Enchanting Juno

My work there is done.

Not really, of course, but I feel pretty good about being part of the instrument that pushed Laurie over the edge.  I heard a rumor that she's ordering a wheel this week.  Of course, it'll take a few weeks to be delivered, and we'll get to provoke her impatience the whole time, so you know, bonus!

See, I had to head out to Boston for a few days, see the mom and hang out, so I thought, "How to make this better?" because seeing the mom is sometimes a wee bit stressful.

And the answer came so sweet and clear: Sweep into town like an invading horde and make Laurie buy a wheel.  Just to strengthen me for the family time.  So I did.

You've seen the pictures of the whack of wheels.  I know it is supposed to be a whack of knitters, but ... oh, I know...a lure of spinners.  An enticement of wheels.

I seem to be having focusing trouble here, but it's all I've got.  No pictures of the spinners themselves because it was about 102 degrees out and we were all dressed for comfort and a bit heat wilted.

Julia drove down and it was wonderful to see her again, and Laurie was there, of course, and just as fabulously evil and funny as I had expected, and Rosemary too, which was also wonderful, because I didn't know her at all and now I do and I'm glad, and not just because of the Andean Plying bracelet, which was incredibly cool in the way of simple, clever solutions to intractable problems (Julia and I watched her demonstrate this with, I think, identical expressions of thunderstruck enlightenment) but because she was lovely and kind and amusing and generous with her experience.

I have to stop saying wonderful and come up with a better word, but it was.  There were ginger molasses cookies.  I was deeply, deeply sorry to have to leave, because it was just over too soon.  I want to do it again as soon as I can. 

Who am I?  A year ago I hadn't even started blogging, I was knitting in a vacuum, happy but solitary in my interest, nor had I thought about spinning except as something charmingly retro that I'd seen demonstrated once or twice.....and now I'm driving all over the place for fiber and yarn and contact with others of my ilk and forming a network of friends and acquaintances - alike like-mindedly odd - all over the world and I'm going to spinning social events and leaving them wanting more.

I think I'm going back it time.  And that is fine with me.

The rest of the trip, though not as purely perfect, was good and not without it's satisfactions.  I was in Massachusetts.  And what's a trip to Massachusetts without a stop at Webs?    I was, technically, there to buy fiber, since there isn't any place around me that has a decent selection.   And then yesterday, when I was leaving Boston, it seemed like such a shame to be only 15 miles from Jamaica Plain and not go to Circles.  These are both terrific stores with very different styles - but both characterized by some of the nicest people I've run into, helpful, knowledgeable, welcoming.

I'm not all about the 'look what I got' boasting, OK?  It is fun to share, sure....but this was excessive I mean impressive, even for me and when I got home and looked at it, I knew I had to tell you all about it. Because the picture just left me shaking my head and giggling.

Stress this child out with some family stuff and see what happens?  She harvests the fiber.

There is a lot of Jo Sharp, whom I might as well take as my personal savior because pound for pound I have more of her yarn in stash than any other individual producer - Desert Garden Cotton in Marine and DK wool in a fabulous color called Embers, which I have been eyeing for some time - plus two different kinds of bamboo yarn, which fascinates me entirely, some Knitting Pure and Simple patterns, Norsk Strikke...oh, whatever it is called - fabulous inspirational Norwegian sweater patterns - some beautiful blue rayon boucle (I know...rayon?  but it is irresistible, slinky and sexy), an old IK, a Jo Sharp pattern book...

And in close-up, fiber:

From the top, moving clockwise: off white corriedale cross, the purple is some Grafton Fibers that was sent to me as a gift/persuasive device and arrived oh, 40 seconds before I decided it was time to take a day off and go wheel shopping (So it worked).  The bit of gray fluff is a 50/50 corriedale/merino that is so soft it would make you weep, the light brown was labeled merino and is, if so, the softest I've ever touched.  The green is a dyed merino and the white is a 20/80 angora merino that is so I can practice before I touch the Woolen Rabbit roving I might accidentally have ordered last week.  In the center is a Lisa Souza blue-green wensleydale I got last week (a slight cheat, I admit it, but I wanted to show you) which is divine.

So much for not shopping before Rhinebeck.

