Fiber Raven Soiree

Finished and Begun

This weekend was very rewarding in terms of learning and projects.

First, I finished the Koigu socks -- see them at Spatterdash.

Next, I did a lot of work on NWKniterati (still much to be done).

And then-- I finally was able to get the hang of drop-spinning on a top-whorl spindle, using the wonderful merino roving Ryan and Kathie gave me for my birthday. This is an addicting habit, let me warn you! But the best thing about it: Upper Arm Exercise. Who knew?

And finally, I took pity on my poor husband who hasn't had anything knitted for him since Henry VIII, and started the tweed socks from Socks!Socks!Socks!, using leftover bits of Campion, Spindrift and/or J&S jumperweight shetland.

These are fun to knit because you can mark progress by number of stripes, unlike solid socks which you just have to trust you're making progress on unless you actually measure them!

Raven Around

My little foray into producing a Raven received mixed reviews from this critic. The legs were too skinny to cut out, so he appears to be wading in the water. I've just pinned him on for now until I get used to him, and then maybe I'll try to find some way to define some feathers for him, or give him something to do, poor thing. Notice how he's gazing piteously at that bird stuck in the chair back?

I've spent the better part of the day playing with the website, and of course it's not all functional yet but I'm starting to become pleased with how it's going. I probably need to optimize the sizes so that it doesn't take too long to load, but I'm all about form first and function later :-) at least some of the time.

The Koigu ATACK (Acquired Target of Agressive Completion, Knitting) is progressing nicely, I've finished the instep shaping and I'm on the home stretch. We watched "Sweet Home Alabama" last night on PPV, an enjoyable movie that made me want to move back to the South and pick butterbeans and pickle peaches again, and the sock really moved along. Laura has posted pictures of her lace socks (5 pair!) on the FiberTraditions page, and I'm lusting after making some for myself. But I must get Sherah's shell done and at least think about getting back to LaJ soon!

It seems like all my friends' husbands are becoming unemployed around here-- of course Brad is still out of work and out of more than 60 resumes sent out he has had one interview, and that for a part-time position. Layoffs abound and the economy continues to dive. We vie with Oregon for 50th position in the US economy, I hear. Soon it will be like it was in the mid-'70s when there were billboards at the edge of town saying "Will the Last Person to Leave Seattle Please Turn Out the Lights?" I'm thinking, shouldn't they leave instructions that tell that last person where the switch is? Luckily, my stash will see me through a very long recession, and if worse comes to worst, we can always emigrate to another state.... preferably one with more sunshine!

An Evening with Sherah

My daughter Sherah has been in town this week and last night we took her and her boyfriend Brendan to eat at Frankie's, a great little family-run restaurant in Redmond. If you ever go there, be sure to check out that penne rigate and focaccia pomodoro!

We had a very nice evening. I look at them and cannot imagine that when I was Sherah's age and Alex was Brendan's age, we were already married. Yeow. But if I had to do it all over again, I would still do that.... I like the thought of being a young grandmother!

Here's my baby, all grown up:

Notice the halo? Maybe I should start referring to her at St. Sherah... only I've been privy to her terrible twos and they were not saintly!

Here she is with the current beau, a very nice guy who lives here in Seattle:

I didn't show her the Ogee shell I"m working on, but I did notice that the shirt she was wearing is the same brown as the silk I'm using, and it looks great on her, so that was a good choice.

Here's another shot of The Raven Bag (still sans Raven), all dry now and ready for its shave. I really like how the strap fits through that tiny hole in the front.

Felted Bag

Et Voilá!

Le saq pour votre inspection...

It is not yet dry, but when it is I will shave it a bit and then work on the raven that will adorn it.

Bag progress

I'm now up to the top of my bag and ready to start the edging and strap! I told you this went fast :-) I hope the picture is light enough, I didn't take it in the best of spots, I guess.

Remember I talked about how awful traffic was on Monday? Well, today I'm feeling it... all those sudden stops got to my neck. So I'll be staying home and taking tons of ibuprofen and using the ice packs. On the bright side, I'll have more time to knit. Here's Ginger on the bright side, catching a sunbeam:

Maybe I can convince Vanessa to let me show pictures of her beautiful Nantucket Lighthouse baskets here on the blog (? Vanessa?). I cannot believe how wonderfully wrought these things are, and completely handmade by Vanessa.

