Wednesday, June 24, 2009
So I set about fixing my dilemma. I wanted a fine spindle with lots of cop room. Engineered to have a light bottom, but a firm rim, still light and fast. I came up with the Damsel Monique, named after my eldest girl. Fortuitously I might add. I was getting the snake eye for all the other spindles were named after everyone and their dog, but not one named for my most demanding girl. Paradoxically once I broke that large whorl barrier, I did find ways to make more than one spindle that offers lots of cop room, but coming up with the Damsel Monique was the astounding moment when I wanted something very specific (for little ocd me) and came up with the idea. It was not easy. When I first started making them, I hated it. They were difficult, moody, temperamental, beautiful, and very frustrating. Hey, they really are like my daughter Monique! Over time I found ways to correct the difficulties, tame the moodiness, and now they are fun to run on the lathe. Perhaps I should be writing a book on the fundamentals of child rearing? You heard it here folks! A first rate spinning analogy!
However being a spindlemaker does have it good points. When I went to work the other morning, turning on the lights and all the equipment, I found this rose on my lathe that Monique left for me. Talk about starting the day off right!
Monday, June 22, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
When Bart and I adopted our dog Dallas from the Shelter, we were not looking for a dog. We were desperately searching for your beloved Brown Tabby Mr.Belvedere. Mr. Belvedere was a stray, an old and very dear friend offered to us knowing we were looking for a cat that needed a home. I have known Kathy (who is a very devoted spinner and weaver) for many many years and have watched her snatch untold animals from starvation, cruelty and homelessness. She has spent much of her families disposable income on helping these poor animals. If you ever meet her (lucky you!) do have her tell you the Duck Man story. I promise you will pee your pants at least twice before it's done.
Mr. Belvedere was a year old outdoor cat that had been abandoned at the local vets office. As usual Kathy had had him neutered and was looking to place him with a family that would love him. Kathy informed me he was exceptional, a well mannered gentleman cat indoors, and he was.
I could go on forever about how wonderful it was to have him in the house. If you were sad, Mr.Belvedere offered hugs and kisses, he stayed by your side if you were anxious. He loved my daughters, particularly McKenna my youngest. His one bad habit was a lust for the outdoors that knew no limits. We tried everything to keep him in, and occasionally he would manage a "great" escape. One Sunday Mr. Belvedere had made good his attempt at a crafty jailbreak, and made it outdoors. It was his undoing. Within an hour McKenna knew he was in trouble and we started looking for him right away. I had a strange feeling that I would never see him again; I was wrong.
I called a local shelter and asked if they had any Brown Tabby's. The lady at the Shelter said "uh.........yes" like I was crazy. When we arrived I knew why. They had hundreds of homeless and lost cats, most of them tabby. Mr. Belvedere was not there, and my heart broke to see all the frightened kittens, cats and mommy cats with their little lost families. Since we were there, Bart suggested we walk through the dog kennels. At the end of the last room there was a hand lettered sign that said "Newf Lab Cross" in the holding pen was a big black puppy, looking like a little black bear cub. When my eyes met hers it was all over, her eyes said "Thank heavens your here! I've been waiting!" There was no discussion or talk between us, we were looking at the dog that was ours. When we opened the kennel door she ran the length of the room looking in each kennel. I was disappointed, I thought she would run to Bart and I, then embrace us as her new family. Only after she looked in each pen did she come to us and let us hold her and pet her. The girl at the counter said she had been found roaming the streets with her brother who had been adopted several days before. I was floored. She had been looking for her brother! Before we had signed the papers or paid the fee, we knew we had hit the jackpot. She is so loving and devoted. I swear she has a sense of humor. Her intelligence is amazing and she has her own favorite movies and TV shows. Yes, she watches TV. I kid you not.
We did find Mr. Belvedere. Even my youngest daughter McKenna does not know how he died, other than he was run over by a car, we never told her the whole truth. Bart found him about 2 blocks from home, laying in the road. He had not been hit by a car but had been tortured in ways that defy description. All I can hope for is Karma, waiting for whoever did this. In the end, Mr. Belvedere brought Dallas home.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
I remember the first time I stumbled onto a spinning and weaving store. I was walking with my Mom, strolling around the shopping district of the small California town I was raised in, and we saw that the new "Scottish Castle" styled building had finally opened. Mom and I had been watching its progress for months, and could not wait to see what it would end up representing. It was a complete surprise to walk in and be hit with the sight of spinning wheels, looms, all the tools to use both and the most intoxicating scent of fresh Australian fleece. I was astounded by my reaction to the room I was in. After all I was a 12 year old cool beach girl with no experience with spinning or weaving. However, on a very fundamental level, I was home. Not once since 1972 have I ever woken without the thrill that sometime today, I might be spinning, knitting or in some way flinging wool around. Going to Colorado to just be a student, surrounded by other fiber crazed people, and best of all hanging with Connie, well it's that Scottish Castle moment again!