Do you think I could get an extra pair of arms so I could have one set that knit all the time while I went about my business?  It would be even harder to find shirts that fit, but it would be a small sacrifice.

Speaking of which, and above all else,  re: Clothing that doesn't fit, you must read this.  Keep a Kleenex handy because baby, you'll laugh until you weep and can't remember how the breathing works.

Off, off, off...

Gone Fishin'*

* which you know means knittin' & spinnin'.

Back in a few.....

Update: the status of my immortal soul.

Thanks for the reminders that a) I AM going to hell and b) I don't need to take myself so very seriously.

Because for a little while I was all worried that you'd all hate me forever for being such a terrible person....and then blogging about it.  And then I was all obsessed with why I blogged about it.  Did I need someone to despise me for my fall from grace?  Did I need my feet held the the fire to do the right thing?  Is it just part of human nature to need to confess?

I don't think so - well maybe the last one - because when I saw The Shoes  sitting there in the morning, glowing like a great and terrible neon god of guilt, I felt so awful it was only a matter of time. 

I've decided that it was a universe-balancing aberrant act, though an extremely adolescent one, and that I have begun to pay for it a little with the mortification of the following exchange:

Me:  Hello, is this the XXX Bowling Alley?

Bowling Alley Lady:  Yes, may I help you?

M:  Um, well, I, Um...I was at the alley last night.  (long pause)

BAL:  Yes?

M:  And I am afraid I had, um, too much to drink and..... (longer pause)

BAL: Yes?

M: (in a rush) Well, I am terribly sorry to say that I stole my bowling shoes. 

BAL: (very long tired sigh)

M: (small voice) Can I bring them back?

BAL:  (very crisply) Yes. 

M:  I have to work so it'll be be after 6.

BAL:  (very dry) We're open till midnight.

M: (even smaller voice) OK.  I'm really sorry.

I was the sigh that killed me.  This must happen all the time, drunken fools making off with their supplies.  I'm such an asshole.
When I went to the counter the man there was the same one who had issued me my shoes in the first place.  He knew why I was there.  He asked me, with a little quirk in the corner of his mouth,  if I had forgotten anything. 
I said "No, I brought something back" and laid out my guilt on the counter.

Then he made several jokes about a warrant for my arrest and what a hot weekend it would be to spend in jail - which I really enjoyed, let me tell you, even though I totally deserved them.

And I apologized about a million times and eventually he smiled and said "Don't worry.  Sometimes shit happens."

Which is, in its way, a beautiful thing.

First outing.

I took the shawl with me everywhere yesterday. 

I made my poor office manager admire it - he actually asked good questions about wool, which surprised me. 

I took it to therapy and made my therapist try it on and appreciate it.  He was interested in the construction, the historic folk shawl aspects of it, and the way, like cooking, knitting reflects the culture it sprang from.

People are so unexpected, in such good ways sometimes. 

It went bowling with me.  The shawl is a much better bowler than I am.

And of course it was stuffed in my bag under the bar when I had drinks with friends afterward.  And of course my friend C. knocked her cigarette against the bar and showered red sparks all over it.

No harm done, fortunately - but I almost had a heart attack.

On top of which, when I yanked it out of the bag to shake the burning coals of fire off of the shawl, she totally busted me and almost outed me because I totally stole the bowling shoes. 

Apparently I am really 14.

But now that I am not full of beer I am guilt ridden - if one were to send in an anonymous envelope to the bowling alley, do you think $25 is enough?

C'est fini.

I couldn't be happier if I'd had kittens.  Although less surprised.

All done.  Except in this case 'all done' means all done but for a hour or so of crawling around with pins getting run burn on me knees.  Is it weird that I thought about the blog photo op when I chose the light color blanket to stretch this out on?  And finally, something I CAN'T overblock.

I love me some blocking wires.  Without them I'd still be pinning.  Into the wee small hours, probably.

After I looked at this picture, I had to go up and adjust the left corner. But even crooked I think it is beautiful. 

I made lace, how 'bout that?  It bled a little in the wash, but I don't have a sense there was great color loss.  And it is so soft, so cozy, so light and lovely to touch...sigh. 

Is it dry yet?

Happy new resources.

