27 Oct 2025

My mom is visiting and asked if I could rent a car so we could go to some places that aren't easily reached on mass transit. T usually drives when we're together and is semi-comfortable driving on the left side of the road so I had assumed that if we were going to drive at all while we're here it would be him doing it, but he is at a conference. So I did it. This is my story.

Driving on the left side of the road wasn't as hard as I expected, although I noticed that my mother was making these distressed little intakes of breath and twitchy gestures that closely tracked the chiding beeps of the car's lane assist function. But I was driving an SUV, probably because if you have to request a car with an automatic transmission the rental car company assumes you must be an American who needs a big tank of a thing, in a country whose roads seem designed for golf carts. A feature of the charming country lanes were arches over the road that required two-way traffic to abruptly go down to one, and you just negotiate it with the oncoming cars as best you can. A parking garage required painstaking 5 point turns every time I had to go down a level. When we got back to the house, we couldn't even fit through the entrance to our driveway. You know what British people do in this situation? They park in the very narrow street (prompting another one of these two-lane down to one scenarios) or they park half on the sidewalk. But not on that part of the sidewalk. Or that one. Or there. Here? Maybe, we'll find out haha! Half a tank of gas was about $50. But the McDonald's drive-through had PG Tips so a point for them there.

On Saturday we went to the Community Scrap Shack that sells donated house paint and arts and crafts supplies. It was extremely cramped and time was of the essence before my children could pull a teetering stack of something or other down on themselves. But I made out alright. Really excited about a light plaid shirting which, if you have heard the story about how my grandfather enshrined Madras in the midcentury American retail landscape, you know I need like I need a third nostril.

Portion of the craft haul. The puple and orange things are old Lush gift boxes. The fabrics were all tied up with what appeared to be leftover ribbon from race medals.

Then the Potteries Museum, which was the one museum we hadn't hit on our last trip to Stoke. We saw all manner of platters, tureens, and mugs commemorating the Battle of Waterloo. And randomly a some World War 2 stuff including a full Spitfire plane in the basement. There was a gas mask for infants, which was basically a sack that you put the kid in and then worked a manual handpump. Cheery!

Can you make out the insane wallpaper?

I had only got halfway through all the mantelpieces but my mother was not as engrossed as I expected. Then I realized that her interest was not of the sort that would be satisfied by looking at a display case of cow-shaped creamers. She wanted to buy things, so we went back to the Spode museum where they sell vintage dishes in the gift shop. The Air Nigeria plates were still there but they were pricier than I remembered. But I had also felt some pangs about this cup-biscuit plate combo on our last trip so this time it came home with me for £5.

Unsated, she also led us to the other outlet where they sell the new stuff. A flatware outlet is right up there with a garden center (FORESHADOWING) as a place where I remember spending many hours as a kid. We made it out without anyone breaking anything. Home and we did have to park on the sidewalk but, sneak preview, the car was still there in the morning!

22 Oct. 2025 (SWW3)

Morning. The weather reports were increasingly dire. Bacon sandwich. I went to yet another yarn store because I had left a double-pointed needle in Medford that I needed to finish the socks, and the Macguyvered approach I used to get through the class wasn't cutting it. The store was run by a woman from Arizona who had moved to Scotland with her husband, worked as a research scientist in Aberdeen, then moved to Shetland after he died. I bought a skein of a local lace weight and asked her to wind it into a ball for me.

To kill time while she was getting it ready, I went to the post office and got some more gifts. On line for coffee I met a couple who had just moved there from Leeds. I don't remember how we got on this topic but I said we had to get a service to clear the snow from our sidewalk in Medford while we were gone. "Yes I heard you have all these rules about your lawns in America!", said the guy. I guess that's one of the more benign things to think about us these days, I met another lady here in Manchester who said she heard we have very severe punishments for jaywalking.

