A Bluestocking Knits

Booking Through Thursday: Encore

Booking Through Thursday asks this week,

Almost everyone can name at least one author that you would love just ONE more book from. Either because they’re dead, not being published any more, not writing more, not producing new work for whatever reason . . . or they’ve aged and aren’t writing to their old standards any more . . . For whatever reason, there just hasn’t been anything new (or worth reading) of theirs and isn’t likely to be.

If you could have just ONE more book from an author you love . . . a book that would be as good any of their best (while we’re dreaming) . . . something that would round out a series, or finish their last work, or just be something NEW . . . Who would the author be, and why? Jane Austen? Shakespeare? Laurie Colwin? Kurt Vonnegut?

David asked me last night, "Where are your mystery books?" and I pointed to a shelf in the living room.  He was gone for some moments, then came back with not a mystery but Master and Commander, the first in the novels by Patrick O'Brian chronicling the adventures of Jack Aubrey and his friend Stephen Maturin in the early 19th-century English navy, and basis for the brilliantly atmospheric if somewhat hodge-podge movie of the same name.  We sat together for a while, David reading and I knitting, but I kept glancing over at his book, and before long put my knitting away and picked up The Nutmeg of Consolation, fourteenth in the series.  Why I've left it so long, I can't say -- it's been two years at least since I read the previous book.  What was I thinking?

I was rewarded nearly at once by this, as the marooned sailors take a respite, from their hard work of building a schooner from the wreckage of their frigate, in a game of cricket:

"What Stephen did not fully appreciate was the degree of pleasure that Jack took in this particular ceremony.  As a captain Aubrey was exceedingly worried by the shortage of food and marine stores, particularly cordage, by the near absence of powder, and by the coming total absence of arrack and tobacco; but as a cricketer he knew that close concentration was necessary on any pitch, above all on one like this, which more closely resembled a stretch of white concrete than any Christian meadow, and when he came in second wicket down, the yeoman of the sheets having been bowled by the sergeant of the Marines for a creditable sixteen, he took centre and looked about him with an eager, piercing, predatory eye, tapping the block-hole with his bat, wholly taken up with the matter at hand." (p.11)

A masterful paragraph.  It conveys something of Jack's charisma as a leader, his dedication to his men, his attention to detail (when it concerns his ship, at least) and his sportsmanship and raw energy, with a nice touch of humor, and also something of Stephen's obtuseness when it comes to cricket (shadowed by his even greater denseness when confronted with naval terminology, which despite knowing umpteen languages and impossibly arcane minutiae of medical and zoological terminology, not to mention having spent by this time some dozen years at sea with Jack, remains a blank to him).  And it is of course, bar the opening line, all one sentence.

("Nutmeg of Consolation" is an honorific carried by the Sultan of Pulo Prabang (in the South China Sea), who features in the previous book, whose title is borrowed by Jack to christen his newest vessel, "a tight, sweet, newly-coppered, broad-buttocked little ship, a solace to any man's heart" (p.80).)

Patrick O'Brian died, alas, in 2000, and I am reading the fourteenth book in a series of twenty (twenty-one, if you count the one unfinished at his death), but even though I can console myself with the thought that I can certainly read the whole canon over again from the beginning once I've finished, there is a certain wistfulness that there are no more to be had.  One of the things I appreciate most about these novels is that despite the nearly-interminable amount of naval jargon, it isn't really necessary to know much of it.  One can infer from context that a topgallants are a kind of sail, and so on -- and more information can be found at The Gunroom and the aptly-named Guide for the Perplexed, or in any number of O'Brian lexicons -- and quite a lot is explained to Stephen as things go along! -- but even lubbers such as myself can simply enjoy such passages as this, "Royal masts were sent up and their sails were set upon them, very fine and delicate canvas too; and since the wind, a good steady topgallant breeze, was now abaft the beam, studdingsails too made their charming appearance, four on the weather side of the foremast and two on the main, with a crowd of staysails; spritsail and spritsail topsail, of course, with all the jibs that would stand, a noble array.  Presently skysails flashed out above the royals, and all hands watched the water rise high at the bows, sink to the copper abaft the forechains and then race hissing along her side, leaving a broad wake behind, stretching straight and true to the west by south" (p.110), which creates a fine picture in the mind's eye but does not hinder the storyline if rigging is a mystery.