The new wheel is upstairs waiting for me, but I am ignoring it  because  I am trying to finish my shawl.  The horizontal knitted on border turns out to be no sweat at all.  I've got to stop believing people when they tell me things are hard.  It just stresses me out, and frankly, hard is in the eye of the user.  What blows my mind may make hardly a ripple in yours, and vice versa.  You have to make your own call about this stuff.  But despite this worthy goal, what I did when I got home instead of spin, knit or work out, was lay down with a cat on my belly and sleep for 3 hours.   That's going to fuck up bed time, for sure.

I just watched the Daily Show.  The guest tonight was Dwight Yoakum, who was funnier than I would have expected, although why that would surprise me is a little weird and probably reflects badly on me and some unacknowledged prejudices I have against men in cowboy hats, even men in cowboy hats who are talented and witty and even though the hats themselves are slick.  Just think of the fiber.......
It may be  a reaction against the previous 20 minutes coverage of Commander Cuckoobananas, which gave me a terrible headache even though the Daily Show was completely making fun of him and his fake folksy air.  He's an utterly fake cowboy anyway (Andover, people)  and gives the cowboy hat a bad name. 
Even though I just watched this man (Mr. Yoakum, in case you lost the thread)  for 10 minutes, I have no idea what he looks like. He is All Hat.

A few weeks ago someone clued me into RYC Cashcotton on sale, which was very, very exciting because I love that stuff, but for some reason I have a hard time bringing myself to pay full price for Rowan.  It's a weird thing - they make gorgeous yarn, and it isn't out of line with other brands, but I think it generally violates my sense that I should be moving away from urban - as in highly manufactured -  yarns and towards authentic woolly yarns (clearly I didn't flinch about the Rowan Harris or whatever the hell they are calling it now and I obviously don't hesitate to buy any thing else that catches my fancy.  You do not need to tell me I am inconsistent and full of shit, but pray do so if it gives you pleasure).  And Cashcotton could not be more manufactured.  But fuck it, it is gorgeous, and light and soft and delightful.  It's a stupid distinction anyway.

So I bought 10 balls in 4 ply for a tank and wanted 16 balls of DK black (yeah, that'll be fun to work on) for an idea I have for a cardigan.  But they only had 10 balls of the black, which of course I bought anyway, because, dude - 30% off of current Rowan.

   

Then I had a quandary.  10 balls are not going to cover this girl.  Then I bethought me of Yarnfinder.com.  It's new (isn't it?), but hell, what's not to try?  And they found me some. In less than a week.  And they were really nice.  And prompt with the following up. 
Provided the additional yarn arrives in a timely fashion (I'll let you know, just ordered it today), thumbs up.  I'll have to try them on something a little more out of date.  Maybe that Bingo Chine - I'm pretty sure I'm going to need another ball or two for the collar of the Nameless Red Sweater.

Maybe that's what I'll work on when I finish the shawl.  Which I'm getting back to right now.  Only 23 or 4 little edge doodads to go.  Hey, I started with about 300.  Or , um, 94.

The ever widening concentric circles of my mind.

I'm so sad.  I bought fudge ripple ice cream the other day and tonight I had such a sweet tooth and I opened it up and it just didn't taste right...because turns out it was low fat frozen yogurt with some weird syrupy faux chocolate goop instead of fudge. 

Always read the label, child, always read the label.  Particularly in Whole Foods where you should be expecting them to slip some weird- ass healthy shit by you.

I may have to go the the 7-11.  Seriously.

This picture is because Melanie made her wheel look so pretty yesterday.  But I am afraid poor Suzie is more imposing than ravishing, at least in this light. Did you know you can get accessories for this thing?  Why did no one tell me?
A diz for sure...oooh, a carrying case...a special lace doodad with special lace spool things (look at me with the terminology, oh yeah), all this and more, more, more.

So this spinning thing is clearly going to land me in the poor house.  The yarn was bad enough, but at least then I was restrained - sort of - by the limits of the yarn companies imaginations.  Now I can make exactly what I want.

Let's think about these words. 

Limited only by my own skill and imagination, I Can Make Exactly What I Want and while I am doing it I can experience a blissed out mind state not dissimilar to...I can't even say it.
It isn't the same, it isn't better...but it has some similarities.

