Like The Queen
Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.

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Sunday, November 30, 2003  

Every man should have a daughter. Or ... at least my man should have had a daughter. I would have loved having one (or more) too, for that matter, but we were not so fortunate as to have one. I do have cousins and in-laws who would lend me their daughters in the past and for years we would hold what BD called Bess’ Girls’ Camp. One precious niece spent most of her teen summers with me and several others had a standing one week summer visit.

One young girl whom BD has wanted to keep for a visit, goodness, nigh on to 10 years now, is R‘s daughter. R has a long history with BD and me, since we three met at college in the ark ages. Though we never fought over BD, she did see his enormous potential and eventually found her own musical land surveyor named Edward who lived on Rt. 631, only, in Madison Co, instead of Essex. And when the two men finally met, lo - turns out they’re distant cousins (this is, after all, Virginia!!) and it also turns out BD‘s grandfather had bought the old Burkeville place (homeplace of DistantCousin‘s family (as I said, this is Virginia), back in the ‘oughts, after he returned from Louisiana and married Dr. Wright’s daughter.

Anyway, BD has had a crush on R‘s daughter since she first showed him how to climb the mountain behind her house. It’s just never turned out that he could get her down for a visit. The plan is that she and her pal will come for a week at called Bess’ Girls’ Camp next summer, for a week of swimming and spinning and answering phones at the library. But , BD couldn’t wait that long so last night he wheedled a sleepover for th girls out of all responsible adults. LD spent the evening with us and wicked poker games littered the living room floor while the dogs watched DogTV (translation: lay with their heads against the base of the wood stove). When I realized they were staying up late in hopes that the tide would come in and they could, at last, go on a moonlight boat ride, I slipped off to bed with the winter edition of Knitters Magazine. I do moonlight swims in the summer, but I don’t do moonlight boat rides when it’s 35 degrees outside.

Everyone’s asleep now - unless LD, another superior morning person, is prowling around at his place. He and I shall go visit my parents today while , BD takes the girls back home.

And yes - R brought her Louet wheel yesterday. I really like that wheel and quickly spun up some very fine lace weight wool in Orange - a tiny sample I had - just to see how fine a yarn that wheel would spin. R has had the wheel a long time, but hadn’t really gotten into the swing of spinning - I hope my lesson yesterday will start her down the road to stashdom. She’s actually a far better craftswoman than I and I suspect that once started, she’ll be a magnificent spinner.

I’m working hard to keep any feeling of let-down at bay. I have so thoroughly enjoyed my days at home that the thought of going back to work is utterly depressing. So - of course - I shan’t think about it at all. I’ll think about it tomorrow - at Tara.

posted by Bess | 7:04 AM

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Saturday, November 29, 2003  

The Great Stash Discoveries



Ahh yes. Nothing like shopping in your stash for delight and, perhaps, a certain sobering shock value.

I was prompted to clean up the stash by three things:

· First, it was spilling all over the floor in the den, and had reached the point where you couldn’t get into the room without stepping on a bag of wool.

· Second, I couldn’t find most of my needles. I’d even misplaced, buried, or otherwise hidden, the expensive long Ebony size 7’s I bought last summer.

· Third, my college girlfriend is visiting today with her daughter & daughter’s friend and I am expecting at least part of the day to be spent playing with fiber. I didn’t want to waste the little time we’re going to have, trying to paw through the mess. Now I can just point and pick.

The project was a delightful way to spend a gray November Friday. My guys were outside most of the day and after returning from a lovely walk (where I bumped into LD and brought him home with me) and a soaky bubble bath, courtesy of SpecialGoodFriend, I began pawing through the heap.

First were the shopping bags stuffed with half finished projects, slips of paper, odd sale balls of yarn, ribbon and tape, and business cards from the various shops and shows I’ve attended - yikes - since last May! I had no idea I had so much Aurora8! Perhaps 30 balls of it! I really should knit it all up into some delicious fair isle thing. Maybe a cardigan. There are many balls of a color I might call muted wheat - and two colors of brown, a deep wine color, a dull orange and a bright one, a peach color. No greens - which this pile seems to cry out for - and the extra purple I bought to knit sleeves onto the Stained Glass Vest if I can’t get the shoulders on it to lie flat. (Yes...that’s the technical problem that has brought progress to a halt. The math, my dears, the math!!)

There were lots of crannies where I’d stuffed odd balls of yarn. There are two balls of a nylon ribbon in golds and two of a variegated Trendsetter ribbon with picot edges. And two fluffy eyelash yarns, one of baby blues for a scarf for my goddaughter, and one in peaches and yellows - a pair of lovely sock yarns, a skein of Dune, 2 skeins of Fly in a steely gray/green color ... and much much more.

In larger quantities, there is the ever present 1000+ yards of mossy green, bluefaced leicester I really do intend to knit an aran sweater with and the two different Brown Sheep handpaints, in quantities large enough to knit adult sweaters, in the box into which I didn’t even look. Sigh. I love both these yarns and can’t figure out yet what I want to make from them.

There were also the skeins I use to teach my beginner classes. They get their own bag and don’t count as real stash, though, of course, if I want to knit them up it’s okay. It’s mostly Brown Sheep Nature Spun and .... yahhh - I forget the other one -with a little mohair in it.. anyway - sale skeins of the BS wools to start new students on the path to stashdom.

Then there is the box of acrylic I use to make toys with and to teach children. That box also has an enormous bag of plastic beads with holes large enough to string them on yarn. Kids seem happiest completing small projects that are fancy so knitting with beads is incorporated into my kids classes.

SO - with enough yarn to make untold numbers of small things and 4 complete sweaters - that got most of the stuff on the floor out of the way. In the process, I uncovered all of Annie Modesitt’s booklets I’ve gotten at classes she’s taught, several flyers about fiberish events, a huge thing I printed off the internet about different sheep breeds and the latest Halcyon catalog. Also the receipts for October’s utilities and the car insurance. Gulp. Well - we won’t talk about that.

Then there is the fiber. We won’t mention the bags of fiber in Pop’s blanket chest. That’s part of the stash we can sort of ignore for now, though that’s where the chocolate brown stuff is and the variegated silk. But the other fibers - the 5 more ounces of the beautiful sugar maple colored roving I bought from Stony Mt. Fibers in 2002! This is what’s on my wheel right now - so they were popped into one of the baskets BD made for me 20 years ago. That and HeyBaby went out into the living room and suddenly the den didn’t feel so crowded anymore.

I found 8 oz of tencil/merino blend in a honey beige color and 1 lb. of the same in blues. Dang - I’d completely forgotten about that stuff. It spins up into the prettiest silky shiny yarn. Alas - neither color would look good on me .... but I know some folk it would be beautiful on - - and a skein of yarn is a FinishedObject.

Then the gorgeous braids I bought from Jen at the Retreat. There is a cashmere/merino blend in eyepopping RED and there are two Angora/merino/silk ones. Then there is a beautiful green and brown one she sent me in September. Yum. There are about 5 nests of dyed merino top I made in the summer including the superwash merino I dyed to look like the sweet gum - that came out rather a screaming red-orange with a dyed to match green harmonizing along with it. I intended to make bright vibrant socks with it - grew nervous that there wasn’t enough fiber and disappointed that my yarn was more a sport weight than a sock weight - but now I think there probably is enough to make up a pair of socks, so that one is bumped up a little higher on the to-do list.

There is a whole basket of little odds and ends of handpainted fiber. Not enough to make much of anything - and I’m thinking of drafting them all together, a la Deb Menz, and making what she calls “complex” yarn. I think I should look good in a little watch cap knit from complex yarns. Might even get enough to make some complex mittens too.

There is an enormous bag full of bags of different colored mohair locks. Clean ones only. I’ve tossed the trashy mohair locks. There is enough to make a brown glittery boucle and a blue one. Both will take a long time to make but will be gorgeous when finished. The question is “Does Bess have what it takes to complete a lengthy project?” The desire is there, but is the discipline?

There are also three lovely 4-oz bags of fibers I bought from Jen - my favorite is the Romeldale in warm toasty browns. There is about another pound of Merino top, another pound of Cormo roving from Barbara Gentry’s flock, about 6 oz of a shetland and silk blend, 8 oz. of a Romney and angora blend and a bag of about a pound of some wool roving that has trash in it. What was I thinking to buy that?

A word here about trash in fiber.

There’s trash and then there’s TRASH. I rather enjoy a bit of chaff or oat or grass, now and then, in a fiber. It makes me smile to think of the animal who ate that hay and the owner who fed that animal and the cycle of care and love and heart that goes into the farm experience. But when the vegetable matter is carded throughout an entire fleece - ick - there really isn’t any pleasure in working with it. Every draft has to be flicked and fiddled with, I will never get it all out, and I will never want to knit with whatever I spin, nor wear whatever I’d knit with such prickly yarn. I look at this bag - a big bag - and I don’t remember where it came from and there are no receipts in the bag - and I know I’m going to toss it. Possibly I can felt with it - maybe dye it and make little felted toys. Or some of Catherine’s felted mice. Hmmm. Yes. A tray of mice might just work.....

But let this be a lesson to me. NO more trashy fibers for me. Nada. Niet. Nein. Never again. If I order something and it doesn’t pass my TrashTest, I’ll ship it back.

The bag of beautiful fluffy gray corriadale fleece, washed and ready to card, proved to be just too much. I realized I will never get around to carding up the rolags to make my sweater, and so off to Zeilinger’s this stuff goes, on Monday.

I also have about 3/4 of a pound of merino superwash top and 2.5 pounds of yarns for dyeing.

Whew!

I filled a small basket with unfinished objects. Little scarf things and an eyelash dickey I began, (that’s where one of the size 7 needles was hidden) a year ago. The sort of thing you wear underneath open shirt collars or jewel necked sweaters. Most of these things could be done in a few hours - Christmas presents?

The big discovery though - the truly forgotten bag was not fiber, but yarn. Balls and balls of slippery rayon/polyamid eyelash yarn in Christmas Red, purchased from GotYarn out of her sale bin - at a deep sale price, probably paid about $2 each for them. I remember Dana said she’d never carry it again because it was so slippery the balls came apart just by looking at them. There is enough to knit a sort of cropped Christmas party sweater - very glitzy and funky. The stuff is called STARS and it’s made by Adriafil. It’s the silkiest eyelash I’ve ever touched and I longed to have a sweater out of it. I bought a few balls of gold Rowan Lurex Shimmer to make it even more festive - but the truth is, pre-WW I was a wee bit nervous about actually wearing such a fuzzy red sweater.

