Bertha, the Beach and Baby Knitting.

We took an impromptu trip today to Rhosneigr on the Isle of Anglesey. Any excuse to pack up Bertha and the knitting needles!

The new baby knitting is the same pattern as last time but a different baby to be.
Debbie Bliss baby cashmerino is really a bit out of my price range (£4.45 per ball) but gosh is it luxurious. So soft and smooth to knit. It's the tactile equivalent of creamy mashed potato, I could almost eat it.
And the baby is a bit special as it is to be my youngest sisters third child (after two consecutive miscarriages) and my Dad's 20th and most probably last grandchild. (He long ago gave up trying to remember all the birthdays!)
Anyway, she has had the 12 week scan and all is going well and the little critter is due mid December, so I thought this vibrant lime green would be just the splash of colour to get a midwinter baby noticed.

The weather was a bit dull today but it didn't dampen the childrens spirits and they were straight in the water. I had the luxury of reading almost all of the paper on the drive down, and uninterrupted knitting on the way back.

Standing on a patch of just washed pebble free sand in bare feet is akin to walking on velvet.
On the journey there I had read an article in the Times magazine by a columnist who is recovering from a  recent fall from a horse and subsequent paralysis. Her legs are totally useless at the moment and she was describing having just had a return of some sensation in her toes. It is heartbreaking stuff.

So I stood for ages on the shoreline, just moving to a fresh patch of sand after each wave broke, with my eyes closed, and relished the sensation, and thanked God for my two rather large but fully functioning feet.

Today I learned that I should celebrate the ordinary and little things, and give thanks every day. There is always somebody worse off than ourselves.