I'm not as wise as I am old but I know that hard as it may be when sad things happen it's perhaps best to try and find a silver lining where you can. And so I imagine it's nice to inherit things. A house, a bit of land with road frontage, the family heirlooms... or even better, something with sentimental value...
Ellen's mum was a knitter and had her own label, Maire Devane. She worked from home where she had her set of machines and lots of arms and bodies milling about on whom she could do dummy runs of designs; living mannequins to model masses of jumpers and mounds of scarves. And now the machines are stored away and the remaining spools of yarn are stacked in the basement.
On Sunday last as Ellen and I were setting up for stitch and bitch we went downstairs to source some extra materials for our new projects. Sparkly wools, stripey wools, big fat furry ones, skinny wools, soft squidgy wools, ones that felt like seaweed, ones that looked like toupees stolen from the heads of old pipe smoking men; talk about spoiled for choice!
Clambering back out to the stairs over tool boxes, old bicycles and suchlike, we found a big black plastic bag full of old knitting. What we initially thought would be little more than scraps of trial pattern runs turned out to have a few surprises buried within, these being in the form of full sized jumpers! What a treasure chest to find! The lovely Elspeth shows her favourite:
Ellen's mum was a knitter and had her own label, Maire Devane. She worked from home where she had her set of machines and lots of arms and bodies milling about on whom she could do dummy runs of designs; living mannequins to model masses of jumpers and mounds of scarves. And now the machines are stored away and the remaining spools of yarn are stacked in the basement.
On Sunday last as Ellen and I were setting up for stitch and bitch we went downstairs to source some extra materials for our new projects. Sparkly wools, stripey wools, big fat furry ones, skinny wools, soft squidgy wools, ones that felt like seaweed, ones that looked like toupees stolen from the heads of old pipe smoking men; talk about spoiled for choice!
Clambering back out to the stairs over tool boxes, old bicycles and suchlike, we found a big black plastic bag full of old knitting. What we initially thought would be little more than scraps of trial pattern runs turned out to have a few surprises buried within, these being in the form of full sized jumpers! What a treasure chest to find! The lovely Elspeth shows her favourite:
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