Like The Queen

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

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Sunday, January 18, 2004

I got this from Marg, who knits on the bus.

Pholph's Scrabble Generator

My Scrabble© Score is: 28.
What is your score? Get it here.

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posted by Bess | 11:40 AM

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COMPLETE REPORT

Really Really Long - Possibly more than you want to know

Some moments are so ripe with sentiment, sensuality and spirituality you find yourself waiting for them to burst with a physical manifestation, like a birthing. On Friday afternoon, as I stood looking through the doorway from Barbara's dye-room into the showroom of her studio, seeing the rhythmic motions of the spinners' hands, hearing the slight whirrrr of the wheels, the low, calming voices of the women, with the arching swing of N working the picker as J's graceful hands scooped up the flying fiber being tossed off its wicked teeth, my heart knew I was experiencing one of those moments. To try to describe such a supreme moment is a display of hubris on my part that tempts retribution. It is far more truly the right of the poet or bard, but the moment itself is too big for my soul to contain it. It must pour forth or I shall be immobilized by the wonder of it.

Of course there were many beautiful notes in the prelude to that glorious climactic moment. Friday dawned quite cold. As I sped away from home I saw LD warming up his truck - with naughty Socks, our yellow dog, skipping around his legs. He often walks over in the night and the dogs accompany him home across the fields. Priss never lingers, but lately, Socks has taken to staying at his house all night. He's good about not letting her in or feeding her, but she's smitten and love knows no bonds. Besides, she knows the way home and eventually, she'll get hungry. She was at the house yesterday when I drove up.

I'm always a tad frustrated on the trip to Charlottesville. It always seems to take longer than it should. Of course there is no direct road to C'ville from my house. One must either drive south then west then northwest or north then west then southwest to get there. BD has devised a straight shot, but it's down back roads and, while beautiful, must be driven slowly. It was hard enough, on Friday, to pay the debt of time to get there on fast roads. This was a day to sacrifice beauty for speed. I monitored the clock and from town to the moment I walked through the door of The Needlewoman into the loving arms of J and L, was 2 hours 20 minutes.

I am noticing that when I am with a group of like-minded women in a fiber environment, I have a hard time making my brain work. I'm so enmeshed in the sensuality of fiber, color, pleasure, friendship, love and delight, I have almost no judgment, no ability to act, think or decide. I can't really even knit if I let myself be a part of the experience, nor can I work on anything else, as I found out Friday afternoon. I have always thought I was a group worker - a committee person - not I, some Jack Horner, sitting in a corner, pulling out plums. I need People to get moving.

Well, that may be so, but I need solitude - no - no, I need to be apart, to get on with working, as I had to acknowledge yet again, later that day. Not even shopping can be done well, when I'm with delightful friends in an Aladdin's cave of desirable goods. It's fortunate for me that I ventured into this new place on a scouting foray, to just look. I would have been too excited and happy to make serious choices.

Anyway, there were hugs and smiles and loving words and huge grins and laughing voices when we three met and then coats were tossed onto a chair and we began the delightful process of touching, and ooing and ahhing.

When I assess a shop I'm looking for three things. First and foremost is a friendly atmosphere. This is not essential, mind - I shop to buy, not to be loved, but it is often a factor in whether I go back frequently or only when I am in need. The second thing I want is a good stock of quality wool in an array of colors. By wool I do not mean yarn. I mean the stuff off the sheep's back. I really truly love wool fiber. I love the way it takes colors. I love its elasticity. I love its springy tactile liveliness that invites touching. I love its scent, wet or dry. I love to sculpt it with needles and fingers. I like to wear cotton and silk and linen. I will wear synthetics. But when it comes to time spent with yarn - I want wool. The bigger the choice a shop offers me, the happier I am.

The last thing I am looking for is something unusual. Something nobody else has. Or at least, something unique to my experience; the shop's own line of wool; rare hand dyed yarns by a local artist; something different.

