Did you ever play that game where you open a book to a random page and whatever your eye lands on first is your guiding principle for the next twenty-four hours? If you use the dictionary or the encyclopedia you then have to use the word, however random, in conversation.
So I started with one word: fable which translates to fabhalscéal or finscéal. And the next one, because I'm the type to cheat and read ahead, is fabric or fabriac also uige or eadach. Perhaps these three words are like fabric, cloth, and material, synonyms surely but not precisely the same. Then follows fabricate, which translates as cum. I love the word fabricate. It's sort of a favorite; but I like to use it to mean "to make (and often by hand)" rather than in the "to tell whopping lies" sense. If you think about it though, whether you are building dresses or spinning tall tales you're problem solving. It's just that some solutions are better than others.
Next comes fabrication, or cumadóireacht. This is followed by the helpful phrase nil ann ach scéal a cumadh...or "it's only a..." It would seem in Irish fabrication doesn't carry the positive meaning of making/inventing in addition to the negative one. That's too bad.
However, there are three words for fabulous, fabhlach, dochreidte, and iontach! Honestly, that was the next entry.
Taken all together I think that means make something fabulous, which is more or less my daily (life) motto. A welcome reminder after yesterday's retrograde bungle.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Retrograde
The universe is moving backward, I swear. Do you ever have one of those days when nothing goes terribly wrong but it certainly doesn't go as planned either? Today is that kind of day. For example:
The good news: my Teach Yourself Irish book and Focloir Poca (dictionary, no, let me rephrase that...pocket dictionary with microscopic type) arrived in the mail.The not quite as good news: the aforementioned book has somehow separated itself from the CD's that typically accompany it. That's just great. So helpful.
However, there is always a silver lining. Chapter One of TYI starts out with a list of goals...among them is "be polite". I like that. Even if you don't have much to say (or have a limited vocabulary) be nice about it. And best of all, the last chapter of TYI is called "I used to have a lot to do". This is magic, a book that teaches both good manners and the ability to live life at a leisurely pace! Hope is on the horizon.
I'm a little worried about the "I think the bank is closed" chapter. Let's hope that's not an omen and just a nod to the present economic climate.
Order is everything. Chapter Three is entitled "Are you married?" and comes long before "Would you like a cup of tea?" (Ch. 10). Actually, I know a little something about this. One Saturday morning back in February I slept in. It was nine thirty and I was still in my pajamas. Anne, my next door neighbor and owner of my cottage, knocked on the door. She let herself in, sat herself down on the couch and we started to chat. She definitely inquired about my marital status before I had the kettle on.
"Where is my bathrobe?" is not included as a chapter heading from which I can only assume that one must be groomed and ready for verbal repartee at any time!
The immediate intimacy was a little startling. I am more accustomed to the version of politeness which includes not asking a question but waiting for someone to volunteer personal information. But that's New England for you. That said, everyone I met was astonishingly conscious of not taking any action which would impose or put someone out and in fact everyone was incredibly generous with me.
Anne and her husband Eamonn were gracious enough to invite me to dinner...and tea...and a couple of walks. We went to Mass together one Sunday.
Remember these self-possessed ladies? Well, according to Eamonn they were all expecting TWINS! By now the pasture should be filled with frolicking little lambs. The thought of that is enough to brighten up the worst Murphy's Law kind of a day.
The good news: my Teach Yourself Irish book and Focloir Poca (dictionary, no, let me rephrase that...pocket dictionary with microscopic type) arrived in the mail.The not quite as good news: the aforementioned book has somehow separated itself from the CD's that typically accompany it. That's just great. So helpful.
However, there is always a silver lining. Chapter One of TYI starts out with a list of goals...among them is "be polite". I like that. Even if you don't have much to say (or have a limited vocabulary) be nice about it. And best of all, the last chapter of TYI is called "I used to have a lot to do". This is magic, a book that teaches both good manners and the ability to live life at a leisurely pace! Hope is on the horizon.
I'm a little worried about the "I think the bank is closed" chapter. Let's hope that's not an omen and just a nod to the present economic climate.
Order is everything. Chapter Three is entitled "Are you married?" and comes long before "Would you like a cup of tea?" (Ch. 10). Actually, I know a little something about this. One Saturday morning back in February I slept in. It was nine thirty and I was still in my pajamas. Anne, my next door neighbor and owner of my cottage, knocked on the door. She let herself in, sat herself down on the couch and we started to chat. She definitely inquired about my marital status before I had the kettle on.
"Where is my bathrobe?" is not included as a chapter heading from which I can only assume that one must be groomed and ready for verbal repartee at any time!
The immediate intimacy was a little startling. I am more accustomed to the version of politeness which includes not asking a question but waiting for someone to volunteer personal information. But that's New England for you. That said, everyone I met was astonishingly conscious of not taking any action which would impose or put someone out and in fact everyone was incredibly generous with me.