I'm thinking of starting a couple of more little sections on the nwkniterati page. NWKniterati was intended to be a real in-print magazine that would cater to the PNW area. Since I still need my day-job I had not been able to do that, and NWK is morphing into sort of an online magazine (non-commercial). Anyway, I was thinking that if every time I drank a different wine I could add a wine review; every time I saw a movie I could add a movie review and then I would have them to refer back to when I was wondering what wine to buy or what movie to see. What have they got to do with knitting? I'm sure we can come up with something :-)

Rambling

Last night as I was driving home from work I was listening to our President's speech and its promise of war soon to come. There were an abnormal number of accidents along the way, and I very nearly got rear-ended several times myself due, I think, to the number of drivers pre-occupied with listening to the same message I was.

There probably won't be much knitting content in this particular entry, but I have much to say about my own experience with war and for some reason feel the need to put it here.

I don't think many people realize how many casualties there really are due to wars and conflicts. They certainly aren't limited to the folks who die- although certainly that is the worst kind.

In the summer of 1990 my then-husband was a Major in the US Air Force. He had just completed his F-16 training course in Phoenix, a six-month long course during which I and our three small children stayed in Mississippi, and prior to which he had undergone other training which took him away from home for 3 months. Such is the life of a military family.

Upon completion of his training, he was assigned to Torrejon AB near Madrid, Spain, actually right outside the city of Alcala de Henares, the birthplace of Miguel Cervantes (author of Don Quixote). Torrejon was on the list of US air bases slotted to close, and he was one of the last pilots assigned there.

Backing up in time a bit, I recall flying to San Francisco to visit a friend while Alex was in fighter training in Phoenix. The children stayed with their grandmother and it was a getaway trip for me. I was unusually animated and a had a great time on the flight to SF, making several new friends and probably a fool of myself. I distinctly remember stating naively to a fellow passenger during what I probably thought was a philosophical conversation, "What this country needs is a good war." Oh, how foolish I was. Sometimes when things happen I can think back to a point in my life where I wished that the thing would happen, and I wonder if I caused it. Of course I don't really think I caused the Gulf War, but it does seem eerie. I remember watching Building #25 being built on the Microsoft Campus and thinking, "I want to work in that building some day." Three years later I was working in that very building, but at the time it was being built I had yet to even write my first line of code.

So when we got on that plane to Torrejon, it was my first trip overseas. I had been to Mexico, and I had lived several places in the US, but never had I left North American soil. Saddam Hussein had just the day before left his own native soil to invade Kuwait, and I had no idea what impact that was going to have on my own life.

We arrived at Torrejon and soon found a house to rent, in El Urbanization Zulema, a short drive from Alcala de Henares, a beautiful suburb graced with chopos and melacotones (poplar and peach trees). I didn't speak a word of Spanish.

Within two weeks, Alex's squadron was sent to Turkey to sit alert and wait for The War. As you know, the war did not start until January, and this was July. I'll not bore you with details of trying to get along in a foreign country with three little kids and no husband, because I think what I'm trying to convey is the sense of war, the feelings of the soldiers themselves, and its final impact on me more than anything else.

Torrejon served as a major launch platform for C-5s (huge cargo planes) and C-141s on their way from the US to Quatar. Many of the pilots of these craft were friends of ours, and as they came through they would be invited to dinner or I would accidentally run into them in the Officer's Club. During these months before the war actually happened, they seemed eager, even excited, to wage war. "This is what we've been trained for!" they would say as they downed a brew and puffed their chests out proudly. Those whose DOS (date of separation) was to occur soon would express hope that the war would start soon enough so they could fly at least one mission, just one sortie, in a real war. They were pumped.

Meanwhile, a new building was being built at Torrejon. But the base was supposed to be closed soon, so why? It was a morgue, destined, as they thought, to hold hundreds of casualties. This did not make me feel good. The days, weeks and months went by, much like the past few months have; everyone wondering what/when/if this war would have to happen, the pilots hoping, the wives fearing and the children blissfully unaware.

I taught piano lessons in my home, and one of my students was a Lt. Col named (and I kid you not) Clark Kent. To my children he was "Superman" and although he too was a fighter pilot he had not yet been sent "over there" because he was attached to the Wing as opposed to a squadron. But soon it was time for him to go, too, and we all knew that meant war was even closer. He asked me to look after his piso, his apartment, for him while he was gone, and arranged for us to have lunch with his landlord, who was also the managing director of the Hotel Barrajas, near the airport.