The Needlewoman has all three of my A-list requirements and it's certainly a shop I'll return to. It's large, airy and packed full of lovely yarns. The owner is present, friendly, helpful without hovering. Her assistant is a courtly looking gentleman who can talk fiber and knows the stock. The shop had the expected wall of novelty scarf yarns and I picked up two different glittery color-bits yarns to use with my dark peach Stars scarf. One is Eros with black tracks and color bits in oranges and golds and the other is Rialto, also with black string but more colorful flags. I'm not sure which one I'll use but the other will be given a home in some future happy project. Plenty of Cascade - a yarn I haven't used, but intend to. Brown Sheep, thank you, always glad to see that. And some Australian yarns in ice cream parlor colors full of the bright light of that very brightly lit country. It took monumental discipline not to buy a basket full of those colors, because a fair isle design for a hat began dancing across my inner eye the moment I saw them. I may yet have to return sometime soon - but the results of my November inventory were still standing sentinel on my pocketbook - and my inner peace. I resisted, but with real regret. The most difficult act of all was not buying that alpaca put up in 600+ yard hanks and priced at $25 a hank. $50 for an alpaca sweater was mighty hard to resist. But I also knew I had a trunk full of Falkland Island Polwarth, pounds and pounds of fiber and yarn at home, a sweater on the needles, two on the UFO list ... you get the picture. No yarn for me till I finish 2 sweaters. Period.

I did, though, buy XRX's new book Arans & Celtics: The Best of Knitters Magazine. Woo Woo. It really does have my favorite of Knitters arans and celtics. Especially the sweaters in the Fall 99 issue which I bought and have now lost. I am absolutely going to make an aran sweater in the next 18 months. I love cables. I love to look at them, touch them and wear them. But I don't own one. What is wrong with this picture? I also bought the Winter Vogue knitting magazine - because I like eye candy and I thought there were a few things I found inspiring inside. I haven't enjoyed VK in a long long time. It still has a bunch of soporific stuff in it, but the adds are better than ever. I applaud them, too, on the article on preventing stress injuries with healthful stretching exercises - particularly good were the explanations of injuries like trigger fingers. Good for them.

We lingered at the shop about an hour, chattering excitedly but I had an agenda - and L & J let me push them on. J knew how wonderful Stony Mt. Fibers was going to be and L was game for anything. Lunch was in one of those restaurants you find in a university town. Mr. Jefferson was nothing if not a connoisseur, and good food abounds. Cute waiter with a French accent didn't hurt either.

I have driven about in C'ville a bit but I wouldn't say I was familiar with it. Fortunately it was an easy shot out to Rt. 20 and a 15 minute drive up to Hammock's Gap Road. It's always further down that road than I remembered, when I go to Barbara's, but perhaps that's because I'm so excited about getting there. I will never forget the tight knot in my stomach the first time I drove up there - on the quest for a spinning wheel. Down the stony dirt road, then up and round and up and then, more up, to the green mail box and there is Stony Mountain Fibers.

Allow me to pause here and sigh.

I want to live in Barbara Gentry's studio. I want to pack a sleeping bag and when darkness comes, to lie on the floor surrounded by fibers and looms, wheels and needles, yarns and fleece, colors and books. I want the arms of a happy day to cradle me to sleep. I want the baa of sheep to waken me in the morning. I love this place. I love Barbara too. She is so calm and so peaceful. Her hands are graceful, as a weaver's ought to be. Her eyes are brimming with joy, for she is a woman who has followed her path with courage and love. I'm so glad to have found her and I'm so glad to have introduced other beloved women to her. How fitting that when I arrived, R and the girls were already there.

R is my oldest friend. Even older than BD for I met her about a day before I met him. When two chatter boxes meet, the first thing that happens is that conversation spills about in a froth of generosity all around them. It is a veritable bubblebath of sharing. That is how it was with L and me. But when you meet a QuietOne, the meeting is with the eyes. Even if you are a chatter box - when your eyes connect with a QuietOne, you know. That is how it was with J and that is how it was with R. We met at school, assigned to the same top floor in a high rise dormitory. I walked into one of the school cafeterias and there she sat, across the room and our eyes met and the thread of our lives spun together in that instant.

