Bruckner, beer, and bed socks

I have been knitting. Really.
My knitting mojo came back to me in a little brown box all the way from Germany, thanks to the lovely Linnea.
With whom I had the privilege of spending the sunnier part of a beautiful Saturday last week as she and her handsome husband went to Stege for their first wedding anniversary.
It is a very beautiful place, probably the ideal of Denmark, and they are very beautiful human beings.
And the beer was great. A local micro brewery. Very good beer.
There are very few things better than good beer and sunshine.
As I seem to have tossed the camera cable somewhere here is a photo of a flag in a pretty garden - and the reflection of my hands holding my mobile rather awkwardly.

And the bridge to Møn over very calm waters. See how the pattern in the water (on the left) looks just like a swan taking flight. But it's just water.

And here is evidence of me knitting in public.

The bed socks for Laurel using yarn from her very own alpacas. I think this might be the most luxuriously soft yarn I've ever had the privilege of playing with. Fluffy and soft and very warm.
So warm I could not knit with it all summer. But perfect for knitting while doing laundry.
Our basement laundry room is still just the same big hole in the ground, and so the bucket in the shower is still quite busy, but my bed linen does get to go on a trip to the nearest laundromat.

This is what I usually see when reading or knitting in bed:

Or this:

Or:

Or the Tyrolean Stockings from Interweave Knits using Telemark from Knitpicks (from Linnea) in a luscious heathery colour - on a decorative backdrop of cats and white linen.

And the soundtrack to all this is nothing less than Bruckner's Symphonies, mostly the 7th. I've grown a bit obsessed with the good Anton recently. Or maybe just listen more and more attentively than usual.
Besides the beauty of it, I have also found that it is very good for measuring time.
If I start playing it the second I lock the door behind me, I will hear the final bars of the second movement the minute I walk into the parking lot at work. If not I'm early - or late. Considering the morning traffic here early is rarely the case.
And it will also be the soundtrack Monday, when they remove the as yet not completely identified lump of unwelcome tissue in the pancreatic neighbourhood.
I have by now gathered enough images of being prodded and poked and scanned by people in white coats to dream about alien abductions in interesting detail for years to come.
And Monday is likely to add new and interesting layers as they will not knock me out cold, but only keep their work space senseless.
I'm not too keen on that thought.
I've asked if I could at least drink myself senseless, but they say that's not an option.
At the merest whiff of whiskey I'll be sent back home.
But they kindly asked if I had a piece of favourite music I would like to listen to while they rummage about. And I chose Bruckner.
And those 64 minutes should be just enough.