I will never forget that day, nor the next. We went to an Andalucian restaurant, ate excellent seafood and drank exquisite wine and sherry. I drove Senor de la Fuente's new Mercedes back to town and picked up the children from school, and then drove back out to the hotel. Clark was getting very drunk, and the Senor waxed very nostalgic, constantly toasting him, wishing him heroic medals, occasionally his eyes would well with tears. The Spanish are dear people. I think overall they detested the American presence, but as individuals we were dear to them as well. I finally got the keys to the piso and needed to go home, but Clark was way too drunk to take us home, so I took his keys and his car and drove home.

Alex's best friend Michael, a C-141 pilot and National Guard reservist, was temporarily stationed at Torrejon to work the stage. Michael watched out for me and the children, and hated being separated from his own three children back in Virginia.

Early, very early the next morning my phone rang. I answered si? and listened to a few seconds of silence, followed by Michael's very very quiet voice: It's started. He didn't say much more, but the warrior-like defiant fighter-pilot attitude was definitely no longer there, and as I found out throughout the day, it wasn't anywhere. These men were scared. Proficient, yes. Committed, yes. But scared out of their minds.

By 8:00 a.m. another friend, Jim, called-- same voice, same, scared, scary voice. Can you come get me? I decided to take the kids to school instead of letting them ride the bus, and told Jim I was on my way. After waiting in line to get on base (every id of every occupant was inspected closely) I saw a chilling sight: just inside the gates, the school bus sat, with two back tires flat. Why? I have no idea, but the immediate thought that flew to my head was that those tires were shot out.

After I dropped the kids off, I went over to the O Club to find Jim. This big tall confident young pilot was a bundle of nerves. He held onto me like he couldn't stand up on his own, and all around me a sea of faces were stricken with disbelief. I thought-- how could they be shocked? How could they be surprised that this would happen? And all I could come up with was that inside they never truly believed they would ever have to go to war.

Clark departed, along with anyone else able to fly that could be of use in the war, and my children and I waited at home. Randy, who was 5 years old, looked up at me with his big brown eyes and said "Mama, when is Papa going to die in the war?" Not is Papa going to die, but when.

The wives were told that this war could be expected to go on for years... at least 3 years. We were given the option of taking an "Early Return of Spouse", and I arranged to leave Spain.

What happened after that is a nightmare, but in a nutshell, I lost my husband (he didn't die but he was never the same afterward), I lost my family due to a cascade of events (later I regained custody of the two eldest children) and my entire world was changed. I left one USA in July and came back to a totally different USA in April. Fashions had changed, Starbucks was everywhere, and nobody knew or had any reason to care what effect the Gulf War had on me or mine. But I know, and now when I hear that war is eminent it has an entirely different meaning than it used to. I think of my youngest son, now 16, and the 10 years it's been since I've seen him, and wonder what his life (and mine) would have been like without that supposedly victorious war. I think of how the lives of men and their families are going to be changed forever, and I cry for them.

Here's hoping for no war, or if it must happen, a very, very short one. Every stitch I knit will be a prayer for peace.

Perspective

The trip to Bainbridge was a nice outing. While waiting for the ferry and riding the ferry I worked on my second Koigu sock, which is coming along nicely:

I'm finding that this one is smaller than the first one, but the first one is a little too large so I may have to re-knit it. Or not. Maybe I'll just walk around with one slouchy sock and one nice sock to remind myself how important it is to take notes on what size needle you used!

The Blackbird Bakery welcomed us as our first stop in Winslow, the little town just off the ferry landing on Bainbridge Island. We devoured some wonderful orange rolls right out of the oven and lingered over cappucinos. Our conversation wandered to my friend Brian Stork (the one who writes the anomolophiles) and his latest escapades. His band, Klondike 5, plays at Molly Maguire's Irish Pub regularly. Recently he was contacted by Michael Feldman to see if he would be willing to be considered as guest local artist on the Whadya Know? show when it comes to Seattle's Paramount Theatre in a couple of weeks. Ultimately KL5 wasn't chosen, but the pure joy that was brought into his life just because they were considered for the show kind of bubbled over and rubbed off on everyone around. Also, he is involved in a group that brews beer, called An Ale of Two Cities, and they recently won top awards for their brew. Anyway, the gist of what I was saying is that I wish I had the energy and ideals of a 32-year-old again. It would be nice if we could still embark on projects of our dreams and stop evaluating future possibilities against past realities. Yes, Brad agreed, that would be nice.