There is a seal in this picture, trust me

Anyway, I got back to pick up my yarn and saw that this saintly woman had decided the ballwinder was going to be too rough on the delicate yarn and was winding it by hand. I made a token offer to help but we both knew how that would go. A regular, a woman probably in her eighties, came in to buy some ribbon and she just dove right in and started winding. I had to leave again for a museum tour so I don't know how long it took them but it was probably over an hour. In contrition I bought more stuff when I came back to pick it up- sock yarn that comes already wound into a ball.

It rained btw

I ordered lunch, cullen skink, at the cafeteria in the community center next to the hostel. Every table was reserved so I ate in the lobby next to a woman who was taking a conference call on her laptop, Boomer style, with no headphones. If I hadn't been so frazzled on Thursday I might have done a little more research into the bus schedule but I had maxed out on logistics so I took a very expensive cab to the airport. It was a nice ride though. I asked the cab driver what she does with lamb. She said she grew up on a sheep farm and was too sick of lamb to ever eat  it again.

View from a £60 taxi

My first experience with a propeller plane and I did not care for it one bit

The hourlong flight was extremely turbulent, and I could not even seek comfort in the shortbread and Tunnock's Tea Cakes passed out by the crew. When we landed in Aberdeen it was so windy that there was some question of whether anyone would be able to come outside to bring us into the airport. They eventually let us get off, but not until after I had gotten up to ask if I could use the bathroom and been told no which, since I was sitting near the front of the plane, everyone got to witness. Our bags, we were told, would stay on the plane until the wind died down to get them at some unspecified time. I waited at baggage claim for about an hour as people gradually peeled off in despair. When I gave up, the frazzled people at the desk pointed to a QR code for a missing luggage claim even though I knew exactly where the bag was. Placing your fate in the hands of a QR code was also the only solution they could offer to the many many people whose flights out of Aberdeen had been canceled. Thanks to them, my relief at reaching the Scottish mainland outweighed being annoyed about my suitcase.

A 45 minute bus to central Aberdeen. Terrifying but atmospheric walk directed by Google Maps that required going a dark cobblestoned alley, taking a flight of slippery stone stairs, then squeezing between two metal dumpsters to get to my hotel. Congratulations to Past Anne for packing my emergency carry-on underwear, then the welcome embrace of oblivion.

Morning. Bacon sandwich. Walk around town which did not change my impression of Aberdeen as the grayest place on earth. I had finished my book and my backup book was in the suitcase so there was NO CHOICE but to buy new one(s). Brief pop-ins to two underwhelming museums which were fortunately free.

Inscrutable Scottish graffiti

I had refreshed the status of my lost bag about 800 times and the hours before my train back to Manchester were ticking away. I went back to the airport to see what was up. Yes the bags are off the plane, come look in this closet! Except my bag wasn't there. The woman at the counter went clickety clack. We know you didn't select this option, but since you have a UK address your bag is going to be delivered, it's being loaded on the flight to Manchester that is leaving in ten minutes. That bag was not un-heavy so part of me wouldn't have minded if I didn't have to lug it home, but at this point I wanted to have all my worldly possessions with me so they got it off the plane and I was free to lug.

Two trains back to Manchester. The last ten minute leg to our house was delayed so I caved on yet another cab. A British train station on a Saturday night has much of interest to observe to the anthropologist, but I wanted to get home. After all the gray of Aberdeen, the red brick buildings felt as cozy as a seat by a fireplace. Over the next few days there were increasingly frantic messages in the Wool Week Facebook group from stranded guests that made me feel some sympathy for Shetlanders who probably just wanted life to go back to normal but were instead unwillingly roped into supporting roles in someone else's bottle episode. But everyone seems to have made it home eventually, and if anyone decided that it was a sign that they were meant to stay on an island full of sheep permanently I could see the appeal.