Things are different now and I swatched up a bit of the fluffy stuff last night, getting 2.5 stitches to the inch on size 10.5 needles. Last summer I bought an Anny Blatt book for a whopping $18. I probably would never make anything out of it, because the directions require more thinking than I want to do pluss, not only could I figure out a similar interesting design myself, I’d have more fun doing so. Following patterns in knitting always feels like mending to me. But the designs are fantastic - creative, funky, exciting. I bought the book for it’s inspiration value. This is the perfect yarn to be inspired with. Maybe something short with capped sleeves and a jewel neck? with gold trim....

So - that’s shopping in Bess’ stash. The big stash, not the one that has the mohair that will be knit into a baseball jacket someday.


P.S. Blogger is still messin' with me and I can't edit anything after 11/25/03. So if links don't work, spelling or grammar is weird - eh. It's nothing I can fix.

posted by Bess | 8:31 AM

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Friday, November 28, 2003  

Happy day after. Repleat, stuffed, packed, satisfied, full, sated; all of these and more. Blogger is still not showing any of my posts in the editor since 11/25 and I'm still too high on the carbo-roller coaster to organize my thoughts. Besides - I am smack in the middle of organizing my fiber stash - at least, the big one in the den that we have to step around when we want to watch a video.

I shall report back tomorrow, listing all the treasures I've unearthed.

I am pleased to report that everyone behaved with utmost propriety and no crisis developed. My horoscope told me this morning that I am ye one of little trust and to quit obessessing so. A thanksgiving resolution?

posted by Bess | 10:42 AM

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Thursday, November 27, 2003  

Happy Thanksgiving to you all. I hope your holiday plans are full and rich. This holiday has always been LD‘s favorite and eventually it became the entire family’s favorite because he enjoys it so much. It is nearly always spent here at home and begins on Wednesday, when I bake 4 pumpkin pies. There will be nothing left of them by Friday night, although most of the dinner guests on Thursday will be too full to eat any.

Crack-O-Dawn Thursday, I’ll start mixing up an enormous bowl of bread stuffing. The turkey is popped in the oven about 8:30. Not much else to do cooking-wise till about 12:30 so I’ll give the house a once over and then take an enormous long walk - possibly all the way out to Robert’s landing, but maybe over to LD‘s house with the dogs. Sometime in the morning LD‘s friend from the submarine will pull in and I hope they’ll head over here soon after. Shower and dress just before noon - then set the table. Potatoes go in at 1:30, just after the turkey comes out. Guests have been told to arrive anytime they like, but that we sit down at 2:30 on the dot.

I like to have dinner early so that there’s still daylight time to take a long long walk out to Robert’s landing. The forecast for today has been for afternoon showers, but a quick check with weather.com predicts only clouds. This is best of all, since a glowing sunset is prettiest with clouds on the horizon. We’ll walk down the lane, past my praying place, turn at Jacob’s Gut, walk down past the west woods and the Cedar tree and onto Robert’s farm - down the deep ravine where the King of Holly Trees lives and up the slope to Robert’s Landing - an old wharf site where lighters would come in from the steamboats to load produce and passengers, while dropping off store bought goods and returning families, all the way from Baltimore.

That post-prandial walk is the most important part of Thanksgiving for me. I love the idea of a whole troupe of strollers ambling across the countryside. I wish I had a photograph of us, silhouetted against the setting sun, black figures against orange streaks, walking in twos or threes with some few little ones running between one piggy back offer and the next.

As darkness falls, we’ll gather again - in the stuffed little room that is now a living room instead of a dining room. Helpful hands will heap the dishes in the kitchen and extra pillows will be tossed on the floor so there’ll be room for everyone. This year D‘s mother wants to bring a keyboard and sing show tunes. Though this is not my preferred instrument, or even music, she is a preferred person and we have encouraged her to share.

Eventually all guests will depart - even LD this year - a first, since so long as he’s been here, he’s lived with us. Now he lives next door and we bid him good-bye as well. BD and I will crawl into bed and talk about the day - and he will sleep late the next morning and I shall not. It’s ever the same.

Now - sorry about yesterday’s double post. Something weird is happening between my computer and Blogger. I can’t see Wednesday’s post at all in the edit mode. I couldn’t yesterday either and so I “posted” twice. Who knows what is going on - but I will “post” this only once. Eventually I can see it when I click my own address, but it is hidden in blogger’s editor.

Well. It is technology I guess. Like some foreign religion - I can respect if, even if I don’t follow it.


posted by Bess | 7:12 AM

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Wednesday, November 26, 2003  

Wheeee! Off now for 5 days! And a good weigh in at WW last night - still moving down - and this after a gourmand’s festive week with lunches at Italian restaurants and roast beef dinners over the weekend. Nice and uplifting thoughts. The nag lurking along the edge of my consciousness will just have to remain there - besides, the next 5 days will be spent with BD who, in a crisis, will become DaddyExtrodinaireBigStrongShouldersTakeCareOfEverything and never remind you later about it. (yes, that does mean I’m expecting a crisis.)

In other thoughts, though, is Martheme’s essay on fiber snobbery - and gifts. Really, what pricks my consciousness right now is the gift giving part, since, obviously, nobody cares what someone uses to knit for himself. It is when I knit for another - or that other
knits for me that an opinion can either hurt or ignore or be thrilled - and so often that opinion seems to trickle from an uplifted nose.

Like Martheme, I am a natural fibers gal. For a brief time in the ‘60’s I was excited by some of the synthetic fibers - though I will tell you I never wore polyester double knit. It felt like puffy saran wrap. But I was an early fan of acrylic and I do remember a halter necked prom dress, in a polyester crepe with green frogs on it, which I made for about $10, from bargain fabric I got at one of those stores that sell stuff from other store’s damaged shipments. As I recall, the fabric cost less than the pattern.

I like soft first, then sleek, and last of all fuzzy - but of course, not up-your-nose fuzzy. Wool, then alpaca and llama, then pure silk, silk blends, blends with rayon, then mohair and angora. I also like shiny and have no trouble adding glitter, hologram film, sequins, etc. and beads oooo yes beads. Cotton is not sleek enough to tempt me most of the time and is easy enough to buy in ready mades. Silk tempts me (I even adore the word!) enough to put up with it’s lack of sproingggg, as does alpaca which is better as a blend anyway and adds drape to the garment.

I also like the Colinette acrylics and am enormously impressed with the combinations that go into the glorious afghan kits. I can see myself putting in the time to make one of those. I just haven’t sprung for one yet. Seems I seldom have that many hundred dollars to put into something when I happen to be near a store that carries them.

The groundwork being thus laid - we come to the issue of gift making or rather, the whole the slippery slope of gifts regardless of being the giver or the recipient, whether the gift was bought or made. As I recall, growing up, it was not possible to effuse enough to satisfy my family’s notion of proper gift acceptance. There are hideous Christmas tree photos of us squealing in ecstasy as we clutch some gift to our bosom in frenzied delight - emotions cranked up for the show required to keep lower lips from pouting out of disappointed givers’ faces. Since this display had to be repeated for each gift, holiday mornings were exhausting baths of hypocrisy and rather put me off gift getting altogether. But not quite. One of the all time, worst fights BD and I ever had was over a birthday gift I gave him - and come to think of it - I remember another one over the lack of Christmas gift he gave me the first year we actually had an income. Hmmm.

Well, thank God those days are long ago and caused no lasting damage. In fact, they taught us both some important lessons we needed to learn about our gift style. We know that one gift is essential, two is nice and three is too many. We also know that the ONLY response necessary is “Thank you”. More is only welcome if it flows naturally and happily from your heart and off your lips. You are not required to use the gift, wear the gift, display the gift or anything else with it. Once it is yours, you are welcome to give it away, drop it, store it in a cabinet - whatever you please. Once you have said “thank you” it is yours. It no longer belongs to the giver and nothing of it’s karma attaches to him.

If your loved one gives you an ice maker for the refrigerator that you specifically chose because it didn’t have an ice maker in it - and you say “thank you” and set it aside, it is understood that the ice maker now becomes his to install and who knows, you may even be glad of it on long summer afternoons, if only your loved one would flip the little metal arm back down so it would continue to fill the ice reservoir.

And you are quite free to wear the gorgeous cushiony shawl collared vest, with its high riding collar that blocks the cold drafts seeping into the computer room on winter mornings, which you knit your loved one - that he would wear if only you’d rip out the collar that rides up so high against the back of his neck.

This philosophy carries over to the gifts I choose for (or receive from) friends and extended family. My response is always “Thank you” and “You’re welcome”. If I am truly thrilled I will expound and I will always welcome expansions from the recipient of my gifts; but it is not a requirement. Gifts are tokens of respect and affection - not definitions of them.

So how does my gift philosophy fit with my creative urge? Not very well, I’m afraid. My favorite person to knit for is myself. I always appreciate my knitting exactly, perfectly right. I squirm when I see another open the wrapping of a precious hand-knit item, flush from my needles, and watch them struggle, trying to find the appropriate expression. The dread sense of doom, as my heart plummets, always costs more than any anticipatory joy I got making it - though as I see the eyes glaze and the smile freeze I begin the silent internal chant “the thought that counts, you enjoyed making it, the thought that counts, you enjoyed making it”. Worse yet is the pouting “I thought you were going to make me _____?” as a response to my efforts.

This doesn’t mean I don’t make gifts for others. I do. Selfishly, it gives me an opportunity to use colors I never wear. Sometimes the perfect thing, for the perfect loved one, springs off my needles. Sometimes I get a request - as in both the D’s request for wool socks for every Christmas. I want to knit a sweater for LD and it will certainly be a gift - but we’ll plan and design it together so that the months of work I will put into it will not be in vain. And BD can’t really see the need for a sweater since, “You already knit me one”.

This also doesn’t mean that I won’t see some lovely winter-sky-at-dawn colored wool, buy it and knit it into, say, a scarf, that would look lovely on Mama - only she doesn’t wear scarves. It does mean that I’ll hang on to the scarf till someone comes along who could wear it and I’ll give it, but it’s not going to be an “I knit this for you, darling, working my fingers to the bone knitting into the wee hours”. The emotional commitment to the knitted garment has long been severed and now it’s just one of those “extra” gifts one keeps about the house, like extra Birthday cards or hostess gifts. It could just as easily be a box of scented candles.