Anne and her husband Eamonn were gracious enough to invite me to dinner...and tea...and a couple of walks. We went to Mass together one Sunday.
Remember these self-possessed ladies? Well, according to Eamonn they were all expecting TWINS! By now the pasture should be filled with frolicking little lambs. The thought of that is enough to brighten up the worst Murphy's Law kind of a day.
Knitting Circles and Learning Irish
Home is good. I like living in my tower. The tulips are up in the garden. Springtime in New England is across-the-board marvelous.
The problem is that given a moment of idle time I am likely to fill it, which is precisely what I have done. Now I'm taking Irish lessons! It's all Tristan's fault. He has this idea to expand SD to include an Irish language knitting circle...and a tea house. Imagine, hanging out with little old ladies chatting about one's tree of life cable pattern while sipping tea. In my head I'm already there. I haven't learned the words for knit and purl yet. That will come. But I have learned to say hello. (Dia duit! Which sounds like "Gee, a ditch!" I found myself saying that a lot while driving around Donegal but with alarm rather than cheerfulness, and let's face it, "gee" was not always the first word.)
And in other exciting news the giant boxes of woolen goodies have arrived. Now all I need is a sunny day for taking photographs.
The problem is that given a moment of idle time I am likely to fill it, which is precisely what I have done. Now I'm taking Irish lessons! It's all Tristan's fault. He has this idea to expand SD to include an Irish language knitting circle...and a tea house. Imagine, hanging out with little old ladies chatting about one's tree of life cable pattern while sipping tea. In my head I'm already there. I haven't learned the words for knit and purl yet. That will come. But I have learned to say hello. (Dia duit! Which sounds like "Gee, a ditch!" I found myself saying that a lot while driving around Donegal but with alarm rather than cheerfulness, and let's face it, "gee" was not always the first word.)
And in other exciting news the giant boxes of woolen goodies have arrived. Now all I need is a sunny day for taking photographs.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Texture
I can't get over the richness of the texture here. Nothing is smooth and square. It's all crumbling stones and lichen. The ground is a giant sponge. Yesterday I was out for a drive and thinking about places for a photo shoot. I came across this lovely stream. Can't you just see a guy in a tweedy coat fishing there...?
This arch is from the crumbling church just up the hill behind the mill. There is a lovely view of the village and beyond. This too seemed like an ideal site.
I have become obsessed with rocks. Within a limited palette there is so much color.
Do these two things not seem similar?
Donegal Yarns...the tour
Donegal Yarns is located next door to Studio. They produce much of the yarn used for hand-weaving the blankets and cloth produced here. They also supply a variety of designers and commercial enterprises. They make lovely hand knitting yarn in the Donegal style (more about what that means in a moment) and recently have begun introducing luxury fibers (cashmere, angora, mohair, etc.) into their traditional wool blends. This means you get that lovely rustic look in a sweater that is super soft. Smart. That kind of reinterpretation of tradition makes a lot of sense to me. The other day Chris, the General Manager, was gracious enough to give me a tour.
What makes a Donegal a Donegal and not some other kind of a thing, heathered for example? It's all about the color...and the flecks. First, the base color of the yarn is blended using several colors of fleece. Small amounts are weighed carded together to create a recipe that can be reproduced on a larger scale.
Look at those colors! Amazing! After the base mixture is achieved smaller bits of contrasting color are added to create the highlights, those little surprising bursts of color that give the yarn its character. Nora, who creates the shades for Donegal Yarns, has been doing this for over twenty years. She says greens are the hardest. I wouldn't have guessed that. Then again, there is A LOT of green here. I suppose it would be easy to be just a little off. Perhaps it is equally challenging to mix rust and brown in Arizona.
Once the recipe is achieved it is weighed out in mountains of dyed fleece. The wool starts out looking like this.
Those are giant bales of dyed wool. It is blended together with the correct fiber content (there are many types of wool with different degrees of softness and texture) and also in the correct proportions necessary to achieve the color. The fibers are air-mixed in small rooms (and then again by machine). It is a surreal experience to look in and see bits of colorful fleece falling from the ceiling. I tried to photograph this, but no image could do this process justice.
DY has an in-house dye works. That's how they achieve all their unique vibrant colors. They don't routinely color their employees though...I couldn't resist the shot. This gentleman had been removing some brilliant purple fleece from the dye pot which is so large he had to climb inside it.
Once blended the wool is then carded and spun. This is done on colossal machines which take up much of the factory floor. They seemed gigantic to me anyway. Then Chris informed me that DY is a small boutique operation. Other operations producing other types of yarn would be much larger.
Here the yarn is being twisted and put on to cones. It's dizzying to watch them work.