Well, I could go on, but this post is quite long enough already, I suspect!  Suffice it to say that I recommend these books highly as brilliant and entertaining historical novels, with great depth of characterization and elegant prose.  Cracking good reads, too.  Give you joy, as Stephen Maturin might say, if you've yet to discover them!

Thoughts on the Log Cabin Socks

These were finished in a bit of a rush, before the hot weather hits and I don't even want to think about thick wool -- the Log Cabin Socks, my first project from Handknit Holidays by Melanie Falick, despite my having owned the book for over a year now.  I must confess that I did not particularly enjoy making these socks.  It's my first experience with Cork, so I will reserve judgement on it until I knit it at a more reasonable gauge, but here I felt like I was trying to beat it into submission -- not the experience one wants with one's knitting.  It didn't help, to be sure, that my Surina bamboo needles have splits in the tips (again!), so kept catching and splitting the wool.

I was also, like quite a lot of the knitters who have already made these socks, a bit perturbed at the difference between the instructions and the photograph.  Directions for the heel flap don't mention leaving out the last few cables, but I just worked the sts as established after Row 18 of the chart, instead of switching to the second cable portion.  I've heard that the book has rather a lot of errors (there is an errata page from the publisher), but luckily the only other one that I noticed was more one of clarity than actual error: the last part of the heel turn should be something like "Rep Rows 1 and 2 three (four) times, omitting final K1 in last rep of Row 1, and final P1 in last rep of Row 2."  The heel was a bit wonky, but I suppose that's due more to the gargantuosity of Cork than anything else.

I had the morning to myself for finishing, and so I thought this movie would be appropriate --

Log cabins and all, don't you know.  "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers" has really grown on me.  I was a bit bored by it when I first saw it, but I've come to appreciate its rustic charms.  My feminist hackles raise a bit, of course, but there is enough in the characters to counter most of that!  Howard Keel is wonderful enough to make me think that I would have married him on the spot, too!  And I like that Milly knows her own mind well enough to take the risk, but is spunky enough (in the best possible way) to stand up to Adam when she needs to.  I don't need to say anything -- well, not very much, anyway! -- about how terrific the dancing is, as the barn-raising number alone is enough to guarantee the movie its place in musical-comedy history, but the music is fabulous too, beautiful Gene de Paul/Johnny Mercer tunes that leave me humming them for days.

The accompanying documentary on the single-disc DVD has some interesting tidbits and interviews, as well.  Sometimes I find the behind-the-scenes information so distracting that I don't enjoy the movie as much as I would like to -- which I found to be the case in some of the "Lord of the Rings" movies, for instance -- but here it's just fun.  One of the brothers, for instance, was played by a non-dancer, such an intimidating thing in the company of Jacques d'Amboise and Russ Tamblyn, et al., that you can see him around the musical numbers but not actually in them, so we have a good time Benjamin-spotting during the dances -- "look, he's on the other side now! oh, sitting down!".  (Reminds me of the little girl in the "Seventy-Six Trombones" number in "The Music Man" who obviously had trouble remembering the steps, as she's watching the feet of the other little girl.  Poor thing! I sympathize whole-heartedly.)

"Bless your beautiful hide,
Wherever you may be!
We ain't met yet
But I'm willin' to bet
You're the girl for me!"

"Sabrina"

In honor of what would have been Billy Wilder's hundredth birthday today, I watched one of my favorite of his movies tonight, "Sabrina" with the ever-lovely Audrey Hepburn.