Anyway - all this is to say that gift giving is a tricky activity - something of a window onto one’s psyche, a snapshot of a relationship, an exercise in inter-personal dynamics, a random, accidental nothingness and an opportunity for endless humiliation - or boundless delight. When it comes to gifts I try to expect nothing, accept the token as proof that another is fond of me, release the item given utterly from my ego - and of course, the final caveat:

Buy myself the gift I really want.

posted by Bess | 8:20 AM

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Wheeee! Off now for 5 days! And a good weigh in at WW last night - still moving down - and this after a gourmand’s festive week with lunches at Italian restaurants and roast beef dinners over the weekend. Nice and uplifting thoughts. The nag lurking along the edge of my consciousness will just have to remain there - besides, the next 5 days will be spent with BD who, in a crisis, will become DaddyExtrodinaireBigStrongShouldersTakeCareOfEverything and never remind you later about it. (yes, that does mean I’m expecting a crisis.)

In other thoughts, though, is Martheme’s essay on fiber snobbery - and gifts. Really, what pricks my consciousness right now is the gift giving part, since, obviously, nobody cares what someone uses to knit for himself. It is when I knit for another - or that other
knits for me that an opinion can either hurt or ignore or be thrilled - and so often that opinion seems to trickle from an uplifted nose.

Like Martheme, I am a natural fibers gal. For a brief time in the ‘60’s I was excited by some of the synthetic fibers - though I will tell you I never wore polyester double knit. It felt like puffy saran wrap. But I was an early fan of acrylic and I do remember a halter necked prom dress, in a polyester crepe with green frogs on it, which I made for about $10, from bargain fabric I got at one of those stores that sell stuff from other store’s damaged shipments. As I recall, the fabric cost less than the pattern.

I like soft first, then sleek, and last of all fuzzy - but of course, not up-your-nose fuzzy. Wool, then alpaca and llama, then pure silk, silk blends, blends with rayon, then mohair and angora. I also like shiny and have no trouble adding glitter, hologram film, sequins, etc. and beads oooo yes beads. Cotton is not sleek enough to tempt me most of the time and is easy enough to buy in ready mades. Silk tempts me (I even adore the word!) enough to put up with it’s lack of sproingggg, as does alpaca which is better as a blend anyway and adds drape to the garment.

I also like the Colinette acrylics and am enormously impressed with the combinations that go into the glorious afghan kits. I can see myself putting in the time to make one of those. I just haven’t sprung for one yet. Seems I seldom have that many hundred dollars to put into something when I happen to be near a store that carries them.

The groundwork being thus laid - we come to the issue of gift making or rather, the whole the slippery slope of gifts regardless of being the giver or the recipient, whether the gift was bought or made. As I recall, growing up, it was not possible to effuse enough to satisfy my family’s notion of proper gift acceptance. There are hideous Christmas tree photos of us squealing in ecstasy as we clutch some gift to our bosom in frenzied delight - emotions cranked up for the show required to keep lower lips from pouting out of disappointed givers’ faces. Since this display had to be repeated for each gift, holiday mornings were exhausting baths of hypocrisy and rather put me off gift getting altogether. But not quite. One of the all time, worst fights BD and I ever had was over a birthday gift I gave him - and come to think of it - I remember another one over the lack of Christmas gift he gave me the first year we actually had an income. Hmmm.

Well, thank God those days are long ago and caused no lasting damage. In fact, they taught us both some important lessons we needed to learn about our gift style. We know that one gift is essential, two is nice and three is too many. We also know that the ONLY response necessary is “Thank you”. More is only welcome if it flows naturally and happily from your heart and off your lips. You are not required to use the gift, wear the gift, display the gift or anything else with it. Once it is yours, you are welcome to give it away, drop it, store it in a cabinet - whatever you please. Once you have said “thank you” it is yours. It no longer belongs to the giver and nothing of it’s karma attaches to him.

If your loved one gives you an ice maker for the refrigerator that you specifically chose because it didn’t have an ice maker in it - and you say “thank you” and set it aside, it is understood that the ice maker now becomes his to install and who knows, you may even be glad of it on long summer afternoons, if only your loved one would flip the little metal arm back down so it would continue to fill the ice reservoir.

And you are quite free to wear the gorgeous cushiony shawl collared vest, with its high riding collar that blocks the cold drafts seeping into the computer room on winter mornings, which you knit your loved one - that he would wear if only you’d rip out the collar that rides up so high against the back of his neck.

This philosophy carries over to the gifts I choose for (or receive from) friends and extended family. My response is always “Thank you” and “You’re welcome”. If I am truly thrilled I will expound and I will always welcome expansions from the recipient of my gifts; but it is not a requirement. Gifts are tokens of respect and affection - not definitions of them.

So how does my gift philosophy fit with my creative urge? Not very well, I’m afraid. My favorite person to knit for is myself. I always appreciate my knitting exactly, perfectly right. I squirm when I see another open the wrapping of a precious hand-knit item, flush from my needles, and watch them struggle, trying to find the appropriate expression. The dread sense of doom, as my heart plummets, always costs more than any anticipatory joy I got making it - though as I see the eyes glaze and the smile freeze I begin the silent internal chant “the thought that counts, you enjoyed making it, the thought that counts, you enjoyed making it”. Worse yet is the pouting “I thought you were going to make me _____?” as a response to my efforts.

This doesn’t mean I don’t make gifts for others. I do. Selfishly, it gives me an opportunity to use colors I never wear. Sometimes the perfect thing, for the perfect loved one, springs off my needles. Sometimes I get a request - as in both the D’s request for wool socks for every Christmas. I want to knit a sweater for LD and it will certainly be a gift - but we’ll plan and design it together so that the months of work I will put into it will not be in vain. And BD can’t really see the need for a sweater since, “You already knit me one”.

This also doesn’t mean that I won’t see some lovely winter-sky-at-dawn colored wool, buy it and knit it into, say, a scarf, that would look lovely on Mama - only she doesn’t wear scarves. It does mean that I’ll hang on to the scarf till someone comes along who could wear it and I’ll give it, but it’s not going to be an “I knit this for you, darling, working my fingers to the bone knitting into the wee hours”. The emotional commitment to the knitted garment has long been severed and now it’s just one of those “extra” gifts one keeps about the house, like extra Birthday cards or hostess gifts. It could just as easily be a box of scented candles.

Anyway - all this is to say that gift giving is a tricky activity - something of a window onto one’s psyche, a snapshot of a relationship, an exercise in inter-personal dynamics, a random, accidental nothingness and an opportunity for endless humiliation - or boundless delight. When it comes to gifts I try to expect nothing, accept the token as proof that another is fond of me, release the item given utterly from my ego - and of course, the final caveat:

Buy myself the gift I really want.

posted by Bess | 8:20 AM

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Yarn snobbery and gifts



Wheeee! Off now for 5 days! And a good weigh in at WW last night - still moving down - and this after a gourmand’s festive week with lunches at Italian restaurants and roast beef dinners over the weekend. Nice and uplifting thoughts. The nag lurking along the edge of my consciousness will just have to remain there - besides, the next 5 days will be spent with BD who, in a crisis, will become DaddyExtrodinaireBigStrongShouldersTakeCareOfEverything and never remind you later about it. (yes, that does mean I’m expecting a crisis.)

In other thoughts, though, is Martheme’s essay on fiber snobbery - and gifts. Really, what pricks my consciousness right now is the gift giving part, since, obviously, nobody cares what someone uses to knit for himself. It is when I knit for another - or that other
knits for me that an opinion can either hurt or ignore or be thrilled - and so often that opinion seems to trickle from an uplifted nose.

Like Martheme, I am a natural fibers gal. For a brief time in the ‘60’s I was excited by some of the synthetic fibers - though I will tell you I never wore polyester double knit. It felt like puffy saran wrap. But I was an early fan of acrylic and I do remember a halter necked prom dress, in a polyester crepe with green frogs on it, which I made for about $10, from bargain fabric I got at one of those stores that sell stuff from other store’s damaged shipments. As I recall, the fabric cost less than the pattern.

I like soft first, then sleek, and last of all fuzzy - but of course, not up-your-nose fuzzy. Wool, then alpaca and llama, then pure silk, silk blends, blends with rayon, then mohair and angora. I also like shiny and have no trouble adding glitter, hologram film, sequins, etc. and beads oooo yes beads. Cotton is not sleek enough to tempt me most of the time and is easy enough to buy in ready mades. Silk tempts me (I even adore the word!) enough to put up with it’s lack of sproingggg, as does alpaca which is better as a blend anyway and adds drape to the garment.

I also like the Colinette acrylics and am enormously impressed with the combinations that go into the glorious afghan kits. I can see myself putting in the time to make one of those. I just haven’t sprung for one yet. Seems I seldom have that many hundred dollars to put into something when I happen to be near a store that carries them.

The groundwork being thus laid - we come to the issue of gift making or rather, the whole the slippery slope of gifts regardless of being the giver or the recipient, whether the gift was bought or made. As I recall, growing up, it was not possible to effuse enough to satisfy my family’s notion of proper gift acceptance. There are hideous Christmas tree photos of us squealing in ecstasy as we clutch some gift to our bosom in frenzied delight - emotions cranked up for the show required to keep lower lips from pouting out of disappointed givers’ faces. Since this display had to be repeated for each gift, holiday mornings were exhausting baths of hypocrisy and rather put me off gift getting altogether. But not quite. One of the all time, worst fights BD and I ever had was over a birthday gift I gave him - and come to think of it - I remember another one over the lack of Christmas gift he gave me the first year we actually had an income. Hmmm.

Well, thank God those days are long ago and caused no lasting damage. In fact, they taught us both some important lessons we needed to learn about our gift style. We know that one gift is essential, two is nice and three is too many. We also know that the ONLY response necessary is “Thank you”. More is only welcome if it flows naturally and happily from your heart and off your lips. You are not required to use the gift, wear the gift, display the gift or anything else with it. Once it is yours, you are welcome to give it away, drop it, store it in a cabinet - whatever you please. Once you have said “thank you” it is yours. It no longer belongs to the giver and nothing of it’s karma attaches to him.

If your loved one gives you an ice maker for the refrigerator that you specifically chose because it didn’t have an ice maker in it - and you say “thank you” and set it aside, it is understood that the ice maker now becomes his to install and who knows, you may even be glad of it on long summer afternoons, if only your loved one would flip the little metal arm back down so it would continue to fill the ice reservoir.

