An Irish story.

Look at this wonderful carving I got in Sligo - a wedding gift for the couple whose wedding I recently attended:
Ireland has a great storytelling tradition, full of warriors, princes and princesses, magical creatures, spells cast and hexes...One of the stories everyone knows is Niamh and Oisin in Tir na nOg*. This carving shows Niamh on her horse, when she meets Oisin.

This was carved by a wonderful artist named Michael Quirke, who works in his renovated butcher shop in Wine St. Sligo. Should you ever be in the vicinity, take the time to visit - not only does he have wonderful art on display, he'll take the time to explain it all to you. I was delighted to find something special for my friend.

*sorry for the rather breathless prose in the link ;)

Oh yea, Ireland pictures

Got back from Ireland about a month ago - were there for a friend's wedding held here - vay fancy and lovely. Been meaning to post you all some pictures...



I've always loved foxgloves. My two favourite colours together - bright pink and green. Yes I know they are terribly poisonous...



Glorious Irish weather...



Running water!

Yummy food... (Dame St., Dublin)

Bog 'cotton', Co. Sligo (maybe Leitrim?)

My son, at my Dad's house...(not really)

Lough Gill, Co. Sligo.

The quest for knitting supplies in Ireland, part 2

So, I thought I was going to come back from Ireland yarnless. But my Mum knew better - she brought me to The Crafter's Basket in Cliffoney. Co. Sligo. This shop is, far as I can see, Northwest Ireland's answer to Jo-ann's: supplies for cardmaking, beading, knitting/crochet etc. Unfortunately the staff are about as friendly as those in Jo-ann's, rather than the usual LYS friendliness. People always say the Irish are so friendly - have to say, having lived in both places, for me the American's have the edge. So here's the outside of the store - it's an old building that's been renovated, which I love -
-look at the view they have - this is an old ruined castle by the Atlantic.

Another aspect of traveling in Ireland - getting stuck behind the likes of this as you traverse the country -

I took a picture of this tractor carrying 3 bales of silage as I crawled along in second gear behind it for twenty miles, flippin' two lane 'highways' (now I am sounding like an American ;))

At the end of my tractor-affected journey I visited my friend from college in Cavan - and found another store selling yarn! It's the local Singer store, which also sells all kinds of sewing stuff. Again, they had questionable customer service - some of the yarn wasn't priced, and while yer one in charge pondered this dilemma, she served two other customers and left me standing there. I think having three customers in the place was something of a rush - it was a sleepy place - some of the notions in there were still priced in Irish pounds.

Here's what I ended up with - the 10 50g balls on the right are Kilcarra wool, from Co. Donegal (about 3 euro each)- so now I have 500g and need to find a good pattern - maybe an aran vest? Any suggestions? The other balls are Rowan, I think. So I did quite well, and was rather restrained. There is such a gap in the market over there for crafty stuff. I keep encouraging my mostly retired Mum to set up a coffee shop/LYS but she won't bite...

While I've been away...

Can't believe it's been two weeks since I posted - here's some pictures of what I've been doing and where I've been: Mobile sweaters, Co. Mayo
Famine memorial, Co. Mayo

Celtic symbol in the Leitrim glens
My Dad and my son, in Hazelwood, Sligo.

Random sightings

Friends and family who are warmer because of me:


Fetching and baby hats,
Socks,
scarves, and hats!
I kept the others anonymous to focus on my handiwork but I didn't crop this last picture - this hat and scarf were meant to be worn in an ancient, misty Irish forest on a winter's morning: one man and his foofy dog. (This is my newly engaged brother: He looks so happy.)

I'm dreaming of a bright Christmas?

I suppose a white Christmas would be very festive, but not for me. Seeing as Christmas is the generally the only time when I take more than two days leave together, I would rather have good weather for those days. Well - I had the good fortune to marry a Florida lad, so some Christmases are Floridian, like this:

He, in turn, had to good fortune to marry me. The downside is that some Christmases are Irish, like this:

And my good friend Heather, married a guy she met in Sydney, so her Christmases are like this!

This Christmas, we're going to Florida (me, DH, DS and two DD (dear dogs)) in rented minivan, hitting the road tomorrow. 1900 miles. Hope I don't forget to pack the valium.

Off home soon

Isn't it funny, even at this stage of my life, with a house full of family, pets, books and yarn, a great job, mortgage and credit card debt, I still regard the place where my parents live as home?

I just booked a trip back to Ireland at the end of January, with my 3-year-old, to celebrate my sister's 30th birthday. My parents live near Sligo, a very beautiful part of the country. You can see what I mean here, here and here.

No wonder Yeats wrote so much about the place. The Lake Isle of Innisfree and the poem below are two of the only poems I can actually recite.

THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS
by: W.B. Yeats
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

This is my 'nephew' Frodo, taking a walk in the very hazel wood where Yeats was inspired to write this poem.

Back to regularly-scheduled knitting-related issues tomorrow.