Fiber Raven Soiree

The Gathering

Yesterday all we folk at Happy Holler took our annual tryptophane and back, enjoying every mile along the way. Everyone was present-- Madame, Papa, Sherah and her friend Brendan, Nanny Granny, Tippie Jane Hundheusen, Ermadine Swett, and Nadia Krinkelmeyer.

Confession (shhhh, don't tell my stepmother!)... for the first time in the twenty-odd years I have cooked my own Thanksgiving dinner, I did not bake my own pies or make my own rolls or whip my own cream. And you know what? The heavens did not fall, dinner was delicious, and nobody was there to say any different (well, Ermadine did complain that the marshmallows on the candied yams weren't the right shade of golden brown). The only thing missing was the smell of those pies and rolls baking.

Here is my lovely daughter Sherah and her friend Brendan in their classic pose:

And here is the ol' mom & daughter shot:

Imagine my surprise when Sherah, a very bright young lady, abruptly asked me: "Mom, are you psychotic or something?"!!

Shocked, I said "no, why would you say that?"

Says she "well, every so often I read your blog and you talk about these weird people and I don't know what's going on, and can't put anything together, so I don't read on. I'm worried about you."

Sigh. My daughter, like myself at times, seems to be suffering from Damnesia. Does she not recall her imaginary friends from her childhood? Can she not see that Mom is having fun making up characters that are either altar egos or caricatures of an almagamation of traits from people in her past or present life? This I had to explain to her, and that got me to wondering how many other people might think I'm psychotic due to my stories of Happy Holler and the Malpervides'.

For years I thought I had no imagination and no creativity, partly because a junior high art teacher told me I was not creative, and I believed her. And now that I've discovered I have an imagination, I enjoy using it. Is that psychotic? Naw, that's fun :-)

I've been working on Dusk, and now you can definitely see the colors changing.

Last night I used up my last inch of Atlantic, and now must once again wait for the skies to open up and pour down yarn, or maybe in this case for the Atlantic to spew forth skeins of yarns from its depths.

Yesterday I heard on the news that a small town here in the state of Washington lost power for three hours, delaying their Thanksgiving dinner preparations and causing much stress. The electric company says that an animal damaged one of the control boxes. Personally, I believe it was that rarest of birds-- a smart turkey.