After filling ourselves with food and drink we meandered next door to Churchmouse where, believe it or not (despite the mountains of beautiful yarns begging to come home with me), I stuck to my plan to buy only the dpns that I needed. Kit's husband was working with her in the store, and it was fun to point this out to Brad :-) who enjoys teasing me about my fiber addiction and would have everyone believe that husbands should not assist this addiction in any way not essential to marital harmony!

Next on our little journey through town we stopped in at the bookstore. If you've never read Diana Gabaldon's time-travel series, I highly recommend it. The series begins with Dragonfly in Amber [ed. correction: the first book is Outlander, not Dragonfly in Amber (thanks Laura!)] and proceeds through five books now, the latest of which I have not read. I saw it in paperback there and it came home with me. I don't read a whole lot these days because I am knitting or spinning, but in former years I would devour four or five books a week. As a child I couldn't be pried away from books, mostly fiction. I guess it was my way of escaping; I was too shy to be comfortable around other people. Now I find that knitting etc. is a good escape and also provides a community in which I am comfortable, so I don't need books as much. But I am looking forward to disappearing into The Fiery Cross soon.

Brad got a book on Memory, of the how-to-improve-yours variety, and we ambled on.

After browsing through a couple of other shops we came to a delightful little wine shop nestled in an alleyway mall. We talked with the owner for a bit and ended up buying a wine that he recommended, the Reininger 2000 Merlot (a Washington winery). I love Merlot best out of all wine varieties. We opened it later that evening when we were home to find that it was a very enjoyable wine indeed, definitely a buy-again wine!

Next was a tiny little gallery called Art Soup that we went into just because it was there. Surprisingly, I was greatly enriched by my time there and came out of it as if I had been to church and experienced a divine revelation. Behind the counter was a very old woman, gray hair piled high on her head. I didn't know if she was the shop owner but assumed that she was based on her age and grace. We looked around at the various artwork and handmade cards and then went to the far back corner, where the lady gestured to four rows of cards which were labeled "Mormor's Art" and explained in accented English "these are my painting".

The cards contained prints of her miniature paintings of her life. Delightful, cheery and compelling were these paintings. Looking at the reverse of the card, I noted that "Mormor" (Danish for "Grandmother"), whose real name is Grethe Herlin, was born and raised in Denmark and came over to the US after she was an adult. She started painting when she was 78 years old!! Started! I found four cards (all for $10) that I will frame and hang in the house not only because they are so engaging, but also to remind me of Mormor and her capacity for new ambitions so late in life. I recalled my earlier conversation with Brad about Brian, and was amazed that I could prove myself so wrong so quickly.

We chatted with Mormor for a little while, learning that her daughter owned the shop and that Mormor would soon be celebrating her 85th birthday. A very nice lady, she told how she moved to a small town in the midwest when she was 41 and depended on the game of bridge to break the ice and get involved in a strange land. She still plays bridge and gives it a lot of credit for keeping her memory and mental capacities. (Brad is a bridge fanatic, and I love to play it with real (not computer) people).

We took the ferry back home, with smiles on our faces and many good memories of the day.

Here are the four cards that I love so much (Jojo likes the first one best!)

Dreamweaver

Today Brad and I are taking a nice little day-trip to Bainbridge Island. We will board the ferry at Seattle, and after arrival on the island will spend the day meandering around, looking into shops. Antiques, arts and crafts, all sorts of intriguing items are there. We shall lunch at the BlackBird Bakery (what Raven can resist that?!) and of course pay a visit to Churchmouse Yarns, where I must find something that does not yet exist in my formidable arsenal of knitting needles: size 10 dpns.

I was motivated to start my felted bag project yesterday, but then realized that, as it starts out in the round on 8 stitches, my 32" circulars would not be the ideal tool. I tried to be cunning and clever and use two long circulars, but I couldn't figure that out without bursting too many blood vessels in my brain. Then I attempted using 4 circulars, but again, success was elusive, whether due to lack of coordination or just incompetence I really don't know. I ended up working on a Koigu sock that is the mate to one I finished (all except the toe grafting) on that long-ago cruise.

For my birthday my in-laws sent me money, with which I bid on and won an ebay auction of two matching rovings. One of them is mohair, the other is Wensleydale, and they are hand-painted in a beautiful colorway called "Dreamweaver", purply pinks, lilac, golds and blues. It wasn't long before I discovered that the name was indicative of its powers:

Little Jojo cuddled up with the mohair and happily dreamt the day away.