And you are quite free to wear the gorgeous cushiony shawl collared vest, with its high riding collar that blocks the cold drafts seeping into the computer room on winter mornings, which you knit your loved one - that he would wear if only you’d rip out the collar that rides up so high against the back of his neck.

This philosophy carries over to the gifts I choose for (or receive from) friends and extended family. My response is always “Thank you” and “You’re welcome”. If I am truly thrilled I will expound and I will always welcome expansions from the recipient of my gifts; but it is not a requirement. Gifts are tokens of respect and affection - not definitions of them.

So how does my gift philosophy fit with my creative urge? Not very well, I’m afraid. My favorite person to knit for is myself. I always appreciate my knitting exactly, perfectly right. I squirm when I see another open the wrapping of a precious hand-knit item, flush from my needles, and watch them struggle, trying to find the appropriate expression. The dread sense of doom, as my heart plummets, always costs more than any anticipatory joy I got making it - though as I see the eyes glaze and the smile freeze I begin the silent internal chant “the thought that counts, you enjoyed making it, the thought that counts, you enjoyed making it”. Worse yet is the pouting “I thought you were going to make me _____?” as a response to my efforts.

This doesn’t mean I don’t make gifts for others. I do. Selfishly, it gives me an opportunity to use colors I never wear. Sometimes the perfect thing, for the perfect loved one, springs off my needles. Sometimes I get a request - as in both the D’s request for wool socks for every Christmas. I want to knit a sweater for LD and it will certainly be a gift - but we’ll plan and design it together so that the months of work I will put into it will not be in vain. And BD can’t really see the need for a sweater since, “You already knit me one”.

This also doesn’t mean that I won’t see some lovely winter-sky-at-dawn colored wool, buy it and knit it into, say, a scarf, that would look lovely on Mama - only she doesn’t wear scarves. It does mean that I’ll hang on to the scarf till someone comes along who could wear it and I’ll give it, but it’s not going to be an “I knit this for you, darling, working my fingers to the bone knitting into the wee hours”. The emotional commitment to the knitted garment has long been severed and now it’s just one of those “extra” gifts one keeps about the house, like extra Birthday cards or hostess gifts. It could just as easily be a box of scented candles.

Anyway - all this is to say that gift giving is a tricky activity - something of a window onto one’s psyche, a snapshot of a relationship, an exercise in inter-personal dynamics, a random, accidental nothingness and an opportunity for endless humiliation - or boundless delight. When it comes to gifts I try to expect nothing, accept the token as proof that another is fond of me, release the item given utterly from my ego - and of course, the final caveat:

Buy myself the gift I really want.

posted by Bess | 8:19 AM

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Tuesday, November 25, 2003  

Why do we obsess? Is obsession bad? Is a blithe spirit frivolous, shallow or wise? What’s the purpose of obsession when no visible results follow? Is an obsession something one needs to experience in order to achieve clarity of comprehension? Why am I out of bed at 4 a.m. with nagging mutterings spilling from my mouth - all about somebody else’s life? Why do I think I am supposed to come up with answers? “Why can’t a woman ... be more like a man?”

I’ve had a belly full of nagging issues robbing me of sleep and weighing heavily on my spirit this fall. First was Dad’s health and all the false promise it offered of prodding him into safer, more comfortable living arrangements - for Mama as well as Dad. Then there was a professional issue that I knew was going to fail me but that I felt I had to participate in, in order to ensure my point of view was at least included in the record. Now a beloved friend is crashing through a nasty divorce and wants support from me that I don’t know how to give. I am so sick of feeling angst about the world around me - just at a time when my own life fits so prettily into its appointed space and I would like to enjoy it.

I can’t figure out why I am so twisted up about other people’s lives right now. After all, not only do I not want to go fix these people’s lives, I don’t think I can fix anybody’s life anyway. But I hate for people I love to be in misery and when they come to me asking for advice or help or action I am fairly stymied. I mean - if you have a bum leg and a bad heart and a brain tumor and I live 2 hours away from you - what do you expect me to do with your horses? You have to hire help to care for them or sell them. And when you ask me when I’m coming to see you - and I was just there last week - what are you really asking me to do?

Ahh - that is what is bothering me I believe. I have many beloved, but needful people in my life who want their situations fixed but they don’t know how to ask me for what they really want from me. They keep asking, and hinting, and presenting things with question marks - as if desirous of comment or action on my part. But they never ask for something specific I can either give or refuse to give. And since what they are doing are all things I would not be doing - I haven’t a clue how to second guess their hidden desires. So I leave them disappointed and feel myself something of a failure - reluctant to enjoy the future, or even the present, because I keep expecting CRISIS to erupt, like solar flares from 507, bathing the world in geo-magnetic static and blasts of radiation.

This is a first for me. Usually I can see what should be happening - make my opinion known and then just move off, letting the person asking for advice take what’s proffered or not. In fact, if I’m not asked for an opinion, I’m far more likely to say nothing at all. If the choices he makes lead him out of my life, so be it. My ego isn’t normally tied up in how happily another lives his life. Mind, now, I really love these people. I really want them to be happy. And they are asking me for advice or help. I still don’t think I can make them happy or give them magic words of enlightenment. I also think they are headed for more pain. So - why is it different this time?

Do I suspect these people will accuse me of not caring? Am I secretly afraid I will lose their love? Do I believe true disaster lurks? Is my ego caught up in some false image I have of myself as WiseWoman-O-TheMountain? Is it just the stupid result of being a librarian for 25 years? Have I slipped down the stupid-slope of believing I am supposed to answer every reference question that comes my way?

Sigh.

What a week of gloomy posts.

Rats.


posted by Bess | 5:22 AM

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Monday, November 24, 2003  

Yikes! A whole day and I never touched the stash – except to stack more piles on top of the tottering heaps. Well – it took longer than I thought to go through the paper stack in the living room and to get the kitchen clean enough for guests to see. I could tell they had so much fun that I shan’t worry again about how the place looks.

I sprang a new recipe on my guests – a WW recipe and it was universally enjoyed. I didn’t tell anybody about the diet part but here’s the recipe:

1 cake mix plain any flavor
1 can diet soda
2 egg whites
1 pkg. fat free sugar free jello
1 cup boiling water
1 cup cold water

Mix first 3 ingredients and pour into prepared cake pans. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes.
Poke holes in the cake with a large fork – the kind you hold turkeys still with
Mix jello according to package
Pour jello over cake
Chill 2 hours

1 pkg. dream whip
1 cup skim milk
1 tsp flavoring (almond, vanilla, orange)
2 tbs. cocoa powder
½ cup powdered sugar

Whip the Dream Whip with cold skim milk
Whip in cocoa
Whip in sugar

Frost cake – store cold.

No credit for the cake – got that from WW’s own board but the frosting is mine.

I’m now supposed to be trying to get my statistical report done for the state library. Due next Monday – can she get it done before the holiday?

posted by Bess | 12:00 PM

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Sunday, November 23, 2003  

Here is an interesting conundrum. Why is it that fiber you touch in the summer feels scratchy but in the winter feels soft?

Well, of course it isn’t a conundrum - but it’s gratifying that stuff I bought last May at Md.S&W will be f un to work with - just so long as I don’t plan on working with it in our hot, sticky, humid, stultifying, VA summers. (So why do I live here? Eh - it’s Virginia, sugah.)

Anyway - in the midst of massive pre-Thanksgiving cleaning - which includes digging through the chests for tablecloths which must be laundered and aired (over several days) to get the pest repellent scent out of them, I uncovered two enormous bags of Hershey’s Chocolate Brown wool - a merino and a lambswool roving each - the most flattering color for me. In the frenzy of shopping that is Md.S&W, I thought both were soft enough, but once home they felt a wee bit scratchy. Periodically throughout the summer I’d fondle them and feel that prick of dismay - that I had pounds and mounds of something I didn’t like. I spun a wee bit up and produced lumpy yarn. Ahh, the joy of storing things in chests - you can forget about them.

So when I pulled the bags out of the chest yesterday I was surprised at the soft cushiony feel to the rovings. I pulled out a small length and pre-drafted it, joined it to the merino on the wheel and spun way. Oh. My. A lightbulb moment.

This stuff works up better if it isn’t pre-drafted.

Well, lawsee.

And yippee.

It’s roving - not top - so the fibers, while mostly lined up, are not sleekly so. I can easily grab a nice pinch from my so-called drafting triangle and keep the yarn both airy and fairly consistent in amount.

This is quite exciting. I am still a new enough, self-taught spinner - a “real” spinner might look patronizingly at my work. Certainly the actual skills I have are a long way from what I see demonstrated by others. This is no false modesty - I’ve only been at it a year and I have every hope of becoming a fine spinner. Certainly I expect to improve over time. It is the fun of discovering something like this - that, though I must still pre-draft merino roving, I shan’t necessarily have to do so with a different preparation - that I suspect a teacher could introduce me to much sooner.

Darling guests are coming for dinner - he is a neat-nut - and her display of what she calls her messiness is what I can produce after a month of hard scrubbing - and so, though I don’t believe I have to equal their sparkle, of much greater importance to an ENFP feeler, I feel I must make an effort to at least rid the house of the last vestiges of summer. (Spider webs, my dears - like white shoes after Labor Day, unacceptable past Oct. 31.) I really like these folk and want them to be comfortable in my home. Most of the work was done yesterday, though there is still the kitchen to tidy. But between that and supper time I plan to organize stash - I don’t like not knowing what I have and besides, it is now spilling out of its bins, tumbling round the assorted baskets and boxes already stacked out into the room.

Who knows what treasures lurk in this pile? Surely some of my size 7 needles!

posted by Bess | 7:23 AM

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Saturday, November 22, 2003  

Yes, Marg, it really was a girly day. At least, it was a girly morning. Being with S makes it impossible to be girly - for she is my lemony girlfriend. BD frequently puzzles that I am so fond of her company but he forgets that running through my veins is pure C 12 H 22 O 11 Someone like S adds a much needed tartness and I know I help sweeten her world a bit.

Got a chance to check out the new yarn shop Lettuce Knit at the old Stony Point shopping center off Huguenot Road. The gals running it are familiar as former employees or habitués (not sure which) of one of the other LYS. They have a small stock and of course, few books, since that is such an expensive inventory item. But they had two things I particularly admire in a shop - a line of gorgeous yarns (Lorna’s Laces, and not just the sock yarn), unique in the Richmond area, and lots of colors of a basic, fairly inexpensive wool (Brown Sheep’s Nature Spun). In fact, since BSNS is the yarn I always start my beginners on and I plan a beginner’s class this winter, I’ll stock up at the new shop when I’m in the city instead of mail-ordering.