In the early years we were inseparable. There is nobody I have ever been as silly with as with R. We were silly and noisy and naughty as only 18 year old girls, fresh from our parent's supervision, can be. We pushed a number of limits, but only limits of absurdity, not of illegality, drugs, ethics or any of the other evil temptations. We were children of the '60's but we were both on personal quests and the radical movements fluttered around us, but never touched us. Art was our goddess, and the earth. Time has passed - thirty two years, in fact. Eventually we each landed on Rt. 631, albeit in different counties, married to land surveyors, who actually turned out to be distant kin, with a single child to delight our old age and more dogs than anybody needs. We heat our houses with wood stoves, live next door to intimate family members and shiver with delight when our hands plunge deep into bales of fiber. R is a better gardener than I; is more disciplined with all that she attempts; does not have mountains of stash and her house is tidier than mine. But those are merely differences of degree.

What delight it is to be in a place you love, with people you love. More than that, though, is a particular femininity that is brought out when women sit and spin. I really hate the term Stitch and Bitch. It makes me sad to hear it used, to see it in print, I was offended by the use of it as a book title, and just .. well. I just hate it. I hate the term bitch when it is applied to women unless they really are being bitchy. To call a gathering of women with fiber a Stitch&Bitch seems to condemn them to bitching about stuff. More to the point, I have seldom found women turning bitchy when they are gathered together around their wheels and with their fibers. Any two people may not like each other and be unkind or hostile or mean. But that's a personal thing, not a feminine trait.

Nothing could be further from the reality of Friday afternoon than the term bitch. These were beautiful women whose faces had blossomed with delight at the colors, textures and scents in Barbara's studio, and then relaxed into peaceful contemplation as they settled into their craft. They were there to experiment - to connect - to share. It was so pretty to see them, and it was extremely feminine.

And I was there to work.

I really did have a monumental job before me. My 3 or so lbs of F I Polwarth filled two trash can bags, but when we'd finished running half of it through the picker I still had two bags full, only they were now the lawn 'n leaf sized bags. The picker is a scary looking machine and we were all extremely careful with it. It has a curved bed studded with 3 inch sharp spikes and a pendulum curved to fit the bed, also studded with 3 inch sharp spikes. The pendulum swings back and forth in the bed. You feed the locks between bed and pendulum and it opens up the locks, tossing little fluffy bits of it onto the table in front of you. R's daughter J and her friend N spent almost all of the afternoon with me floofing (their own word for it) the fibers while I fed them into the electric carder. It took approximately 20 minutes to card a 3 foot batt on that big machine.

In my haste to have all the wool washed, I had not picked out the second cuts on some of the sections of fleece. STUPID. Once washed, those cuts were distributed throughout the fibers and there was no picking them out. What the carder removed I accepted with gratitude, and what is left I shall have to accept with grace. It changes utterly what I had in mind for this yarn - since it can be spun as fine as silk, with its long fibers and strong crimp. I shall just have to design something that displays the texture of the yarn I spin with it - and remember, next time I have a fleece, to pick out those second cuts before I do anything else.

I really had a choice Friday - to work with the fleece, or to linger with the BeauteousOnes. I chose to work, though I took breaks to join the circle often. It was enough to be able to hear the spinners in the other room. Besides, we realized almost instantly that this could not be our only gathering. We were going to have to do this on a regular basis. Monthly, perhaps? However we arrange it, we will cluster again in Barbara's wonderful studio. By 4:30 R had to leave, taking the girls with her. I was nowhere near done with my pickin' and a cardin'. In fact, I had made it through less than 25% of the stuff I'd brought. Since I was spending the night at R's house, it was decided that I would return with her and the girls on Saturday and see if I could at least card up another big chunk. Barbara took J and L with her to feed the sheep while I finished up one last batt and then we all went out to dinner. The same tenor of grace laced our conversation through the dark night, at the restaurant, along the ride home. We teased L with the most outre of our spiritual experiences, learned more about Barbara's life as a fiber artist, pumped J for news about Spirit Trail Fibers , ate copious amounts of food, and were impressed with J's ability to navigate at night through an unknown town, complete with blocked traffic and broken water mains, in freezing weather. All of us heaved blissful sighs as we drove back to Barbara's. Sighs that told the tale of repletion, fulfilledness, utter, complete satisfaction.