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Did I ever mention that yarn is good? I don't mean a fun pretty soft yummy item in a hard and sharp edged world, but a very good thing. A thing to get out of bed for. A subject that will make you dream in the night of possibilities. Socks for your feet and the feet of loved ones, socks that give that extra softness to a child or friend that needs a woolly hug. Mittens for your hands in the winter when you never get warm, but you will if you add a ply of Quiviut. A scarf out of cashmere that you always wanted, and how surprised you were when you found that cashmere is fun and relaxing to spin on a zippy little spindle. I have spent my life spinning my own yarn, and I could go on for a books length on why there is nothing as satisfying as your own yarn creation. Then during an exciting trip to Boulder for a teaching engagement, I had an epiphany! I was in a very lovely yarn store teaching advanced spindle spinning, and a class on spindling good durable sock yarn, in fact it was Shuttles Spindles and Skeins. There was yarn all around, stacks of yarn, dowels dripping with yarn, bins all displaying yarn already spun, soft and ready to knit. It was a lighting bolt moment, swift and sure, why can I not purchase yarn and start knitting right away? Why was I the martyr of hand spun? Did anyone care that I only spun my own yarn? I spend my days making tools for the spinner, and I love to spin, but why did I never realize that I could purchase yarn? I was not breaking any rules, no one was going to turn me in to the spindle police for cheating. So I did. Buy yarn I mean. Yes indeedy. And might I add, even as I buy roving, fleece (ah the luxury of a freshly shorn fleece!) and all those indulgences of the blends of cashmere, silk, angora, yak, and quiviut, in any and all combinations you can imagine, purchasing yarn is an ever expanding pleasure. There I was in one of the most lovely yarn stores, but I had a problem, time was tight, I had a class and was doing a trunk show at the same time. Maggie Cassie has an incredible group of knitters for her staff, all master knitters I marveled, so all I had to do was teach and preen (just kidding) but I wanted hours of quiet browsing, after all I had a very yarn less life to atone for. The yarn goddess must be serviced and once you lay your heart at her shrine, there are sacrifices to be made. My students soon realized that I did not need that sixth bottle of water nor did I need to "wash my hands" one more time. When I would get up with some excuse to enter the other part of the store (where all the yarn was) snickers soon followed me. I had to give up my furtive exploring. I was even forced to purchase the yarn I wanted after I flew home. My first choice for a sweater was in low supply and I did not have time to make second selection. It was Cascade 220 in the color Lichen, and if you have not knitted with some, do indulge soon. I know, you've known about it for years! When I returned home I tried to earnestly explain to my good fiber friends how wonderful yarn was. I was petted on the head, my back was rubbed, I even had my hand held. I found that everyone else had of course known this all along. I am last to arrive at the yarn party.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Every few months or so I have a Retreat at our country house in central Utah. Many of my good friends -and students who have become good friends -attend for the four day weekend. Our house is an old Victorian farmhouse in a very small village (yes we have village sized towns in Utah, plus it is a very chi chi way of describing a small backwater) of about 800 people. The house is just big enough for about 22 people if we squish. For the entire four days we spin and laugh, knit and laugh, eat and laugh, gather and talk and laugh till our sides hurt. Conversation flows and rides a thousand topic waves, we never tire of our fiber in hand. I am very fortunate to have so many friends that share my love of fiber, twirl and weave. Becoming a teacher has enriched my life in so many ways but my favorite bit of bliss are the friends I have made while teaching. Quite a few students have become dear friends and are some of the people that come for Retreat. I am particularly fond of our Retreats, it gives me carte blanche to spin and knit as much as I can in those days. Spinning gets put by the wayside with all the work that I do in the shop. Retreat is guilt free fiber time, and I can get mighty greedy.
The Great Cleansing Retreat started auspiciously on Thursday morning. By evening we all were in the grips of an insidious food poisoning. I have a very delicate digestion , and it is this that my very good friend (who is also delicate in the lower regions) Jo-ann says did save me. After eating the thoughtful and well prepared meal (which is always a shared potluck) I felt woozy and decidedly sick. In an hour it was all over. I had had my Armageddon and even felt like I would live to see another day. For that hour I was tormented by the horrific sounds I was making and the thoughts that every one would “know” that I had become ill. Not a polite thing for the hostess to do, I imagined.
It was not until going downstairs, first thing in the morning, and hearing everyone else's Armageddon story that I realized we all had been ravaged by that most awful scourge of gatherings; food poisoning.
About 2 am it started and it struck at each and every person who had eaten the meal. Even with all the illness, and I could go on about the lines at both bathroom doors and the camaraderie that develops when someones sleeping head is feet away from a very busy bathroom, ( Sorry Jane!) and kudos to Cyndi who had slept in her van and inadvertently became locked out and had the great outdoors as her privy until someone heard her pathetic and light scratchings to get in, we had one of the funnest Retreats ever. Laughter was not in short supply and if one was careful about how hard one laughed, all was well. I am sure most of us lost pounds, food was eaten but carefully.
I convinced my friends to share in a group portrait, eliminating those that arrived Friday, missing all the fun of the night before and the one fellow (Hi lucky Mike!) who did not eat the dinner and so did not join us. We wave our banners bravely!