Apparently, Cary Grant was the original choice for Linus Larrabee, played in the movie by Humphrey Bogart -- I can't help wishing that this had come off, as I personally would feel more likely to be torn between the two brothers, the dashing William Holden and the straight-laced (as if!) Cary Grant.  Still, it's a charming movie, full of wit and romance, and Audrey is exquisite!

"Your's Sincerely, &c."

I've at last gotten around to seeing the new "Pride and Prejudice" -- due to the surprisingly early DVD release date!  I got much of the right front of the Swing Jacket knitted up while watching it.

I was astonished to see that except for her very first scene, Elizabeth did not wear a petticoat.  I cannot claim to be an expert in this matter, but I believe that this is akin to a woman going braless in the 1950s -- just not done.  I was also rather surprised that she almost never wore a hat -- now, Elizabeth is something of a free spirit, but although it might be supposed that she would "forget" her hat when walking to Meryton, I cannot believe that she would appear at Lady Catherine de Bourgh's bareheaded.  I am also astonished that Mr. Bingley would simply open the door of Jane's bedroom without first knocking -- and that Lady Catherine would appear at the Bennets' in the middle of the night -- while this lady, too, is strong-willed enough to expect the world to cater to her, a midnight call is rather mind-boggling.  (I think that we are supposed to believe that Darcy's midnight call on Elizabeth, at the Collinses', is a kind of dream, and that his letter's appearance in her hand comes as something of a surprise to her, but this makes the two calls together rather puzzling.)

(Regarding hats, it seems to me that Elizabeth would be much like Laura Ingalls, who would usually wear her bonnet but push it back off of her head.  It seems like she was always grudgingly pulling it back up.)

It's also disconcerting to hear, in the opening scene, a stunningly beautiful piano piece and wonder if we are expected to believe that Mary is playing it, the same Mary whose clumsy music "delights us long enough" later at the Netherfield ball.

And of course, the fact that the film is only two hours makes it much more difficult to explore the nuances of character and family relationships so delightful in the longer versions.  I understand, in this light, that many of my favorite lines have ended up on the cutting room floor, or not even in the shooting script, alas -- although I was surprised that Mr. Bennet's little tease of his wife regarding their new neighbor Mr. Bingley, "It is very unlucky, but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now" (which I was looking forward to hearing from Donald Sutherland), was altered to no obvious improvement.  Mr. Wickham was a bit of a loss, too -- and I did think it better that his spilling-out of the story of Darcy's perfidy (as Wickham presented it, anyway) was much better coming impulsively (on purpose) from himself, as in the book, than from Elizabeth asking him -- which made him seem less of a cad.

But cavils aside, this is a lovely film to look at.  The locations are utterly gorgeous.  It's funny, how fashions change in the way we film period pieces, isn't it.  Twenty-five years ago, everything was clean and the colors were bright and everyone wore gloves when they touched each other -- ten years ago, we discovered sex, and this year, dirt.  I can believe that the Bennets' home might be shabby, but not, I think, Shabby Chic.  The amount of paint flaking off of the walls was incredible! and would, I think, have opened them up to a censure that Mrs. Bennet at least would have found mortifying.

I did like that there were so many night scenes.  I suppose that in the first series the demands of video required that either filming was done mostly during the day or that night scenes be brilliantly lit -- it does make more sense that night scenes, either at home or at a ball, be by candlelight, after all, and here it seems much more realistic.

It was unusual and yet not unpleasant that the family dynamic has changed here from other versions -- this Mr. Bennet especially is much less disparaging of his younger daughters and his wife, whose silliness is not as readily apparent.  Mrs. Bennet especially gets more justification for her behavior, and actually gets to point out to Lizzie that five daughters need to be married off.

Tom Hollander was unexpectedly marvelous as the odious Mr. Collins, who is usually a figure of fun, but here was kind of awful and yet pathetic. 

This indeed an enjoyable adaptation of the novel -- not, obviously, as faithful as the 1995 version nor the 1980 one, which is still my all-around favorite.  But this new one does have its own strengths and beauties.