I peeled off after dinner, for I didn't want to be too late getting to R's house. It was a short enough drive, but I was surprised at how much traffic filled Hwy. 29 at 7 p.m. on a Friday night in January. I guess all of Virginia is filling up, but I do wonder where these people are coming from! It took less than an hour and I was soon in R's cozy house, with her Ds and her dogs and talk and laughter and that poking and prodding you can do in a beloved friend's house when you haven't visited for a while. They are renovating the whole bedroom area and both J and I spent the night next door in the house where EJ grew up. It's like all those wonderful old 18th and 19th century Virginia houses - with staircases that surprise and bathrooms in strange places and that wonderful smell of timelessness. Mrs.B was warm and gracious and with such a twinkle in her eye, and my bed was snowy fresh and cozy.

Saturday dawned with pink clouds dappling the sky over the blue tips of mountain tops. After a hearty breakfast, that pretty much lasted me till 3, the girls and I headed back to SMF. Friday's joy was still lingering in the studio. Barbara had already unlocked the door and we could hop right to it. There was so much fiber still to process, I decided to finish only the first bag full. I had to keep reminding myself that this truly is not the last trip I'll ever make to SMF, and I couldn't possibly spin all the batts I'd made over the next month or so.

It transpired that the girls ended up helping Barbara package felting needles - and I bought each of them a set, (Barbara contributed colored wool) - while R worked with me in the carding room. Once again there was gentle soft loving conversation, sharing with fingers and words and the tingle of two people who have loved each other a long time. And I did get that big bag done, and a little of the corriedale, which J and I bought last May. Just one big batt of it, to see what it is like. It carded so differently from the Polwarth!

But I will send that out to the professionals. I don't want to card for hours and hours. I want to spin and knit.

R&thegirls left about 2 and I lingered maybe another hour. Picked up some felting needles for myself, along with the most delightful little book about making needle felted creatures and Interweave Press's Tops with a Twist. First really different hat book I've seen in ages - it ranks up there with Zilboorg's hat book - but with more techniques that I have never tried. Barbara also had pretty much the complete line of Interlacements fibers. She had several yarns, including Little Toes, a mohair and I believe a boucle, as well as silk and merino roving in all the handpaint designs they offer. She also had their fiber card so you could order any of their yarns or fibers in their dye patterns. I picked up two hanks of the silk roving in vivid blue, green, purple, gold and orange. Yum for me. More blue than I usually wear but I am thinking summer tank top and I'm thinking about spinning and knitting it so that the golds and oranges are closest to my face. Ahh plans and plots and dreams.

The weather forecast was for wet falling stuff - an icy mix - and I was on the road by 3 p.m. The traffic was not bad driving home. Nothing tempted me to stop except for one comfort stop along I64. The only wet spot I encountered was in King and Queen county and that shower had already passed. A fine sleet was just beginning as I drove up to the door of home to find golden light pouring out of the windows, smoke curling out of the chimney and all the hugs this hug-hungry body needed, waiting there for me.

It had been a perfect two days that ended in a perfect homecoming. Yes. Sometimes, perfect is the perfect word.

posted by Bess | 8:57 AM

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Friday, January 16, 2004

Off to Charlottesville. I'll take the corriedale as well as the polwarth. Be back tomorow with a complete report.

posted by Bess | 6:53 AM

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Thursday, January 15, 2004

More body stuff, but not much

Still getting used to fitting additional protein into the diet, but already feeling the effects. The addition means something has to be subtracted and, boo hoo, it is the mid-afternoon sugar treat. Usually that's been the WW snack bar. Now it will be a piece of fruit, which I know, I know, is better for me anyway. And I'm a grown up - I don't have to indulge the half-hearted temper tantrum thrown by my inner-child. In fact, it can be fruit + cottage cheese which is somewhat tempting. Okay - another trip to the grocery store. Thank goodness we have a fridge at the library.