After Felting

And here is the finished felting... wow! It really got fuzzy (in a good way)! Now what am I going to do with it? Well, you'll have to wait and find out :-)

The main thing is that I've proven to myself that things can felt just fine in my front-loading washer. It was a little tricky, because I had to keep cancelling the cycle and then restarting it, but it all worked out in the end. You can see that the swatch shrunk more than an inch in width, but even more in length. The knitted stitches can no longer be found, and I am told that I can cut this felted fabric with no fear of anything running or falling apart..... hmmmmm.

Now, onward to a felted bag project from Knitkit!

Felting

It's a beautiful Saturday in (almost) Spring and I've decided to try felting in my front-load washer.

First I knitted up a large square of black Lamb's Pride worsted, on size 10 needles. Here it is pre-felting:

Then I put my washer on its highest temp and longest cycle -- "Sanitary" and added a little bit of Ivory dishwashing liquid and let it fill with water, and then tossed in the knitted square. Right now I'm trying to be patient while the cycle continues, and checking the felting progress every few minutes. It will be interesting to see how much it is reduced in size. The tiles in the picture are 8 x 12 inches, so the square looks to be about 9 inches before felting.

Here is a picture out of one of my front windows. When this cherry tree loses its blossoms, the leaves come in a nice dark plum color, very pretty all summer long.

A Real Poem!!

I was so tickled when Laura Need wrote a poem about my poor one lonely sock. She graciously gave me permission to publish it here, isn't it wonderful?!

You may have noticed that I changed my blog name to FiberRavenSoiree, which I think reflects all the wonderful experiences I've had lately! I hope to learn a bit more about tweaking my blogs to make them a little more unique, so bear with me if I mess things up a lot!

A Real Sock!

Many a sock has been started
And many of them were discarded
But in an effort of tryin'
To keep up with Ryan
from her other WIPs Sheila had parted...

and finished this!!

At my recently had birthday party
I was gifted with roving of Targhee
It's a wonderful thing
with bunches of spring
And colors amazing and arty...

and check out how pretty the spun yarn is!!

Last but certainly not least
I must ask everybody to feast
their eyes on this couple
you're not seeing double!
And I'm feeling very well fleeced!

Ryan and Kathie gave me the most wonderful merino roving to perfectly coordinate with the silk/merino blend I've shown you previously. They settled down together quite happily as you can see:

Older Than My Teeth...

I never knew getting older could be SO much fun! Yes, yet another Sunday Soiree was held at my house, this time it combined a great movie -- Best In Show -- with great friends and a wonderful Northwest Salmon dinner as prepared by the Best Husband ever!!

Even though gifts had been strictly prohibited, my guests professed complete ignorance of the prohibition and brought very nice things which I still can't get over. Beautiful flowers, wonderful wine, gorgeous merino roving and wild and wacky Targhee roving, wowwowwow (or, as in the movie, bowwowwow!)

So what could I do? I had to feed them the Chocolate Motherlode Cake from Claim Jumper, but first they had to stare at it for a while and get really hungry:

In the meantime, we set ourselves up in Madame Glitchbane's Fiber Parlor and Magical Mohair Movie Theatre, where Ginger immediately decided she would be one of the girls:

Jojo on the other hand could not choose between Ryan and Lori and so wandered between.

My long-lost/recently-found-again friend Ryan worked with me years ago at what was then one of Seattle's largest law firms. She has not lost a bit of her style, wit and personality. Ryan was quoted in a recent article in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. The article was about knitting and its surge in popularity. Ryan, it seems, began knitting socks after 9/11 and has not stopped knitting socks since. She likes to see people cry when she tells them she's making them socks-- and I can assure you they do not cry because of the quality of the socks! Oh, no! Lorna's Laces gorgeous yarn on size 1 needles with a beautiful lace check... very, very nice. I recognized Ryan's name in the article and knew immediately that it was A Sign that I needed to get in touch with her and the rest, as they say, is History.

Here's Ryan in a more contemplative moment:

With Ryan came Kathie, a Gardener Extraordinaire. Even though she uses Macs, I like her a lot and it is fun to hear about her plans for the dye garden she is planting.