(And here is a little unexpected Project Spectrum red: "Queen of Night" tulips from the Formal Gardens at Groombridge,

which was used for Longbourn in this film.)

Knitting Olympics

Here we are, all geared up for the Knitting Olympics to start this evening!  Oh, yes, and the real Olympics, too --

(Photo from Torino 2006.)

I must say, I'm looking forward to both.  I've been an armchair athlete ever since the glory days of "Wide World of Sports", and enjoy watching a wide variety of the winter games, although I confess a partiality to figure skating.

In the spirit of pin-trading, the Knitting Olympics folks are making and exchanging blog buttons right and left, and here are some that I've collected --

This one is from Jessica at Rose-Kim Knits, who is obviously "proud supplier of blog buttons to the United States Knitting Olympic Team",

and this one is from Sarah (who helpfully adds, "it actually means 'The Olympic Contests/ Games of Those Who Knit' or 'Those Who Make Loops With Rope'", for those of us with little Latin and less Greek).

For those of us Welsh in blood and/or spirit, there is Team Wales ("teem cuhmrih" or "cuhmree"),

and this one, lest we take ourselves too seriously (as if!), is Team Tea from Elizabeth at KittyCafe.

And my own little contribution, in honor of the unexpectedly large number of Jeannes entered --

 

Thoughts on the February Baby Sweater

Thanks to a few well-scheduled TV programs, I finished the knitting for the Baby Sweater on Saturday -- watched "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" that night, and a few days earlier an episode of "Secrets of the Dead" called "Titanic's Ghosts".  Despite the lurid title and opening sequences, this was actually a serious documentary about using DNA testing to identify survivors of the Titanic disaster.  I've always been fascinated by archaeology, which manages to be both romantic and scientific at the same time -- recreating past lives, researching history, and using analytical techniques to gather and record information.  This one was fascinating for its use of genealogical research techniques to identify and locate surviving relatives, the still-amazing way that DNA evidence can be used to identify blood relationships between the living and the long-dead, and the photographs and personal stories that made us identify sometimes nearly unbearably closely with the people on the Titanic  and their families.  (Imagine having one seat on a lifeboat available, and looking at your five children there on the deck.)

Anyway, this was an easy-peasy knit.  I used less than two and a half balls of the Merinogold, so it takes almost as little wool as it does time.

I also loved that the Gull pattern fit perfectly into the shaping that Elizabeth devised, with the repeats ending just at the places where you divide for the sleeves (and adding on 7 fits another repeat in just as perfectly).  I actually added eight stitches, instead of seven, on the sleeves, because the lace pattern made a rather wonky edge and I wanted to firm that up to make seaming easier; I just knitted the first and last stitch of every row.

The sleeve shaping gave me a bit of pause, and I had to think about it for some minutes until it made sense.  It is essentially a T, with the crossbar to be seamed along the underarm and the downward stroke becoming the sleeve seam.  This is how it goes together --

That extra K stitch on each side of the sleeve seam came in very handy, as the seam turned out almost invisible.  I am, I confess, rather lazy when it comes to finishing (Reason #47 to Love Shawls: There are no seams), so I faithfully followed a little tutorial on seaming by Theresa Stenersen -- good practice for the Swing Jacket coming up.

These white pearly buttons were the only shanked ones I had in the button jar, so they are merely prodded into place for the photo.  Obviously I am starting to get into swing-jacket mode -- I thought this jacket would look as pretty with three buttons as with the six of the original, and it does.

"Result: a beguiling baby sweater with only two seams to sew"!

Humming Along

Am finishing up the body of the Aran cardy, and starting on the first sleeve.  I wondered whether I should block the pieces before basting and cutting them, but can find no advice for or against this in the Almanac -- I'm guessing that it's not terribly important, or Elizabeth would have mentioned it.  It seems to me that the stitches would lie flatter if I block it first, which might make a difference in where the machine-basting ends up, but on the other hand, the garter stitch edging is to be picked up afterwards, and it might be awkward to work a new bit onto a blocked bit.  I'm leaning towards not blocking, simply because the gauge didn't change all that much with it, so it shouldn't matter terribly.  If anyone thinks I'm making a dreadful mistake, please let me know!