I've been swimming through molasses with a major project at work and was still behind time with my responsibilities and homework as of yesterday, when the committee was scheduled to meet. Instead of doing weights, I did a little aerobic stuff on the treadmill. I can read while walking by propping the book on the handlebar in front of me. I seldom do so, because neither exercise nor reading comprehension is pleasurable when I try to multi-task that way. I'd far rather daydream than try to wrap my brain around someone else's ideas, when I'm exercising. What I wish is that they'd put real book racks on a couple of those machines, because it puts a strain on my fingers holding things steady. In a perfect world, huh? hmmm. They do have a suggestion box - hmmm.

Anyway, the mistake was that I'd decided on no 3 p.m. candy bar (it is a candy bar, even if it is "fortified") but had not put something in its place. By the time I got out of the meeting, helped LD access something he needed on-line, joked with a couple of board members, helped a patron with a knitting pattern problem, and gone to the grocery store it was nigh on to 7 and I was famished! Dinner was lean pork barbecue - delicious and cooked by someone else to boot, but I ate a ton of it. Easily more than strictly equaling the 2 portions I had planned. So. Learn something new everyday - that 3 p.m. snack is an essential, not an indulgence.

But the good thing is I don't feel the threat of spiraling out of control looming any more. If you don't have a food/body/weight issue, it may be difficult to understand how this can overwhelm a person's life, till he begins to ignore the body altogether - after all there really is more to life than my body. Just that - without the body I don't get to live the rest of that life. I don't mean to obsess all the time about it - only some of the time.

Speaking of TheBod, it experienced its first real hot flash yesterday. It is amazing how really pink a sallow face can become when hormones wig out. Not at all unpleasant, though a bit surprising, my first thought was "Am I coming down with something?" But then, my first labor contractions, 28 years ago, felt good too. Boy was I in for a surprise.

As for the molasses swimming - we broke through that yesterday at last. Just like my horoscope said "useful dialogue". And ThankGoodness too 'cause I was beginning to worry about my effectiveness as a librarian. It's been a tough year to care about my job, much of which I can do on auto-pilot - but only for limited stretches of time. I don’t really do well in states of ennui, boredom, and limpidity. All my life I have engaged with passion or walked away. With my job I've been lucky that something has always come along to stimulate that excitement and energy, just in time to keep me from throwing in the towel. Yesterday seemed to be a watershed day and I hope it means a nice long flow downstream before we hit another containment pond.

Didn't get a stitch knit yesterday. I was so hungry and then so sleepy, I was worthless. As I crept up to bed, through my sleepy haze I heard poor BD mummer "But I’ve missed you so much". This is ominous, since I'm going to be up and out early today and tomorrow, when I'll be gone all day and maybe even overnight. Special attention is called for tonight - and then - it'll be the weekend, and a long one at that.

So. In addition to the HFs I am up at crack-o-3 a.m. wandering around downstairs. I believe I will take my Stars sweater and watch Patsy Z spin wool.

posted by Bess | 5:05 AM

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Delightful, but unexpeced guests are here, surprisingly early risers. All guys, so they're sure to be out of the house as soon as it's high noon and the night owls among them creep out of bed. It's cold as blue blazes - that must mean they'l put one of the boats in the water and risk life and limb on the river. Hey, why not? Who's gonna let a little thing like hypotermia stop you? Or perhaps a walk to up to Rose Hill.

Anyway, I'll be back later with my collected thoughts about increased appetite as a result of ramped up activity, critical mass in the world of knitting literature, and the folly of trying to wash all the F I Polwarth at once, in the washing machine.

posted by Bess | 6:27 AM

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Saturday, January 10, 2004

I spent the yesterday pacing, nibbling, and being altogether antsy, waiting for the tax lady, talking to the tax lady, and being relieved when the tax lady was gone. This is the IRS tax lady, my dears and we are being audited, which seems such a waste of time, since it is obvious that the error was mine, it was in their favor, I would never have discovered it, and now we are due to get a rather substantial refund. I believe I shall stake a claim for it, for fiber spending, since I am the one who has always borne the brunt of ThatSortOfThing. (paperwork).

