Choose Your Own Adventure...if only!

The farther you go...the harder it is to return. The world has many edges and it's easy to fall off.

Anderson Cooper

Weetabix! Ah the memories. Not just a dry, wheaty biscuit used in childhood cooking experiments but also delicious with hot milk. There was a time when one would collect 8 tokens from a Weetabix box, send them off with an application form to postal heaven and wait for it, you would receive a free gift! For a child (of the country), this was magic. You knew what you sent for but the excitement of receiving that brown, sealed parcel, ripping it open to reveal ..... surprise! Apart from the odd letter from my closet friend who lived up the road and apparently enjoyed writing, life at the other side of the post-box was pretty hopeless. That was, unless you sent away for freebies!

Besides colouring pencils, club memberships and Flash Gordon collector cards, the lads and myself collected for a shelf full of ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’ books with titles such as ‘The Horror of High Ridge’ and ‘Mountain Survival’.

By definition, Choose Your Own Adventure books “.… are written in the second person. The protagonist—that is, the reader—takes on a role relevant to the adventure; for example, private investigator, mountain climber, race car driver, doctor or spy….

….The stories are formatted so that, after a couple of pages of reading, the protagonist faces two or three options, each of which leads to more options, and then to one of many endings….”

Life changed temporarily, while our fates lay in the hands of obscure questions and page numbers. Once your decision was made, your course was set and there was no going back. You turned to page 52 eagerly awaiting the outcome. Aaaggghh! You’re dead. The comic book graphics of a blood spattered, screaming face of your character was enough to acquaint you with your fate.

If only life could be like a ‘choose your own adventure’ book. Well, in a way it is, the only difference is you can’t jump to a page, half open, squinting a look inside, seeking some indication the ending isn’t all bad. No, unfortunately, decisions made in the real life are made blindly. Even when you think, “this is a sure thing”, how do you really know?

If you choose to dine on a slice or Rye Bread, undressed salad, and a glass of water, turn to page 25.

or

Do you order a Milano, Florentine Pizza, side order of fries (for one) and pick up a bottle of Shiraz on the way home, turn to page 49

Comic book graphics or not….I know that outcome. That’s life. The unmarked parcels flooding in the door of fate are full of surprises. When one story ends, another starts. At least with knitting, I know the ..….Aaaggghh!

The Prince

"What's the good in living if you don't try a few things?"

Charles M. Schulz

Maybe it’s the copious cups of tea I have already consumed but I'm thinking, men who cut their own shapes, send me in a flurry. Jack White for one. I always thought of him as Johnny Depp’s less good-looking brother. Now I do dig Johnny’s talents beyond the obscene good looks but he probably doesn’t really exist. Ooohh, I feel better already. I like the way ‘rock star celebrities’ can make the outmoded look so nippy. Like when during an interview, Johnny crossing his legs, revealed his socked toes sticking out atop his torn boots. Ah bless! Not to forget Jack’s unmistakable mix of second skin, two-tone trousers or 50’s style Texan oil baron suits topped with a mass of mangled black hair. It takes all sorts!

So these, two angels of ethos have given me some confidence in stepping into the unknown. Taking a leap of faith. Climbing the tree and looking out from the top.

I like men’s clothing. Not so much wearing them but browsing them while out shopping. It’s interesting to see how far you can push men’s style without actively infringing on one’s integrity. While growing up through the grunge years of the 90’s, I would be known to break into my Dad’s wardrobe taking stripey tops and torn thermals on music festival outings. The craic was good, the mud was sticky and I looked a mess! Thankfully, my style has somewhat improved, however, I still harp after creating the ‘perfect’ men’s wardrobe. Meanwhile, Sibling London are doing they damn best at taking Men’s Knitwear to extreme and beautiful heights. 

www.londoncollections.co.uk/sibling 

Oblique Strategies anyone?

Nobody ever figures out what life is all about, and it doesn't matter. Explore the world. Nearly everything is really interesting if you go into it deeply enough.

Richard P. Feynman

Radio rocks! For us radiophiles at least, this little invention has not been fossilized just yet. I find nothing more satisfying than spending a good working day, at the knitting with a large mug of tea and some Radio play in the background. Just this week, I learned about the allusive Oblique Strategy Cards. Now, I put it down to my birth era….I had never heard of Oblique Strategy Cards before until I fell upon a great presentation, on Radio 4 by Simon Armitage (whose voice would soothe you to sleep), discussing the origin and validity of these curiosities. The peculiar cards apparently have shaped how music was made. They helped in the creation of great poems. They were partly responsible for the birth of earnest literary characters. What are they? I scrambled to Google seeking the answers.

“Oblique Strategies (subtitled Over One Hundred Worthwhile Dilemmas) is a deck of 7 by 9 centimetres (2.8 in × 3.5 in) printed cards in a black container box, created by Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt  and first published in 1975. Each card offers an aphorism intended to help artists (particularly musicians) break creative blocks  by encouraging lateral thinking.”

I look sympathetically at my well worn ‘yes, no’ maybe’ die and check out where I can buy this deck. It all sounds so underground. Even the box looks sexy. There are limited editions, special artwork, gimme, gimme, gimme….it’s like Needful Things.

To be continued....

...Continued

Not sure this is what Eno/ Schmidt were hoping for when developing their concept. Never mind, it was the cards at play. 

Riders....as if?

Laugh all you want and cry all you want and whistle at pretty men in the street and to hell with anybody who thinks you're a damned fool!