I think this is what Elizabeth means by the "kangaroo-pouch neck-shaping" -- the instructions seem a bit casual.  "About 3" shy of desired body-length," she writes, "put the center 1/3 of the front stitches on a piece of wool, cast on 2 stitches [I put one on each side of the departed stitches], and continue working.  When the body is finished ... machine-stitch and cut the front center 3", which will fall apart to reveal a nicely scooped-out neck."

Frankly, this looks more like a codpiece to me, but I suppose that a) I've been watching too much of "The Black Adder," and b) "kangaroo pouch" is more tactful.

I'm also doing short-rows and a three-needle bind-off at the shoulders, instead of a stepped slant on the back half and sewn shoulder seams.  I think the three-needle bind-off is wonderfully tidy, and more flexible than my sewing.

David and I went out for lunch and a movie yesterday, while Grandma was here to look after the girls.  We tried a new Indian restaurant, and then went to see "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe".

I wasn't really sure what to expect, having heard different reactions from friends and in print.  I was very disappointed in the first few seconds, in which we see the Blitz from the viewpoint of the German bombers -- distracting and unnecessary -- but the non-Lewis addition of the evacuation scenes were so moving that I was in tears.  (What an awful position to find oneself in, sending one's children away in order to keep them safe, or being sent away to live with strangers, in an already-disorienting time.)  I thought it interesting that Edmund was the one who ran back from the Anderson to get the photograph of their father, not one of the others, who we could expect to be more sentimental.

I did not think that Tilda Swinton was particularly miscast (as I've heard from a certain person who may disagree at length here, if she likes!).  Swinton always gives me the creeps anyway.  I thought that her plastered dreadlocks were odd, but not out of character, as it were, although I found myself more distracted by her dress and its strange way of seeming that it contained her, rather than that she wore it.  I could find, in my dash through the book last night, no mention that the White Witch is supposed to be dark-haired -- the only physical characteristic mentioned other than a general ominousness is her crimson lips -- and that mental image seems to be from the Baynes illustrations that so many of us grew up with (reinforced by Jadis' "later" appearance in The Magician's Nephew, published after LWW but set earlier in Narnia's history).  I never found the Baynes illustrations of the White Witch to be particularly frightening, anyway, so it doesn't bother me.

A lot of the dialogue has been changed from the book, for reasons that on first viewing don't seem particularly obvious to me, other than to inject more humor into things (Mr. Beaver's first line, for instance).  Lewis' dialogue always seemed to me very easy, very readable and speakable and natural, so it seems strange that it's been rewritten, but I can't really quibble much, never having written a movie.  (Mr. Beaver's first line was pretty funny, after all.)  I do think it unfortunate that it was felt necessary to "update" some of the wartime speech, especially when it was so painstakingly established to be that particular time and place.  (It certainly doesn't hurt to use a different vocabulary now and then, or "dude" will soon be the only word people know.)

The effects in this movie are amazing -- the animals are so incredible that after a few moments I stopped being intrigued by the effect and just accepted that beavers and lions could talk.  There were a few rear-projection inconsistencies that were jarring -- the backdrop when the children cross the frozen river, for one -- but otherwise it's just incredible.  The expressions on Aslan's face are so subtle, so nuanced -- I would say "so human" if that weren't more than a little insulting!  I liked that the filmmakers didn't make the animals more Beatrix-Potterish, like putting an apron on Mrs. Beaver or such (Tumnus' scarf was all right, as I worried that he was cold!), and I appreciated the way that the Beavers played off each other (an inspired bit of voice casting, there).  I liked the little touches, too, such as the giants -- which in Lewis are rather stupid -- pushing each other and arguing on the way to the battle, and the way that the lamppost actually appears to be growing from the ground, with a treelike lumpiness of surface roots at the base, which we later, in The Magician's Nephew, find to be the case.