Anyway, she left about 1. And though she was as pleasant as an IRS auditor can be, and she has to come back again in a few weeks, (lawsee I hope not on the 16th!) we felt like naughty kids let out of school. BD had some work to do in the early afternoon but once done, we fled to F'burg and had a delightful celebratory meal + shopping at Boarders. Not the least of the pleasures of going somewhere with BD is that it gives me a chance to knit and since this trip is an hour long over deeply memorized countryside, he doesn't complain that "I'm missing all the scenery". I am 10 rows from the toe of LD's second sock!! It will be finished this weekend for sure and the toe of the first sock shall be kitchenered and I will be released to creative freedom!

After way over-eating at the Hard Times Cafe, Texas Chili for Himself and the one with cinnamon in it for me, we meandered the back way out to the most gaudy, ugly, crowded shopping village you could imagine. It's been under construction for years now and it is, without a doubt, the supreme monument to bad taste. And somehow I find it fascinating. One of these days I'm going to take a day and just explore the whole thing. But believe me, it is Ugly with a skyrocketingly high U.

It is also where the Boarders is and we were on a quest. Two quests, actually, for I wanted to see the new KnitIt magazine and we both wanted to get another opera DVD.

We’re relative newbies to the world of opera. When I was wallowing in the depths of EmptyNestSyndrome after LD went off to college, BD tried in all sorts of ways to help me and one of them was to buy a CD of Rigoleto, call me up at work, request steaks for dinner (it was still warm enough to eat out on the porch) and urge me to not linger a moment longer than necessary in town. I hustled of course, and we had the most glorious evening, sitting in the dark, replete, after a delicious meal, slightly glowing from the wine, and being swept up in the mysterious intrigue of murder, rape, sorrow and death that is Verdi. When the duke sings Bella fillia del amore, I simply wept. Chill bumps traveled up and down my arms when Rigoleto hires Scarafuccio to murder the duke. The scariest of haunting melody carries them along, but it is so secretive that neither singer sings the tune - only the cellos! Lawsee it is thrilling.

When we started buying operas on CD they were expensive and you can still drop a bundle on them, but I have noticed they’re coming down as more of them are produced. We have a fairly nice collection - growing big enough that we now have to find space to store them. And now, we have begun another category of musical bliss - opera DVDs! BD gave me a copy of Aida for Christmas. It took us a while to get around to watching it due to all the emotional swings of the holiday, but we did see it this past week and were enthralled. It stars Pavarotti - who is, I’ll confess, my favorite of the tenors - delighting me with his oboe-like, reedy voice and thrilling me with his ability to take it anywhere. It is also the first opera I ever saw, fortylevendyhudred years ago when I was a music student in Italy. I didn't enjoy it half as much then, as I did last Wednesday night.

This time we picked up Turando.

I see I am very short of time, I have to leave for work at 7:30 and it’s already after 7. If I can I'll get back to this post or maybe continue it tomorrow.

Suffice it to say, I did not buy KnitIt and I looked at a ton (3 shelves, anyway) of knitting books. I did buy the INKnit winter issue - and I have opinions about it all.

posted by Bess | 7:13 AM

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Friday, January 09, 2004

I am not feeling very inspired today. We're waiting for the tax lady to show up and I really haven't any idea where it will go from there. Crumbs.

Oh. Well. Really. I am the only one waiting, since I am the only one awake!

But since I really do know that all things end, and nothing is sure but death and taxes and, oh, a bunch of other platitudes, I am doing what I always do when I have a TASK looming.

I think about Tomorrow-at-Tara, of course.

Or even This Afternoon at Tara - when I will be able to spin up the beautiful rolags of F I Polwarth (gosh, I wonder if I am spelling that right. I really ought to check). There is another box of the stuff waiting at the PO - too big to fit into my mailbox. Woo
woo. NewSweaterIdea - here I come. But this much fleece means I really do need access to a drum card. I am thinking of sending up a begging plea to dear sweet Barbara Gentry. I am sure she has a drum card and possibly I could drive to C'ville and "rent" it for an afternoon. I need more bobbins for HeyBaby anyway. Maybe that could be turned into the January 16 event. I hear there is a new yarn shop downtown.