Armistead Maupin

How many knitters would admit to spending the best part of their lives, struggling through a complex patterned, over-sized sweater for the ‘One I loved’ that another may well be wearing now? It is literally, wearing your heart on your sleeve. Don’t worry. We have all drank too deep at the foundation of emotional depth and despair and lived through the hangover. God knows, my knits may be well worn around the block.  Speaking of hangovers, the sun is shining bright in Ireland, so officially it’s okay to drink during the day. All is well with the world again. Brace yourselfs; these mutterings are a crude attempt at correlating early evening boozing for something meaningful.

I have fallen in love...again. Okay, he is a bit older, a bit of an 80’s icon, a mecca for women of the literary world and he is fictional. Rupert Campbell-Black, literally fell out of my sisters book shelf (upper wardrobe space, hopelessly overfilled with bags, rubbish and some old books), onto my head. I had been watching Jilly Cooper on the Saturday Night Show with Brendan and thought, she seemed a bit of fun. And god knows, I am in need of a bit of fun. As usual, I am a good two decades behind everyone else. I remember two of the elders squealing about Riders/ Raiders/ Ropey Lovers or whatever it was called back then. I thought it looked all a bit grown up and stuffy, like reading Naomi Wolf’s ‘Vagina’: a hopeful, adult approach to my womanhood and spiritual view on my nether regions. In reality, it turns out to be a good head romp in the summer shade. I am ever hopeful.

It comes to light, I had something in common with those girls, I grew up, with after all and they never much appreciated my knits either. Sorry, excuse me, but its time for a glass of wine and some, erm, reading.

That Steve Jobs Speech!

“…you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”

-Steve Jobs, Standford University Speech

While sitting in a carpark, on a rainy Sunday morning, I contemplate my future. Its dark, cold, the rain is hitting hard. I’m waiting for my latest Fair outlet to open. For an hour, I drove around, lost, before finally finding the place. I start on my Spar sandwich I had bought, earlier, for lunch. I’m an anxious eater.

“You are crazy. What are you doing here? Why are you doing this to yourself? You are crazy. Crazy, you hear!”

My demons are working their magic as the pasty, ‘dip dyed’ brown bread lodges itself in my throat. I look out at the rain.  While flicking through some radio stations, I here that familiar voice of entrepreneurial master, speak from the grave. It’s Steve Jobs. He is giving one of his famous speeches citing why you have to be crazy to try to run after your dreams and do what you love doing. No sane person would consider it never mind staying the distance. It’s true. Working for yourself is a huge risk. I have forgotten what weekends are. I can’t differentiate between evening and day.  My home looks like a mini warehouse. So why do I love it all so much?

“I’m crazy, I’m crazy… and ... it’s wonderful!”

I toss the half eaten sandwich onto the back seat. A lone passengered car pulls up beside me. It’s time to start unpacking.

"Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish"
Steve Jobs

What not to wear

It is never too late to be wise.

Daniel Defoe

It's Summer…believe it or not. It is Summer. Reality hurts like hell. Especially when you look at the calendar,  you look out the window, back at the calendar, the window….I remain optimistic. So what to wear during what technically is summer?

The usual attire of the over zealous Irish person; flip-flops in the rain, white linen trousers with mud spatters, skinny strapped tops in gale force winds. This is where summer knitting takes precedence. I don’t buy into knitted/ crocheted bikinis nor do I make them. I have heard the horror stories of the ill advised. You were hoping to do a take on Halle Berry emerging out of the water like a Sea Goddess, but what you got was the old nag at the garden party in Bridget Jones Diary. When yarn gets wet, it gets heavy. A far more stylish option would be to cover up! Now, I’m not grey yet and I don’t mean wearing a tartan blanket over your legs while lying on the beach. No, I mean, soft, delicate cardis, boleros, even Beanies. That’s a hat, by the way. Summer = festivals, surf, cycling and general outdoor activity. What looks cuter than a strappy top worn with a woolly hat. Or a slippy dress under a Kate Middelton style ‘little fluffy cardi’. Sorry girls, but my advice, keep your knitting out of the water. 

Crocheted Summer Hat

Ageless Body, Timeless Mind

“We are always the same age inside”

Gertrude Stein

I turned 30-something-ish or other this year. I went to bed one age and woke up another….as if the magic age fairies came during the night taking my younger self and replacing it with a much more mature and wiser being. Well, for sure, they left the same disgruntled self with a few more laughter lines and greys that all the hair colourants in Tesco aren’t going to cover. What is in a hair colour anway?

Alpaca, like humans, grow hair rather than fur or fleece. Just like human’s, alpacas also suffer the same plights of ageing and beauty. Some are born with beautiful locks of auburn, black or blonde hair, perfect features and with an elegant gait. Others are just plain ‘ugly/cute’. As part of this project, I have been hanging out with alpaca farmers, visiting alpaca shows and generally, have been wearing my wellies a lot more. Alpaca ‘fleece’ varies in softness and quality and has more than 22 natural shades. Last year, while helping on a farm during the shearing season, I had the enviable job of sorting through the freshly shorn hair. I prefer not to wear gloves during this process, it is the best to get a good feel for the various ‘fleece’. Despite looking like Worzel Gummage at the end of each working day, I loved the experience. There is nothing quite like experiencing a new beginning. The alpaca get to grow, fresh, new hair and I get a whole bunch of fleece ready for milling. Even a ball of yarn has a circle of life. A story.