In fact, one of the few distractions I had during the movie -- aside from the cell phone ringing somewhere in the theatre during the Stone Table scene, for heaven's sake -- was thinking suddenly, "Is Susan's cloak ... knitted?"

This is not the best image of the cloak -- the first time she's wearing it, it looks like a fairly fine-gauge stockinette.  Curious -- an interesting choice, if it is.  A knitted cloak would not be particularly comfortable in the rain, but it would be warm otherwise and it certainly moves very nicely.

A lot has been said, in a number of places, about Susan, and quite rightly a lot of feminists are disappointed that it's the girl who grows away from Narnia when she gets interested in boys and make-up.  Susan always struck me as being a bit wet, so it didn't surprise me that, in The Last Battle, she as "the pretty one" and the oldest girl of the family is the one who falls prey to the desire to fit in with what is obviously meant to appear to us as superficial.  I'm not saying that in any given set of people, one of them has to lose the childlike innocence that lets one believe in magic wardrobes, but it does happen in real life.  This is, after all, a story, and Susan's function in the story is as an example of what might happen to those who want only to "grow up" and fit in with everyone else.  (Paul R. Ford makes an interesting point about Lewis' own character, which was in fact much more like Susan's than Lucy's, something Lewis himself realized and acknowledged.)  While my sympathies were usually with Lucy, I could almost always identify with Susan's practicality (the coats, the meals) and often with her fears.  Lucy is, of course, the one who is afraid but follows Aslan anyway, the point that Lewis wants to make.  Lewis wasn't the only writer, by any means, to succumb like Susan to the stereotypes of his time and place -- it can't be argued that men didn't have the upper hand in pre-war England -- and while I don't think that women have to be satisfied that "at least" he gave the most important role to a female character, Lucy, it seems that in at least this he was willing to be fairly open-minded.

For some reason that I don't understand, I hesitate to say that this movie is "brilliant" -- my head is still swimming with the stunning images and the cultural implications, its problems and joys, the deep feelings I've had for these books ever since I first read them at age eleven or twelve.  All in all, I found myself much more viscerally involved in this movie than in any of the three "Lord of the Rings" movies.  (I knew what was going to happen, but that didn't stop me from gasping aloud when Edmund was wounded at the battle, and finding this inexpressibly moving.)  I don't know if this is due to the movies themselves or to the stories -- I think of myself as being more than a little hobbitlike, but perhaps it is that I could never find myself in Middle Earth, but as Professor Kirke might point out it is not impossible that I too might, like Lucy, one day find a door into Narnia.

Booking Through Thursday: Movies From Books

This week's Booking Through Thursday has a slight twist on last week's theme:

1. What book (or books) would you like to see made into a movie? Why? Just picking something out of the air, so to speak -- because I noticed it on the shelf yesterday -- A Company of Swans by Eva Ibbotson, one of my favorite novelists and not as widely-known as she should be.  Wit, interesting characters, romance, complicated plotlines that nevertheless come across as completely believable -- good stuff.  With its ballet theme and Victorian setting, a movie of the story would be lovely.  Also fun might be Georgette Heyer's Friday's Child or Hilary McKay's The Exiles....
2. What book (or books) would you definitely not want made into a movie? Well, I still have strong reservations about the upcoming Narnia movie, but will reserve judgement until I see it.  I can't really think of something that I would really kick at, as of course it completely depends on the screenplay, director, etc. etc.  All three of the books I mentioned above are not terribly "serious" books, which probably makes a difference, as -- "dying is easy, comedy is hard" notwithstanding -- I think it's easier to translate a lighter story to the screen, as weight and seriousness all too often get merely ponderous and boring.  Those with a lot of internal dialogue or stream-of-consciousness tend to lose a lot, as well.  (I am perfectly willing to be proven wrong, of course!)

Booking Through Thursday: Books Into Movies

The Booking Through Thursday question for this week are about books that have been made into movies.