Not that I need any more, new, or other stuff, beyond the afore mentioned bobbins - and I'm even a little nervous about them. Start-itis in knitting is bad enough - what will I do with more bobbins of singles, unplied and yearning, with SecondSockSyndrome, for their partners. I am abundantly endowed with more toys than I can use in a half dozen years, what with the amount of time I have to play. I suppose it is January-itis - but several of my favorite fiberbloggers are having the same issues - too much stuff, not enough time to enjoy it. Here’s Clara’s hilarious solution to the TooMuchStuff. And here is fiber-twin Martha, singing a duet with me about NotEnoughTime.

Okay, I haven't anything else worth saying, so I'm going to go pace the livingroom floor ... or knit ... or spin ... or day dream.

posted by Bess | 7:25 AM

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Thursday, January 08, 2004

Falkland Island Polwarth

Oh lordy - it's even better than I thought! First - it's the cleanest wool in the grease I've ever seen - barring Barbara Gentry's Cormo fleeces. There is virtually no trash. I put it in very hot water with Euclan and let it soak while I was in the shower, gave it only one very hot rinse, then spread it out on a towel to dry. It was so pretty - so exactly the creamy white color that makes you dream of lace shawls or fabulous Aran sweaters. When I got home last night it was mostly dry and looked like an angel cloud had settled down on the top of the washing machine. I took a few locks that were surely dry and carded them into rolags. There are a few second cuts but not many and I carded them into the rolag - what the heck - I'll see how it looks slightly textured.

The yarn it makes.

Oh.

Be still my heart.

It has a frizz to it because rolags spin up into a woolen texture. It glows on the bobbin! It's a long fiber - 4 inches easily - so you can spin it soft. The ply was simply beautiful.

I'm not all that expert a spinner and I quickly lose my technique when I stop spinning - something I must do if I'm knitting seriously (read here "Christmas Gifts") so it's been a while since I've sat at the wheel. (She was grumpy about it too) Even with rusty technique, though, this wool makes a beautiful yarn.

That wooshing sound you hear is my happy sigh.

But I couldn't give as much attention to the beautiful Polwarth - a 4th bag of which awaited me in the mailbox last night - as I'd like to have, because I had dreaded IncomeTaxCrap to do. Thank heavens it went swiftly. We both hope that stuff will be finished on Friday. I've taken the day off, to work on it, and hope it's all over early enough to give me the afternoon to play, especially since I have to go into work on Saturday to aid and assist the network repair guy. Again - that ought to be a half day expedition - but it's certainly a spinning interruption.

Got in another weight session yesterday and continue to be utterly thrilled with them. This time only lower body. I can already feel a new definition to my legs. Can't wait till I can see it in my spaghetti arms. I also made the decision to take 5 more lbs off. There are three dresses and two suits left over from my youth that I would like to get into. Mind now, I may never actually wear any but one of them. While all styles return, (Ack! Look at hip-hugging bell bottoms!! My gawd! They are sooo ugly!) they usually do so slightly altered. I may never want to wear those Dynesty-esque shoulder pads in public. Nevertheless, I want it to be a fashion decision, not a body decision. Having that option will require a wee bit more effort. I'm at a point where losing more weight actually means eating less - just a teesny bit less - say - 8 pretzels less or 2 apples less - or one Skinny Cow ice cream sandwich less - but still less. I make no vows on this issue. I'm just experimenting now.

I keep thinking I ought to get the sketchbook out....

And have you noticed? It's still light out at 5. Can daffodils be far off?

posted by Bess | 7:22 AM

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Wednesday, January 07, 2004

Question:

How much can Bess get in before she has to dress for work?

Here goes:

Jahara, grand to hear from you. I am always wondering how you’re doing and miss your pithy comments a lot - on whatever, mind, not just on knitting. Catherine, good on you, as the Aussies say, you and offspring, for shaking your booties. I, too, think exercise is an essential - like food, shelter, water and clothing.