I bought two skeins of LL, a boucle and a fine sockwt. in soft turqouisey blues, lavenders and baby yellows to make another scarf like the purple mohair and silk one I’ve been working on (and finished yesterday in the car). The colors cry out to be Mama’s and though I don’t know if she’d wear a scarf - she would enjoy stroking it and looking at it and thinking about wearing it.

A sad tale for me, though, is that, since they don’t carry Addi Turbos, and none of the other shops in the area do either - I can’t just pick up another pair of size 7’s when my most recent purchase disappears into the abyss that is my stash. Since my personal - deeply personal - lust bends towards exclusivity, this is too bad for me. But Bob Kelly at Hunt Country Yarns will ship and he’s open on Sunday - when I am likely to be so desperate for a pair I’d drive 300 miles to sate my craving. Hmmm. come to think of it C hasn’t ever been to HCY......

But I don’t need to shop any more. I have molto tons of stash and forbid myself to spend more $ till I’ve used some of it.

It’s the weekend before Thanksgiving and it’s traditional for me to do my major grocery shopping today. I confess, though I can get a free range turkey, I shan't. The natural, organic, etc. etc. birds remind me of the hideous dry turkeys of my youth - when even the thigh tasted like breasts. No, I shall buy one from the grocery store. Yes, yes, I like the soaked, pre-treated, frozen-then-thawed, turkey-lite taste of a big frozen Butterball. I know. But hey - I don’t eat Snicker’s bars. And I’ll make up for it with tasty free range chickens from the same source - another day. (Here, Bess confesses she doesn’t even like wild turkey.)

A deep cleaning is required too - since we have guests, who can’t be with us on Thursday, coming tomorrow night. So once home from town I shall stuff cotton balls into rubber gloves and hit the dust - and spider webs - and other accumulations a country house gathers 10 days after SomeoneElse has cleaned it.

Oh yes - Sax does smell as good as I thought - but that’s about all I can say for it. Maybe someone would feel pleased, or proud, or even arrogantly snobbish, wearing a $500 sweater but unless I had knit it myself from quiviut I had spun on HeyBaby, so as to prolong the tactile experience and display my artistic creativity and crafty skills - I would not. What say? How about a $400 t-shirt nightgown?


posted by Bess | 7:15 AM

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Friday, November 21, 2003  

Today is a wonderful day. It is a Not only - but also (one of my favorite grammatical constructions) day. Thus, it is a day full of promise and possibility.

First of all - it is the day of my monthly haircut - which I can promise you, means my hair is falling into my face and hanging limp and close about my head, except where static electricity makes wisps float about like thin fine medusa locks. The water in the little town where I work, and get haircuts, is extremely soft. Newcomers have the worst time adjusting to it. It’s very difficult to rinse soap off with it and woe betide anyone foolish enough to use fabric softener in the laundry. It wrecks havoc with my hair on hair-cut day, no matter the skill with which Brenda wields her scissors, but one day of looking shorn and bare is more than compensated for by 21 days of being able to pretty much forget about hair. Almost like being a guy. The last week, the wonders of chemistry pretty much keep my bangs out of my eyes. (how did the word bangs come to mean the hair cut above your eyebrows, - hmmm I think I shall look that up - People used to call it a Lunatic Fringe - an easy to comprehend moniker)

Well so. I just visited the OED and the term “bang”, used for the cut hair across the forehead comes from an American slang expression of the 1880’s, to “cut one’s hair bang off“

Gad - I really must put Miss Austen aside.

The other lovely thing is that I get my nails done at the sweetest redneck feminine establishment one could imagine. It’s a totally girl place - the nail gallery and tanning salon. I always feel like I’ve strayed into a Mae West movie when I’m there. I adore the gossip. I delight in the colors and I am completely taken aback when the local state trooper comes in for his spell on the tanning bed. He looks so incongruous in his trooper-blue with smoky the bear hat. I once commented on it to Debbie and she said “yeah, he thinks the tan makes him look more manley, I guess”.

There is always a little dachshund in the shop, since Debbie raises them and a yummy selection of sterling silver jewelry, bracelets, mostly, but other things as well. Fortunately for my wallet, I am too sallow to wear silver. The girl who does my nails went to school with LD and she’s always interested in news about him. He’s been bragged into mythical proportions and I am wondering how I shall ever show him off to these women - for all of them are longing to see him. But a nail gallery is definitely not a place either of my guys would ever think to enter, so stratagems will need to be devised.

Since my virgo nature loves a predictable schedule, which my ENFP nature thoroughly appreciates, though frequently compromises, every 4 weeks both these events fall on the same day. There is something so utterly pampering about having someone fiddle about with my extremities - all to the benefit of my greater beauty, of course.

But the loveliest thing of all is that it is time for my annual post-birthday celebration with a particular girlfriend. Her work schedule keeps her out of town all fall and all spring, so she misses my birthday every year. When she’s at last released from her travels, she and I take a day and go somewhere lovely for lunch and puttering. Usually we go to our favorite, Colonial Williamsburg, and amble down the cobbled walks to peer at another era. Other years we dive through the historical buildings in Fredericksburg. She went to college there and has piquant memories of that town. This year we are going to Richmond to try out a restaurant she’s discovered. Eh. So. She shall not actually be trying it out, but I shall. And I shall take her to the new Sax 5th Ave. store that smells like the old Miller and Rhodes - the downtown one - we both remember from years gone by. It’s not the sort of place we would actually spend money in, but we’re just going to sniff. Sniffs are free.

BTW did you know this is available now?

posted by Bess | 5:57 AM

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Thursday, November 20, 2003  

AAAAAAA!

BD took the comptuer in to be "looked at" - the ancient, mouse in a flywheel driven computer - and, for those of you who have never done such a thing, this means, of course, that nobody looked at it. And now it is languishing in the dusty repair room being laughed at by the slicknew geek-approved computers who are in for tinkering. I have no machine at home and just a wee bit of time before work to write anything.


Thank you all for your tender concern about my depressing situation. I am sure I shall rebound and with luck, a bit of english on the ball shall send me in a far more rewarding direction. Do not fear that anything threatens my job, income, family or health. It is all merely a set-down, from within the profession, which rather smarts.

Again I forgot to bring in the lovely handpainted superwash merino. Eventually it shall color the screen here. And tomorrow there are some treats in store for me = for I am taking a day off for my birthday luncheon with a girlfriend, long postponed from Isabellish September. If I get the machine back today I shall post tomorrow, but if I am silent you shall know the reason.

posted by Bess | 9:49 AM

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Wednesday, November 19, 2003  

Say it with candy
Or flowers that stink
But never, O never,
Say it with ink.

Daddy used to quote that bit of doggerel to me when I was little - along with the French version of A Fool and His Money, which I like to quote back at him every time he buys a lottery ticket.

I recently saw proof of this at Monday’sLoweringExperience, when private correspondence, albeit of a public nature, from one person to another person not of the assembled body, was revealed and created deep animosity within the breasts of many of said assembled body. Because the whole situation so deeply affects my career and, to an unfortunate extent, my personal reaction to my profession, I found myself unable to forgo, even after the conclusion was forgone, observing the final act of this farce. A bit like watching road-kill happen.

Heh. So. Why am I so obscurantist? Eh. Well. One never knows who reads a blog. And one does know who, among Virginia librarians, is a knitter. And it is sometimes difficult not to say, with digitized ink, things which one might later wish, did not, er, actually stink.

One also might have a natural tendency to hide when wounded. It was the great dread of my mother, before I reached an age of verbal reason, that I should suffer some injury; a fear deepened beyond any mother’s organic reaction by the fact that, once injured, I would find invariably the darkest corner in which to hide. Countless times she was forced to seek, and then drag, her infant from beneath beds, or out of cabinets, into which no reasonable parent might ordinarily think to seek, in order to staunch blood or otherwise mend broken bits. I like to think it is some vestigial survival skill hearkening back to some primordial epoch. An organic flight side of fight or flight.

It is possible, also, that one feels one did not always present one’s case in as effective a manner as one might have done - thereby contributing to one’s failure to carry one’s argument to a successful conclusion.

Perhaps, also, one must mention that one is listening to one’s favorite Jane Austen novel, Northanger Abbey, Miss Austen’s most loquacious effort, on cassette tape and one finds the urge to emulate her mentor’s style irresistible.

Finally, one must admit that one is so pissed off and so hurt and so disgusted and so helpless, one just can’t get the words out. The harder one tries, the more Octopus Ink one seems to spew. This is probably a good thing - and the intellectual challenge of trying to write much but say nothing, acts as a soothing balm to a wounded ego.

I hope this little effort has proved entertaining, if unenlightening. Remember, even in disguise there is revelation, for the fact of disguise is itself an identifier.

posted by Bess | 5:44 AM

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Tuesday, November 18, 2003  

Ooops - forgot to bring the yarn. Okay - tomorrow.

posted by Bess | 10:46 AM

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Oh. Yeah. Well, obviously I went to that meeting so I'd be in the city afterwards and you must know, just a little way down the road is a bead shop where one can spend entirely too much money stocking up on supplies and books and tools. Yeah. Right.

A particularly lowering experience watching people pretend to be oh so polite and complimentary and grateful for all you've done, while they shut you out of the clique, was had by moi yesterday and I do think that's about the last time I have to experience it, now that a professional issue is finally put into it's coffin - where everyone hopes the silver stake will remain firmly in its heart, till another decade passes - and it can be ressurected (by Va. code, thank you) and disected again. I intend to be retired by that time - lord willing. Of course - it may not have flailed it's last flail - the legislature sits this January and That Body, well - one never knows what that group of interesting folk will do. I've seen the most convoluted legislature get passed.

And as proof that one can wring a profit out of any situation, I discovered, out of that farcical gyration yesterday, I had two supporters, who just happen to be the 2 people I most admire on the entire board. Unknown to me - at that - and that little bit of knowledge is like a gem discovered in the dust. Sparkley and lovely and ... a treasure. Proof that the greatest things are often the intangables.

Eh. well. As H likes to say: "They're our kind of people."

Anyway I don't have to endure anymore crocodile smiles and Austen-like civilities. And I do get to make lovely beadish things.