15 Oct. 2025 (SWW2)

I saw on FB that there was going to be a sheep auction. "Get there early!" the notice said! How early though? Definitely don't want to miss a moment! I walked to the livestock center at the edge of town and the further out I got, the less recognizeable the surroundings were as part of Britain. A theme we kept hearing is that Shetland is geographically, aesthetically, and culturally closer to Norway than mainland Scotland. No clans, tartans, or bagpipes. Shetland was part of Norway until the late 1400s when the King of Norway mortgaged it to pay his daughter's dowry, and he never managed to get it out of hock. The landscape's very different from Finland (the hill below would qualify as a vertiginous peak by Finnish standards) but the houses were very similar- vertical boards in primary colors, tile roof.

Didn't seem to be anything happening when I arrived at 7:45 so I asked when things were getting started. The girl at the cafeteria very kindly did not laugh at me when she said it would get going around 10.

I had a bacon sandwich and tea at the cafeteria and considered things. I could only linger for so long. I couldn't even eavesdrop. I'd been doing OK working out the accent, but sheep farmers were the final hurdle I failed to clear. I decided that other vistas lay ahead. On one hand, if I had been traveling with other people perhaps we would have somehow managed this situation more efficiently. On the other hand, if I had dragged another person up before sunrise to walk to a sheep center two hours early, I'm sure it would have impacted my relationship with said person negatively.

On the way back I stopped at Jamieson and Smith which is the big Shetland yarn manufacturer/retailer as far as I can see. Or not? There is another yarn company that is also called Jamieson's and this may or may not be the same company as Jamieson's Knitwear? In any case, the biggest deal seemed to be on yarn by the cone so I got about three sweaters' worth in neutral colors, plus some smaller skeins in random colors. I do not have the eye or mental math skills to work out how much I would need for making an elaborate multicolored Fair Isle so I just kind of grabbed stuff. At Jamieson's Knitwear I got T a sweater and tweed hat for his birthday. The solid gray sweater seemed like a little bit of a punt when the local specialty is aforementioned elaborate multicolored Fair Isle but I think for most people that degree of flair is something you really have to choose yourself. Fish and chips for lunch. Seagulls highly aware of me but not beach-level aggression.

Back in July I had opened the box office tab about 10 minutes before it launched. Amateur error! I was something like 595th in the queue to book classes. The only class I could get was thrummed socks (here is thrumming, where you stick little fluffy bits in your stitches so mittens, socks, or hats would have a fleecy interior). The class was maybe 80% Americans? Hearing them reminded me how happy I am to be temporarility in a country where I am oblivious to cues about who someone probably voted for.

Window at Town Hall

Unfortunately, about 20 minutes in I got the notification that my boat home was canceled because of a storm, so I spent most of the class in the hallway figuring out how to get back to Aberdeen. And to be honest, if I come again I might just skip classes altogether? Some of the courses were very specific to the Shetland style of knitting. Mine...was taught by an instructor from Boston. But it was the first time that trip when I really sat down and knit, at least now I'll have these fuzzy socks.

Last item of the day was a concert at the museum. I got there early and hung out in a room that had been set up as the locus of Wool Week, and I wish I had spent more time there. People just sort of hung out with their projects, drank tea, put up notices about rides or swapping tickets, and chitchatted. I awkardly said "Love your work!" to someone I follow on Insta and if there is a way to do that without feeling like a weirdo pls LMK?

S and R were going also going to the concert so we met up and recapped our past 24 hours. Speculation on the extent to which our husbands had gone feral. I said I wished I could get home at a time when everyone else would be out, because I knew I would be unable to hide my reaction to the state the house would be in even though I felt very lucky that my husband had been nothing but enthusiastic about my expenditure of time and money on this trip. S is a retired relationship sex therapist. She and her husband now spend most of their time touring in their RV. She said it was important to let some things go. I knew she was right, and I knew it wasn't going to happen.*

The performance was led by a woman named Claire White who played the violin, told stories, and then sang songs she had written about the same stories. At one point S was among the brave souls who responded to the invitation to try a jig. She needed a partner and R wasn't having it so I jigged with her and that went about how you'd expect. Absolutely sheeting rain. Dinner, courtesy of the corner store, was a bag of Bombay Mix chevda poured into a bag of potato chips.

*Actually I got lucky and got back when they were asleep.