Mere months ago I didn't understand when people went to wool festivals without a yarn buying agenda.  I've had a wheel for four days and I totally get it now.

Christ on a Popsicle stick,  I'm in trouble.   

   

I am not displeased.   

I'm going to go be alone with my wheel now.

Coming home.

So I went to the spinning store.  And came out again an hour later.  Anyone who thought I wasn't going to buy a wheel, raise their hands.

That's what I thought.

It is a charming store, with a charming and friendly proprietress.  I knew I was in the right place when I was drawn to a yarn, picked it up, thought looked familiar...then reached into my bag and pulled out it's twin, half knit into a shawl.
I asked where it came from -  a local woman called Maggi, who sells her stuff at Rhinebeck.

Circles, eh?

Beth walked me through a few wheels - a Louet that I loved, an Ashford...but my eye kept going to the green disk of the Majacraft Suzie.  And when I tried it, I knew it.

So we left together.

I bought a pound of Romney/Lincoln mix that's so pretty I don't want to mess it up, and she gave me bag of  a miscellaneous pound of anything I liked from the various bundles and baskets around the store.

I took a bit of this, a bit of that - I should have bought a big bag of lanolin-y  Romney just to practice with because it turns out I don't like the dyed processed generic local wool blend I took a lot of (because there was a lot of it) and the interesting stuff is just small samples.  You should always listen to your instincts - I knew I didn't like it as loose fiber - too rough - and I don't like it as yarn - too rough.  But I didn't want to mess up anything good on learning.

But it is no good using something you don't like. 

First yarn on the right.  Second yarn on the left.

If you can call them that.  But every one and a while there was a moment where I could feel it.  Then the phone rang...
But I had come home from the gym at 6:30 and when I looked up at the ring of the phone it was after 9,  I was still in my sweaty clothes, no concept of time passing, no dinner.

I decided to risk something good. 

I predrafted twice.  I sat down,  I tried,  I tried again,  I could not get the leader to pick up the fiber.  Then a pedal jammed and slapped down to the ground.

Relax - a screw came loose.  But I decided it was a sign, and took a little break with some knitting. To rest.  But I couldn't quite go to bed without trying again and look, I turned that magically pretty roving into this extremely uneven yarnlike substance - reverse alchemy.

Then, to rest, I finished the border on the shawl and put it on waste yarn to await the edging.

What we like to call a rich, full day.

Shhhhhhh.

Y'all, how bad am I?

(Aside:  I say y'all a little too much for a Damn Yankee, I know.  Not as much as I say dude, but still...I had a roommate for two years who was from Natchitoches, LA and it stuck.  Well, one year as roommates, one year living across a tiny hallway in tiny single rooms which is the same thing, pretty much.  'Dude' you can blame on college in the other L.A.)

Today (which is tomorrow while I'm writing, but Typepad is magic like that) I am taking the day off work to go here:

The Spinnery.

Don't look at me like that, I have to wait for the bug man on Saturday.

Simply irresistible.

You know I do the Internet dating sometimes, right?  Mostly I try not to make fun of the messages I get, because we are all in this together.  But this one you have to see.

Screen name:  NothingSpectaular  (a downbeat approach, you will admit)

First message: I saw your profile and I am piqued. I am 47, and interested in a friend. Trust me, you would not want to get romantically serious with me.  (Thanks for the warning)

Five minutes later.

Message two:  I am smart, a former member of Mensa.  Slightly Warped.
Cliver.

I am looking merely for a friend.  Because of my health, you probably would not entertain me as a romantic interest. But we could sink a drink at a bar. And you could show me some of the more interesting sections of {town I live in}. The upscale areas or the seedier dumps. your call.

If you are interested write back.  Again, no strings attached. Bring your boyfrined with you.

Aside from the fact that I would be more likely to believe you were 'cliver' if you had checked your spelling, what?  Is this as weird as I think it is? 

Never mind the fact that the matching system gives us a probability match of 12%.  So what, he wants to have a drink with me so he can look down my blouse and forget he's got health issues?  That's what piqued means right? Let me look down your front?

Some times I just want to beat my head against a wall.