting needles.