RANT TIME

In fact, if I were in charge, no one could have elective orthopedic surgery without 6 weeks or 6 months of regular sessions with a personal trainer first. After watching my mother go from being something of a cripple to a real cripple, beneath the hands of auto-mechanic egomaniac orthopedic quacks, who never once looked at the person they were performing their fancy-shmancy acts upon - I think they should all be locked up.

Anyone in such bad shape she needs to have her knee replaced has not walked in years; has instead sat, depressed and in pain, often doing nothing much of anything. It will have been ages since she carried in a 20 lb. bag of groceries - upper body muscles, always the first to go, are about as useful as cooked spaghetti. So now some jerk with MD behind his name, a yacht payment to make, and blinders on his head, comes in with knives and drugs and smashes what's left of the rotten leg, and then tells her to hop on the other foot and while supporting herself with those spaghetti-arms and using a walker!

What is wrong with this picture?

And what if he has 2 yacht payments to make? So he does this twice in 12 months! And what if he has never asked this woman if she has a history of vigorous exercise? What if he doesn’t give a ____? What if he tells her "My patients don’t need scooters. My patients all get well." And what if her idea of exercising is to lift a paintbrush - with grace, skill and artistic magic - but by golly, not with free weights attached? I think it is criminal!

And just think for a moment - what if he had told her no surgery unless she spent 3 hours a week for 3 months - with a personal trainer, to be sure she was really building muscle, not just using momentum to swing weight around. What if her back, abdomen, arms, chest, and shoulders had gotten some vigor back to them - what if, huh? How much less pain she would have suffered. How much more quickly she would have been mobile again. How much faster the blood would circulate, even when she's sleeping!! - carrying health-building oxygen to healing muscle? Heck! How much less would it have cost the frickin' insurance company if they had paid for a whole-body, whole-person approach, instead of the auto-mechanic’s approach?

There otta be a law!

END OF RANT

I got home yesterday to find 3 packages in the mailbox. Oh happy day! It's Falkland Island Polwarth fleece from Susan Hansen of Main Point Farm, Falkland Islands FIQQIZZ. How cool is that? It's gorgeous. no... it is

GORGEOUS

I am soooo excited. I discovered her in the Spinner's Notebook, the source of which I haven't time to track down, but which I bought at Stony Mt. Fibers (see link to the right) last May.

This is a soft, fine, crimped wool with a beautiful color even still in the grease. I'm shivering at the thought of it - and will wash some this morning and lay it out to dry while I'm at work. I’ve just got to spin a tad of it tonight, even if I am dooty bound to do income tax stuff too. I'll have paid a fortune for it - Susan gave me an estimate up front, but is billing me after she receives notice that I've gotten the shipment. Paying more for shipping than for the wool, I suspect. After all, it came from an island off the coast of Argentina! But it's something I've drooled over for a long time. In the end, the yarn I spin from this will cost as much as a high end commercial wool yarn - but I will have that little delighted secret knowledge that it's not a h-e-c-wool, but uniquely mine.

I'll have more to share about this gorgeous stuff after the weekend.

LAST BITS

Looks like a yarn crawl outing is in the offing. Who's up for lunch in Middleburg and a day at HCY? Jen? Lissa? Miss Poo? I know Robyn wants to go. What do you think? I have January 16 off, and it’s a Friday....

Still on target with WW, btw. 3 more weeks and I'll be considered "lifetime". I've actually put on just under a lb. but I haven't tried to loose anything during the holidays. I am thinking, though, that I'd like to go down about 5 more lbs so today I begin anew with the actual weight loss part of things.

Okay - still have 20 minutes to eat breakfast and chat with BD. Today is Wednesday. Wednesday means Story Hour.

posted by Bess | 8:23 AM

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COMPLETE REPORT

Really Really Long - Possibly more than you want to know

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More body stuff, but not much

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All About the Body

With a little knitting

S L O W D O W N , B E S S

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RANT TIME

END OF RANT

GORGEOUS

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NOW IT'S 40 RANDOM THINGS ABOUT ME

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