1. When you think of books that have been made into movies, what one comes to mind first?  Most obviously, for me, since it is relatively recent, is "The Lord of the Rings" cycle.
2. Did the movie really capture the feeling of the book?  These three movies were pretty far from my mental images of the books, which were based, after umpteen years of rereadings, more on Tolkien's own illustrations, and to be honest were a lot cleaner!  I mean as in dirt, physical grubbiness.  I had a few quibbles with the movie -- for example, as impressed as I was with Viggo Mortensen as Aragorn, my mental image of the character was actually much more like Sean Bean -- and I feel wistful about my own "version" of the story being replaced by Peter Jackson's, but on the whole I enjoy the movies very much.  (I think my main disappointment is the loss of all but one of Tolkien's songs.)
3. What about other movies from books? Which movies do you feel really captured (or if you prefer, didn't capture) the feeling of the books they were based on? I thought that the Kevin Sullivan production of "Anne of Green Gables"   -- one of my favorite books ever -- was just about perfect.  I remember being astonished at the scene where Marilla first takes Anne upstairs to her new bedroom, and it was exactly the way I had pictured the room to myself.  I still can't watch Disney's "Mary Poppins" in comfort, even though I usually love Julie Andrews -- the Disneyfied version is so utterly wrong, so twee and saccharine, and so different from the "real" Mary Poppins (how I wish that Jean Marsh could have been cast, with a more faithful screenplay...). I had never read any of Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey/Maturin novels until after I saw "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World"   -- after reading over half of the twenty-volume series, I am still very pleased and impressed with the movie, which despite compressing (and even inventing) a lot still captures the feeling and tone of the books very well.  So there are three different ones: the "Anne" movie got the book right and was faithful, "Mary Poppins" just didn't work (for me, obviously a bit of a minority), and "Master and Commander" while not sticking much to the book, still got it right.

Saturday Stuff

Some miscellaneous thoughts this evening --

I've never actually knitted with the jewelry kind of stitch markers before this -- always admired the variety and beauty of ones I've seen on other people's blogs -- but find myself a little bit vexed by the maneuvers I have to go through to work with these.  A marker between two RS knit stitches isn't a problem -- it's when the marker is hanging on the other side of the work, and you must move the yarn to the front, slip the marker, and put the yarn back, or between a knit/purl or purl/knit sequence and you must move the marker either before or after you move the yarn for the different stitch, and it makes a difference, depending on which is first in the combination.  Otherwise, Belle ends up with the yarn strapped around her waist, thus --

But it's a niggly annoyance, and not yet enough to make me take out the markers altogether!

Well, tomorrow is my choir's concert, so I can at last get Honegger's "King David" out of my head.  A strange, clashing, cacophanous piece, and hard to sing.  If I liked it, the difficulty in singing it wouldn't be a problem, but unfortunately the parts I do like are few and far between the parts I don't.  I am certainly looking forward to starting on Vivaldi's "Gloria" on Monday for the Christmas concert!  (I adore Vivaldi.  Some people complain about his repetitiveness -- I can't remember at the moment who quipped that Vivaldi "wrote the same concerto 500 times" -- but it doesn't bother me.  I find his music, even the often-melancholy cello concertos, to be wonderfully soul-refreshing, and it is rare that my spirits are not lifted by a lute concerto.  The "repetitiveness" I see as a friendly familiarity, a recognizability, like so much of Mozart, or even Dickens or Jane Austen.)

The girls and I watched our new "Cinderella" DVD last night, while I knitted.  They were frightened by the stepmother -- that gloomy hallway, with her wicked eyes glowing in the shadows of the bedcurtains -- and they laughed out loud at the clever mice outwitting that mean old cat.  Laura's face as she watched Cinderella's transformation from servant girl to princess was as beautiful and moving as the moment.

By the way; there is an interesting article at Mouse Planet (where this image is from) about the story, its various versions and what Walt Disney took from each, and lessons to be learned from the story.