The purple scarf is coming along nicely - should finish it by the weekend. I didn't dye up enough superwash - nor did I spin it fine enough, to make a pair of socks. I'm not quite sure what I'll make of it - but I'll post a scan of the yarn later today.

posted by Bess | 7:18 AM

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Monday, November 17, 2003  

Off to meetings today - not even fun ones. Still wondering why I'm going, but a little voice (probably an imp) keeps whispering in my ear - "Fool. You'll be sorry if you miss this one." Eh. Fool or idiot.

posted by Bess | 5:13 AM

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Sunday, November 16, 2003  

WARNING - FIBER STUFF WAY AT THE BOTTOM



I’m definitely a process person. A true ENFP on the Meyers Briggs scale. I get almost no gratification from reaching my goal, but if I like the process I can enjoy it endlessly. In fact, there comes that moment, even in the largest and most important projects, when I can see every step needed to be taken to get to the goal - and right then I loose interest in it. When I managed the project to build a new library in our community I had the most fantastic time up to about a month before the opening - and from then on I wept every day and completely bottomed out afterwards. Of course, that was the biggest project of my professional life - and it's important to note that I did finish that project. In fact, I finish lots of things - eventually. I do put the buttonholes in the waistband of the skirts I make. I do finish the seams on jackets I sew. We do grow up and realize that no matter how little we feel rewarded by completion, it's just one of the grown up things we have to do. But the actual joy of completion is nearly always a stranger to me, in nearly every aspect of my life.

When I began the WW journey I had no goal in mind beyond wanting to take back my life from the Dorito Bag. I felt like I did as a teenager - lots of unnamed desires and no power to fulfill them. I couldn’t even imagine being slim, much less reaching some weight goal. All I wanted was to not feel enslaved by food - and to get rid of that vague upset stomach that lived with me 24/7.

WW is a very goal oriented program. You set little goals and big goals and in-between goals and every time you tick one off you get some sort of tangible praise. Lots of talk about successes, and a good bit of conversation about what is blocking you from more. My WW leader is very goal oriented. Heck - the whole world is goal oriented and I’ve never yet been to a management seminar that didn’t go on for hours, about measurable goals and evaluaton steps. Heck - I’m working on that very thing at work with a much delayed 5YearPlan.

Interestingly enough, I’ve actually coveted a few of those praise prizes. When my cousin got her 10% key ring, this is soooo stupid, but my pituitary gland kicked in and my eyes widened, my nostrils flared, and I began to salivate. Nobody was more surprised than I and I hope I concealed it well. But I also had to admit - I wanted one of those things. I eventually got it too, and now my key chain is even heavier because I wouldn’t take off the orange tag (needed so I can find it in my purse) so the darn wad of metal and plastic drags even more on my shoulder.

There was a meeting, too, where either I had gained or not lost after being really strict all week, and I was feeling really bummed. Darned if the leader didn’t ask who had been attending 16 weeks straight and my little hand rose slowly. What do you know - a prize for that too! And praise and the comment that folks who stick it out 16 consecutive weeks have a greater chance of reaching the land of Slimmerville. Why that cheered me up so I can’t tell you, but I walked out of that meeting really up.

Still, I remain a process person at heart and by instinct. I am that way, regardless of desires, rewards, threats or sober reflection and secretly, I’m proud of that fact. In some ways, the process person is lucky - especially with a program like WW, which is truly a lifestyle. That thought is sooooo comforting to me. When the NoGoalForYou demon starts prodding me, and whispering in my ear “Almoooooost done. Almooooost done. No more fun for you. Gonnahaftaquit soon.” I can laugh and say “nope - this is for life, so there, nya.” This is fortunate, because usually those taunts make me just stop working towards the goal. (Check out the unfinished Sigvaldi and Stained Glass Vest - both at the button band stage.)

My finishitis monster has been lifting it’s strange tormented head a lot lately. But the other day it hit me - I am only a few paltry pounds away from my goal weight. I’ve been feeling moxie and slim and chic and chi-chi for weeks now, but soon I am going to be at a target weight I chose for myself and actually achieved. And once again I got that Pituitary Gland feeling - this is something I reeeeeeeealy want. Heh.

This sudden realization was a mind-opener! I am going to reach a goal. I have the skills, the tools, the support and the tenacity to achieve it. What a thought. This really is the first time on this weight loss journey that I’ve let my brain encompass such an idea. Not only will I get there, but I’ll have the help I need to stay there. I won’t just “not be fat” but I’ll “be slim”.

Triumph!

On a fiberly note - I had a glorious day working with some superwash merino top I got from Jen and dyed myself. Slippery stuff, which makes it a challenge to handle when wet, but wow does it slip through the fingers when being spun. The intended project is socks - but I think they’ll be a bit bulky - the yarn looks like it’ll be a DK weight but it may be Worsted. It’s dyed in long stretches and I plan to Navajo ply it so it will self stripe. If the knitted fabric is loud , well, who cares? It’s just socks.

Plying it up today.

posted by Bess | 8:42 AM

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Saturday, November 15, 2003  

To Spend or Not To Spend



Amber asks how one might justify the expense of a drum carder and I shall try to do so here. After all, I need to present my case to BD one of these days.

The drum carder I want is the Fricke, largely because I like those curved teeth on the drum cloth. The darn things cost $600. That’s half again as much as I paid for HeyBaby - though there is a small one I could get for about $300 - an amount of money I could probably scrape together. The smaller one may also be a realistic size for my house and the amount of carding I’m likely to do. I don’t have plans for custom carding fibers - at the moment.

So what can I do with a drum carder? Ahhh. Well. The two main things are fiber blending and color blending. I thoroughly enjoy hand carding rolags. In fact, they are my favorite preparation, because they make light airy fluffy thick even yarn easier than any other prepared fibers. But carding enough rolags for a sweater is a monumental commitment of time. I am slowly working my way through my luscious corriadale fleece, bought at the Md. Sheep & Wool. I am determined to spin it from rolags - but now and then I think of shipping the whole baby off to Zeilingers and letting them convert it into a batt.

With a drum carder, I could make my own batt - and though I think Z is a great company with reasonable prices and fast turnaround - I could drum card enough wool for a sweater for myself and thoroughly enjoy it.

So - hand cards are slow. Drum carder is lots faster and I still get to do the work myself.

I love blending - both colors and fibers. A drum card is an efficient and speedy way to do either. Have some itchy wool? Blend in a little merino. Not enough fiber? Combine two. Want more drape in your project? Add silk. Hand cards are great for samples, but, again, blending enough for an entire project would add another 2 months to the project, given my schedule. And the issue of even, consistent blending would still have to be dealt with.

Color blending is even more exciting with a drum carder. Do, please, watch Deb Menz’s video on color blending techniques with a drum carder. When I saw her stack those 10 bats on top of each other and then pull out a length of fiber my mouth actually watered. In fact, it was while watching her draft out that enormous pile of different colored fibers that I knew my fate was sealed. One fleece - so many possibilities.

There is a slight monetary advantage to working with raw fleece. Just as spinning your own yarn allows you to work with high end fibers at about half the cost, beginning with a fleece allows you to cut the costs even further. Of course, you have to factor in all that extra time, and if what you are really wanting to do is knit, you’re probably better off just going to a yarn store. After all, there are hundreds of different, beautiful, colorful yarns out there already.

The $$$ issue, for any hobby, really is - do you have this much extra cash to spend? I can’t imagine any justification for spending money you don’t have, on anything - especially if you are buying a hobby tool. But neither do I accept the argument that “It’ll never pay for itself.” That’s not why I play with fiber. It’s also not why I spend money. I spend money to make my life better. Some of that money goes for essentials like food and shelter. Some goes for pleasure, like fiber toys. And usually, if I don’t have enough $$$ for something, I just save up for it - and do without other things. Many’s the months I have packed lunches and eaten black beans and rice for supper, so I could afford luxurious excess in other areas of my life.

To recap:

PROS:
Drum carders are faster than hand cards
Drum cards combine fibers better (faster, more evenly) than any other method
Drum cards combine colors in a unique way as well as faster and more evenly than hand preparations
You have the option to create truly unique combinations of fibers and colors
Fleece is less expensive per pound than prepared fibers

CONS:
Drum carders cost like fury - $600 = about 25 lbs of merino top or 85 balls of Aurora8 or 65 balls of Noro Kureon
Drum carders are heavy and need table space

So - the real question becomes - what is it I want to do? If it’s knitting - buy yarn. If it’s spinning - buy rovings or top or whatever. If it’s messing about with fiber, though - if you have a fiber idea or a color concept you want to experiment with - if you don’t really care that much about what, or, more importantly, when you actually put on that sweater, ahhhh - well, in for a sheep, right? Might as well move to the country straight away. Seems to me I hear that flock baaaing right this minute.


posted by Bess | 6:49 AM

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Friday, November 14, 2003  

BEAD BRAIN



At least, I have beads on the brain. Ever since the retreat I’ve been drooling over the necklace Annie showed me how to make and wondering if I can make more before Christmas. One of my library board members makes jewelry and she brought me the Fire Mountain catalog yesterday - pant, pant, lust, lust. I’ve tried to get them to send me the catalog but so far, nada - but I thought maybe if I called and placed an order......?

And there is a bead shop in Richmond - haven’t been there, but I hear it’s on Cary Street, which is always a treat to visit - and I have to go to R. on Monday.....

Of course, I need more stuff in this house like I need a bead hole drilled into it. The weekend, the sweet, blessed, gift of the weekend, looks to be an interesting one. LD tells me he’s going to move a lot of his stuff over to his house on Sunday. I think I’ll give Saturday over to reorganizing my fiber corner. It’s gotten progressively more jumbled this fall - to the point where I don’t know where any knitting needles other than the size 11’s are - you know, the size I never use! I’m also going to twine up the blue angora/merino/silk - or perhaps ply it - and get on with some other things. There are a few gifty sort of projects I’d like to get behind me before Thanksgiving, when my only girlfriend from college is supposed to come with her daughters for a day of spinning and boating.

Yep yep - winter boating. It’s a guy thing. And a teen thing. Why anybody would want to sit on a cold metal seat that is sitting on cold river water, and let cold, skin-wrinkling wind whip his face into leather, is beyond me - but then - I’m neither a guy nor a teenager. Besides, I do know why the teens want to go out with LD. I mean, they’re 13 and he’s a Man but not one of Dad’s old geezer friends.

R and I will stay indoors and knit and spin and talk about important things like - how glad we are to be together and how funny it was to do the things we did back in college.