Donegal Yarns has existed in one form or another in this area for over one hundred years and grew out of the local hand-spinning tradition. They are perhaps the last commercial spinnery remaining in Ireland. There are other spinneries but these differ in that they produce primarily for their in-house needs and not for the broader market.
I feel quite fortunate to have this gem in my back yard!
What makes a Donegal a Donegal and not some other kind of a thing, heathered for example? It's all about the color...and the flecks. First, the base color of the yarn is blended using several colors of fleece. Small amounts are weighed carded together to create a recipe that can be reproduced on a larger scale.
Look at those colors! Amazing! After the base mixture is achieved smaller bits of contrasting color are added to create the highlights, those little surprising bursts of color that give the yarn its character. Nora, who creates the shades for Donegal Yarns, has been doing this for over twenty years. She says greens are the hardest. I wouldn't have guessed that. Then again, there is A LOT of green here. I suppose it would be easy to be just a little off. Perhaps it is equally challenging to mix rust and brown in Arizona.
Once the recipe is achieved it is weighed out in mountains of dyed fleece. The wool starts out looking like this.
Those are giant bales of dyed wool. It is blended together with the correct fiber content (there are many types of wool with different degrees of softness and texture) and also in the correct proportions necessary to achieve the color. The fibers are air-mixed in small rooms (and then again by machine). It is a surreal experience to look in and see bits of colorful fleece falling from the ceiling. I tried to photograph this, but no image could do this process justice.
DY has an in-house dye works. That's how they achieve all their unique vibrant colors. They don't routinely color their employees though...I couldn't resist the shot. This gentleman had been removing some brilliant purple fleece from the dye pot which is so large he had to climb inside it.
Once blended the wool is then carded and spun. This is done on colossal machines which take up much of the factory floor. They seemed gigantic to me anyway. Then Chris informed me that DY is a small boutique operation. Other operations producing other types of yarn would be much larger.
Here the yarn is being twisted and put on to cones. It's dizzying to watch them work.
Donegal Yarns has existed in one form or another in this area for over one hundred years and grew out of the local hand-spinning tradition. They are perhaps the last commercial spinnery remaining in Ireland. There are other spinneries but these differ in that they produce primarily for their in-house needs and not for the broader market.
I feel quite fortunate to have this gem in my back yard!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Product Photography
Among the many hats I am wearing lately is that of in-house photographer. SD has a man that they regularly work with but he won't be here to photograph the new work for several weeks. In the meantime we are in the process of updating the website and need some half decent place holder shots and images to send to our various agents.
Today I was out in the graveyard behind the mill. (Yes, there IS a cemetery around the back complete with crumbling church and some interesting old stones.) The rustic stone wall has an iron gate and some abandoned flower pots, perfect for draping blankets. So that's what I did. I made the most of twenty minutes of sun and shot some of the newest offerings.
Before settling on this spot I took a drive up the hill where there is a second abandoned churchyard. There are also several traditional cottages with lovely views of the hills, ocean, and beyond. Here is a view of Kilcar as seen from above. If you look carefully you can see all of the colorfully painted buildings in the center of town.
Today I was out in the graveyard behind the mill. (Yes, there IS a cemetery around the back complete with crumbling church and some interesting old stones.) The rustic stone wall has an iron gate and some abandoned flower pots, perfect for draping blankets. So that's what I did. I made the most of twenty minutes of sun and shot some of the newest offerings.
Before settling on this spot I took a drive up the hill where there is a second abandoned churchyard. There are also several traditional cottages with lovely views of the hills, ocean, and beyond. Here is a view of Kilcar as seen from above. If you look carefully you can see all of the colorfully painted buildings in the center of town.
Driving in Donegal
Beware the roadways! I have a car! Behold, this is my chariot and I am a holy terror!Actually, I'm a fairly cautious driver. Somewhat fearful and not very good. I keep reaching for the door expecting to find the gear-shift. I say my affirmations as I go along, "I will execute the upcoming right-hand turn perfectly." Never mind that there is a giant bread truck obstructing my view of oncoming traffic. Just ignore the gaggle of young men chuckling into their sleeves as I stall out...again! They missed my three subsequent flawless executions.
The other day I drove up to Sliabh Liag, the sea cliffs one town over in Carrick. It's a straight climb up on a one lane road with a few boulders dotted along the edge to keep the car from tumbling into the sea. What with my cold I can't distinguish the scent of burning turf from burning clutch. It was quite the adventure.
The reward was well worth it. The views are astonishing, all ocean and clouds and the vista of Donegal Bay.
There was a bit of entertaining signage that made me chuckle. As though the cliffs would do you in and not your own stupidity.
And because it's Ireland there were sheep up there on the top of the world. This particular ewe was a model-in-waiting. She posed graciously while I stopped the car and fiddled with the camera. Note the gentle breeze in her fleece. Farrah Fawcett on four legs that one.
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