It’s a wee bit difficult to accept that Thanksgiving is less than 2 weeks away and Christmas, less than 6. Looks like we’re going to have a smaller crowd for T day and I get more time off - time to prepare - which means time to get the worst of the spiders out of the kitchen. That’s usually an October chore - no point in getting to it before cold weather comes. But October for me was a family month and the house suffered. Sheryl has promised me a Saturday morning in early December when, together, we’ll clean out the kitchen cabinets and trash all the mealy stuff hidden there. I think I’ll tackle the cabinets above the sink too - the high ones where there are some really dusty yard-sale items moldering away.

Well, time is scampering away from me. I’m from that generation who remembers when 1984 was way up ahead, and now it’s longer ago than it was when it was up ahead! Sigh. Probably not a good idea to think about that. Ahh well. What I shall think about is that fabulous braid of hand-dyed wool I got last weekend. Wouldn’t it feel lovely running through my fingers? Life is sweet.

Pizza for dinner tonight.

posted by Bess | 6:49 AM

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Thursday, November 13, 2003  

Couldn't get into blogger this morning - probably a good thing since I don't have much to say. Just that I got through a meeting for which none of us were particularly prepared, the library board president, a.k.a. my boss, suddenly looked at me and said "you're so thin", to which I answered "thank you" and poor thing thought I was being sarcastic. "You're not getting too stressed out over your parents, are you?" he asked.

Sweet but unobservant, no? I mean, we see each other once a week. He's also my lawyer, so we also see each other outside of my job. Besides, this is truly a one horse town - certainly a 2 restaurant town (if you don't count fast food) But there you have it - we really shouldn't be so concerned about our looks - after all, who's really even looking? ("Rright?" Bess says to Bess)

Do you realize it is 2 weeks to Thanksgiving? Sheesh.

Spun a bit more on the blue cashmere/merino from Jen. I'm still thinking of knitting it as a single, especially since most of it has been on the bobbin so long it's lost most of it's torque. I really want to clear that bobbin out too. Got plans for that wheel of mine. But probably I ought to order some extra bobbins too. 4 just ain't enough.

posted by Bess | 11:11 AM

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Wednesday, November 12, 2003  

posted by Bess | 6:31 AM

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We're making the interesting adjustment to having LD live next door. He's moving in slowly, most of the furniture is still cammed into our house and Mount Stuffmore resides in his old bedroom, but he isn't here in the morning to take walks with or share a breakfast. So far he's still having dinner with us, a treat for us all since we get to hear about his day, and in the dark, BD and the dogs are walking back with him. I quit midnight walks years ago when the ortho told me I had trashed my ankles. "As in, let's cut them off and throw them away?" I asked and he said "Basically, yes."

I gave a repeat of my Color workshop to the Tuesday Night Knitters last night - and it's different with a small group. Both kinds of groups, big and small, are fun, but they really are different. Everybody oood and ahhhd over the knitted wire and bead necklace and they all want a class. Where is that Fire Mountain catalog?

WW was a triumph too - because I only gained 1 lb at GMT. Seems everybody gained last week ... no, one successful member slid down past another 5 lb goal. Thinking back, I totally enjoyed every meal there except the last one. For that one, I was neither hungry nor did I really enjoy food I ate - somthing to think about now. It seems strange to me that I really would eat when I had absolutely no appetite. I haven't done that in 6 months and truely, I didn't enjoy it. What is this mixed message - make pleasure miserable? Weird. Anyway - back up to 6 lbs from goal. Back on the program.

I diddled around with the fibers I bought at the retreat - a black shetland/mohair mix that spins very fine - Lace? I think so. And the gorgeous Romeldale - it spins up thin or thick and either way it's got a cushiony spring to it that makes me feel so snuggly cozy. Knitting away too, on the lavender lace scarf - very popular last night at the knitting group.

So. A lovely day off - and now it's hump day - with a 4 o'clock meeting but nothing else too strenuous. Wednesday means story hour you know.

posted by Bess | 6:24 AM

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Tuesday, November 11, 2003  



Here's the lace scarf I'm knitting from Jen's hand dyed mohair and a matching silk yarn.




Here's the tiny swatch of brown Romeldale, spindle spun and knit up - very tight knitting, because I only had size 5's. But pleasant to work with and I'm thinking Jean Frost type of jacket - a bit of body to the fabric. I've been spinning it on the wheel today though, and it's much more fun to spin loosely. It really wants to be a sweater. A squishy huggy sweater.

posted by Bess | 4:44 PM

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SHE'S BAAAAACK!



What do you call it when you step from tension, frozen creativity, that bleak sense of futility, into the golden glow of warmth, friendship renewed and begun, artistic energy, boundless resources, giddy joy and a sort of primal gastronomic excess?

Oh, yeah, Knitters Review Retreat, of course.

I’m back from the second one and still somewhat amazed that the second retreat could reach levels of inspiration and pleasure greater than the first one. I’m all those remarkable things one is, when the sloughing process occurs; the old tired dead skin peels off and healthy fresh supple skin is revealed. There’s tremendous pride that I am a part of something so fine; the fiber world - Clara’s fiber world, self-selecting artists who want to dip into a communal pool. There’s deep, thankful joy that beautiful souls could come back to touch my life again. There’s thrilling joy that new souls have embraced mine - and that an ancient bond has been revealed. There is the surging energy in my own creativity, unleashed by the presence, the demonstration, the artistic sharing of 70 diverse women.

Even the heavens cooperated with this retreat, and not only because of the lunar display presented that night. Virginia’s Novembers can be very iffy - wet or hot or gloomy. Instead, we traveled on a crisp Friday, to Madison County, (Not the one with the bridges, the one with the apples.), with folk arriving pretty much from mid-day on. I got there about 4 and the room was already filling up with smiling happy faces. Hugs, laughter, sparkling eyes were everywhere. Martha was helping with registration again, still quite, still gentle, but I believe a little more confident this year. It helps to know the routine. I expected Jen to be there already, with her happy mischief grins - She always looks like she’s got something cool to tell you and she does. We were roomies, already plotting our attack on the gals next door. I had a message for Lissa from BD - “When is she coming back?”.

Tables were set up around the room so folk could drop off their 10 balls of different colored yarns. 6 of them - for the primary and secondary colors plus one for the neutrals. And a table for people to put out swap stuff. I forget who it was who got the gorgeous rustygoldenbrown stuff (Amie? Was it you, wicked lady?) but it was providential, since Jen had some romeldale of the same color that I was supposed to buy anyway.

It was interesting that this year a number of us were coming to the retreat after some tough personal issues. Serious illness, major losses, professional blows, personal crises. This is likely to be the case in any gathering of widely flung folk, but since I was one of these LifeEvents escapees, perhaps I sensed it more. It was glorious that we could heal ourselves in our passion for fiber.

Of course, no stay at Graves Mt. can be seen outside the world of eating and we were seated at the long tables Friday night and plied with heaped platters of Virginia ethnic food - buttery vegetables, hot bread and fried fish. Old hands were not surprised, had already given up their nutritional limits, and laughingly indulged in the apple accompaniment offered by the GMT kitchen. New members were a little more silent about their stomach shock since the second termers took it so philosophically. 100% of us are back on our personal version of Weight Watchers today. (written on Monday a.m.)

The Friday session was a chance to get to Introduce Ourselves - round the big oval of chairs - and to show off our best, worst, favorite and first knitterly babies. New this year were the spinning wheels twirling, along with the gently flicking knitting needles.

Last year we were up till past 11, which, for this Cinderella, is 2 hours into sleepy time. I swore I’d sneak out at 10 and get some Zs because I was pretty keyed up about teaching something for the first time. (I do this to guests at my house too - cook them something I’ve never made before) Of course, I found I couldn’t leave. Jokes were fast, furious and a wee bit ribald. Edie’s weekend wardrobe was a hoot. I had to linger to oooo and aaaahh over each luscious item. Mary’s Thanksgiving Sweater, an Alice Starmore in infinitesimal perfect stitches, is what pops into my mind today (which is Tuesday), but you can be sure there were dozens and dozens of beauties traveling around the room.

It was in the midnight range when I actually shut my eyes up in my hillside aerie and it was 6 when the alarm went off. I was already awake. The dim gray of dawn gave me enough light to dress by so that Jen could sleep a little longer, but I was up and out the door for a brisk walk in the fr-fr-freezing morning air. I figured if I was going to way-overeat this weekend, the least I could do was get in a bit of exercise. Be sure, that walk was the last truly physical thing I did all weekend. I couldn’t bear to be away from the group after that.

But the fresh air did help me calm myself a bit and there was plenty of time to set up for the Color Theory workshop. Everyone was very kind and complimentary and if I had only been more organized I could have displayed the stained glass vest to show the power of complimentary colors, instead of pulling it out later when people were busy with other stuff. All I can say was that every one was extremely sweet about it and I still think just looking at a vibrant color wheel is something that excites people - so I’m mighty glad I had prepared that. And of course - there is nothing like a good bibliography.

There was a good 45 minutes of chaos while people took their turns selecting from the color tables - and I must confess - I love that sort of hubbub chaos, but just this moment I am realizing what a rotten thing that was to do to Annie - because she had to pull them all back into order so she could teach her fabulous plaid technique. So here is my official apology to her - Annie - I promise never to do that to you again!!.

And it was a fabulous technique - a combination of slip stitches and vertical stripes - too cool for words and, of course, like all knitting, such a surprisingly sensible way to do something elaborate. I swear - that juxtaposition of easy and fancy is one of knitting’s most appealing components.

Lunch was a haul, and I began trashing all my Weight Watcher’s resolutions - with desert and I forget what else we had - barbecue? something delicious.

And then there was Light - er... no - Shopping. Oh the shopping. OOOOOOO the shopping. Ahhhhh the shopping. Bracelets from Annie. Hey - Amie - didn’t you get my bracelet too? Well, Annie had the real Bess-bracelet, probably set aside for me. Gorgeous polished rusty agates knit onto copper wire. And Lissa had my Sheep Happens pin plus a beautiful blue porcelain pot with gently flaring sides, exactly the color to go in the den, to hold my knitting needles. Of course Carodan Farms had heaps and piles of Noro and sock yarn and Barbara Gentry of Stony Mt. Farms brought Interlacements gorgeous colors. Clara let me sneak in a wee bit early to snag a Take Back the Needles T-shirt - but see, I’d e-mailed her earlier with the request. And I finally got one of her knitting lady pins. No photograph does them justice, dearies. In spite of their whimsy and polymer clay construction, they are absolutely jewelry-quality items.

But the big excitement was Spirit Trail Fiberworks. You are not going to believe a woman who took her first dye class in May could put together such a collection of colors, fibers, and superbly professional displays. But she did. I know how hard she’s worked, I’ve been to her house, which is run with clever precision. I’ve even seen in her closet, guys - where everything is in order. Awe is way too modest a word to describe my response to Jen’s organizational skills. But combine that with an eye for color and you have a recipe for a fiber shop of divine beauty. I watched the colors disappear off the racks so fast I got a little worried there wouldn’t be anything for me. But there was plenty and Jen’s rare sheep wool, cleverly packaged so that a tuft of the fiber poked out of the top of the bag - allowing you to feel them without having to open their bags - ahhh well - that was my real playground. I’ve already spun up a bit of the Romeldale and e-mailed her to save me two bags more. I simply must make a sweater out of this stuff. I’ll knit a swatch today and post a picture of it tomorrow.

The real danger of shopping with 70 fellow fiber enthusiasts is that, caught up in their energy, you spend more money than you can afford. I did - too - but ... well ... it’s a long time to another Retreat. The energy was pulsating. The voices were excited. The room got hot! It was sensory overload to the max and so much fun. Wickedly I encouraged this one, and she encouraged that one, and that one encouraged me, to spend.

After a while we staggered out of the shopping room and found seats in the main meeting room, pulling out our purchases and casting on, talking in groups here and there. ( Yes, wise Clara had reserved both rooms, one for meeting in and one for shopping. It allowed you to take a breather and come back for more.) I’ll confess, I never can do much of a complicated nature when I am cranked up and energized by people. A true E in the Myers briggs scale, eventually my only response is to talk. Talktalktalktalktalktalktalk. I talk till my voice gives out. It’s irritating to many and even a little, to me - but in a big group you can move from one cluster to another and spread the itch around.

Annie had brought her swift and ball winder and was also teaching Wire & Bead knitting - which I wanted desperately to learn - but was too cranked up to sit still that long. Still - beautiful necklaces were made by the calmer folk. And I got my chance on Sunday morning.

The dinner bell rang at 6:30 and we piled upstairs for more sustaining nourishment. I suppose it’s possible I ate smaller portions than I would have pre-WW, but otherwise, I just packed it in - and drank coffee to boot, because, not only did I intend to be the one to put out the lights this night, I had an evil plot in mind for the quiet dark hours.

The evening was given over to spinning and knitting - and Barbara Gentry of Stony Mt. pulled out her drum carders. She made at least 2 sales that weekend - and I am sick with jealousy. I want a Fricke Drum Carder sooooooooooooo badly. Prices go up January 1 and I had really better see how I can squeeze the pennies out of my budget. This may require a serious Christmas time talk with Ed. I don’t need a drum carder, mind you. But I reeeeeeeeeealy want one. Barbara helped me blend some lovely orange wool with some turquoise and yellow silk. But most of the evening was spent luring innocents into the spinning fold. It’s such a thrill for me to teach spinning - even more so than knitting. I think I could teach spinning pretty much forever - I certainly taught till my voice suddenly gave out about midnight.

Lurking back in my room, which was conveniently located next door to Clara’s, I waited behind the slightly opened motel room door with pillows in hand. Ambush! occurred at 12:10 a.m. Sunday the 9th, and not only was our fearless leader caught, but cousin Katy and Aunt Judy.

Jen and I talked a lot longer Saturday night. No classes to teach, no shops to set up, we were ready to hash over the day - fondle our purchases, count up the receipts. But eventually, Morpheus took us in his arms and it required true dawn to awaken us.

Starved for sustenance, of course, we were at the table at 8:30 on the dot - eggs, bacon, apple cake, biscuits, chipped beef & gravy, cereal, juice, fruit, apple butter - just your usual tossed together Sunday breakfast. By now, talk was really intense. People were starting to confess secrets and personal things and connecting with even more intimacy. Some few had to peel off to make planes or meet schedules so there was a good bit of hopping up from the table to hug. This only increased at lunchtime.

Afterwards, the intrepid went on a hay ride, but my throat was still a wee bit achy, fortunately it did not turn into a cold, and elected to stay in. And when I found Annie still had her necklace kits out and had the time to get me going - well ... would you have passed up the opportunity to learn to knit with wire?

Lunch was actually an exercise in punishment - I did quite well at it, thank you, even ate a wee bit of the cake, just to prove I could still pig out like a teenager. And then it was time to go home. We’d checked out of the rooms right before breakfast and packed our cars before driving down to the lodge. It was just too hard to pull ourselves away from the place. Jen succumbed to pressure and pulled out her fibers once again - A real Trunk Show. And I did. Yes. I bought another cashmere/merino hank. Well. there was still some money in my wallet. What could I do?

But at 2 o’clock I gave a few weepy hugs to Clara, Jen, Amie, and a few others still standing wistfully about and got in my car. Met up with Lindsey-Brooke (yea!!! A Richmond gal - does this mean a shopping trip ahead? at the new yarn store in Richmond?!? Can we drag in Julie the purple lady?) at the Graves Mt. shop where they sell apple cider - the kind that goes hard!

It was a difficult drive home - although I remember being a lot sadder last year and a lot more specifically happy this year. I could really explain to BD what a magical experience it all was. Picked up Texas Chili for the guys in Fredericksburg - and they’d both forgotten I was going to bring it home so LD wasn’t there and BD had eaten a big lunch. It’s chili every day this week, I’m afraid.

Lawsee what a weekend. What an experience. All the wonderful women I can’t even begin to remember now. Libby - I was so glad to hug you again. Jo - you know we’re soul sisters. Barbara? Babs? Edie? Catherine? Vicky? Dawn? Margaret? Julie? Shawn? Amy? .... I am not able to name everyone - and not because I don’t have specific memories of each of them - but because when I begin to look at the roster in my memory I begin to drift away and I’m sitting with you again, watching, sharing, learning. But I want to post this thing today - not next April. So here is where - heart full, mind whirling, but lips closed - I finally shut up.


posted by Bess | 8:38 AM

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Friday, November 07, 2003  

Like everyone else headding to the KRRetreat, I’m dashing about packing and stuffing and stupidly wishing I’d started the packing list last week instead of trying to scribble down everything I think I may need. I know I’ll take more than I do need. And leave home things I really wish I’d brought. Heh.

Pretty much packed, with visuals, paper handouts, half finished samples, two real sweaters knit by self; wearing one - to demonstrate why I need short rows in my sweaters - the other will be Flidas.

I’m not taking Hey Baby because she won’t fit in the car. Or rather, the only place she’ll fit is being taken up by a giant color wheel. I do have both spindles.


woops. LD just came downstairs and asked “ya wanna go fer a walk?”

Seeya.

posted by Bess | 7:10 AM

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Thursday, November 06, 2003  

Behind the 8 ball on stuff for the weekend. I keep thinking I won't spend my usual 2 hours in the a.m. perusing the net but I always end up doing it anyway. Nearly 6 a.m. now and gotta shower no later than 9. Let's see how much I can get done in 3 hours.

It's just too darn easy to sit talking with LD in the evenings. ah well. It's a matter of compromise. I'll take pictures of him intead of the visuals I intended to make.

posted by Bess | 5:58 AM

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Wednesday, November 05, 2003  


Which Spindle Are You?


Thanks, Marg. This was fun. But really I am a Golding

posted by Bess | 12:07 PM

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Days to the KRRetreat are melting so fast I can barely catch my breath. I’m no way near ready and getting to that panic point where I don’t care either. I must keep reminding myself that the whole thrust behind the retreat is for a bunch of happy knitters to get together and share knowledge. Just that blabbermouth here offered to be the one standing up, looking as if I know something. Idioto.

Beautiful Precious Angel Baby Darling Only Son (PABDOS) got in Monday, complete with North Dakota Cold, and has filled the house with more sweet joy than ever. Of particular delectable happiness is the fact that he’s here to stay a while. No ship on deployment, no standing watch, just pure sweet opportunity to try a new path in life. He told us on his way back east he stopped in Blacksburg, where he went to college, and went to a favorite spot in the New River, and stood on the rocks, remembering the last time he had been there - a young man excited about becoming a Naval Officer. Now, 6 years later he was back, with the knowledge that he’d come full circle - had set out to accomplish something and had done it, and had put it to rest.

I have always loved watching this boy. From the moment he was born he fascinated me. Our eyes connected that dreadful day in the delivery room, and all the hideous doctors (county health Drs. who treated me like trailer trash who ought to have been sterilized, not delivered - but that is another story) melted away. Of course, I expected to like my own child, and I was reeeeeeeeeeeeealy ready for babies, but with LD, man - we began laughing at the same jokes from the git-go.

All through my pregnancy, old country housewives would say “he’ll be comp’ny for you” and I would smile and nod and murmur. But they were beyond right. He was - in some odd ways, the best friend I ever had. We loved - and still do love - to “walk and talk”, as he would put it. “come on, Mom, let’s walk ‘n’talk” he said as a wee one, and still says today. One year he went to a day camp in town and the director said to me “it is so weird to hear your jokes come out of his mouth”.

One of the favorite things we used to do was to analyze the world. If we were in a store and got stuck in a long line at the cashier we would talk about how we would fix this problem if we were in charge. When things went wrong at school, we’d talk about what could have motivated the people involved to behave the way they did. And he loved for me to tell him The Story of My Birthday - which was a somewhat gentled version of his birth. Oh - he knows I’d still run over the DR. that delivered him, but he also got the good parts - like the nurse who, when she heard what we were naming him, said “Sounds like a president” and he loved the part when the OR nurse called my mom, when it was all over, and said, “L! We managed to save both the mother and the baby! Where were you?” This little tale was part of his birthday ritual - because that was the day Grandma’s dog ate all the chickens and our dog Holly had puppies too. It was a day of Birth and Death exrodinaire.

I only once saw this fellow crushed by anything and that, only for one night. He was, and still is, the most optimistic person. He’s determined and resourceful and loves to solve problems, but he’s flexible enough to change directions when he’s up against a brick wall. He’s just pure pleasure for this mama.

Whew. I didn’t now all that would pour out but what the heck, this is my blogg after all. I can brag all I want. Besides, it’s true.

Exciting good news for me diet wise. Last night at WW the scales showed a hefty drop of 2.2 lbs. Less than 5 lbs to go to my goal. Whew. Of course, Graves Mountain Lodge’s kitchen is waiting up ahead, this weekend. This is going to take some serious planning.

And now - off to work on samples again.

posted by Bess | 7:10 AM
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