Sam came, bearing her delicious Scottish shortbread cookies (a Habitually Requested Item because they are so good!) which was great because she had to miss the last soiree! I unfortunately didn't get a picture of the wondrous fibers that she rescued from the Basket of Widowed and Orphaned Yarns recently and gave Kool-Aid Makeovers. The colors were beautifully subtle and didn't look sticky at all! Finally working on the sleeves of Cromarty (in an Eggplant color), Sam is a lesson in Sticktuitiveness, an antidote to those like me who are Fiber Gypsies, wandering from one project to another. This time Sam endeavored to teach me to drop spin on the bottom-whorl spindle that my dear pets gave me for my birthday. Sam is a beautiful woman, and this picture does little justice to her, but here she is:

And Sam brought her FiberTraditions co-moderator and longtime friend Lori, who was a pleasure to meet at last. These women must be doing something right, because they sure don't look the age they must be! Lori brought Victoria, a Mags Kandis design she is knitting in Eggplant Mission Falls 1824 Wool, a very pretty lace pattern. And when she wanted to switch off, she fascinated all present by drop-spinning fine yarn on her Bosworth top-whorl spindle.

One of my favorite Returning Guests also arrived, and finished her Savannah Blue self-designed Gansey right there at the soiree! We witnessed the final stitch and took a photo of the proud designer wearing her new baby (which is really a gift for a very lucky gentleman across the Pond).

Speaking of gentleman, I am the luckiest woman in the world. My husband is the sweetest, most patient man ever and not only that, but he can cook! He prepared a feast worthy of the finest restaurant, and it was delicious to the last bite.

So how old am I? I'm as old as my tongue and a little older than my teeth, and that's the truth. But I do need more frequent naps :-)

More Fiber Fun

I've been working on a silk shell for my daughter's 21st birthday. It's the ogee lace shell from Jaeger's #4, and is a pleasure to knit.

And still spinning! I've become addicted! I have some silk and wool roving in a lovely blue/pink colorway that reminds me of the sky just before sunset. You can see here what it looks like before it's spun, and then what it looks like in a spun single ply. It's awfully overtwisted, but when it's plied the twist reverses and hopefully the yarn I end up with is kink-free.

I highly recommend this spinning thing to all-- it keeps you occupied and out of trouble, helps you to focus on the good things in life, and produces something wonderful in the end.

I'm so flattered that so many people tell me that they read my blog, and apologize for the lack of entries. I am having fun setting up the new "knitlists", all in the same spirit of fiction as my tales from Farinough and the new Anomolophiles, written by my dear friend Brian Stork, aka Prawley. I hope you enjoy them all!

Repeat

(In mysterious fashion, this entry is trying to not be visible, so it is being repeated)

I've been working on a silk shell for my daughter's 21st birthday. It's the ogee lace shell from Jaeger's #4, and is a pleasure to knit.

And still spinning! I've become addicted! I have some silk and wool roving in a lovely blue/pink colorway that reminds me of the sky just before sunset. You can see here what it looks like before it's spun, and then what it looks like in a spun single ply. It's awfully overtwisted, but when it's plied the twist reverses and hopefully the yarn I end up with is kink-free.

I highly recommend this spinning thing to all-- it keeps you occupied and out of trouble, helps you to focus on the good things in life, and produces something wonderful in the end.

I'm so flattered that so many people tell me that they read my blog, and apologize for the lack of entries. I am having fun setting up the new "knitlists", all in the same spirit of fiction as my tales from Farinough and the new Anomolophiles, written by my dear friend Brian Stork, aka Prawley. I hope you enjoy them all!

Spinning Around

There are a few things in life that one must experience for oneself. The inexplicable joy of giving birth to a child. The odd sensation that the moment you wake up from surgery was the same moment you went to sleep. The satisfaction of seeing your first computer program run. The moment of clarity when you suddenly understand database inner joins. And the stunned, laughter-provoking, totally unexplainable hilarity of having spun your first skein of yarn.

Such have been some of the experiences in my life that I find memorable, and I am still wiping away the tears of laughter that were provoked the moment I hung my 170 yard skein of homespun Moorit Shetland to dry.

By my calculations, it took approximately 16 hours and 34 minutes of my life to produce this yarn. When I first started spinning it on my single-treadle Lendrum wheel about 3 weeks ago, I was a rank beginner. Oh sure, I have two perfectly formed cat toys made of obviously unuseable experimental spinning produce, but they don’t count—they were practice. The Shetland roving was my first “real” spinning, the thing I knew would become a yarn of great beauty, the yarn destined for a beret for my 19-year-old son . I learned many things, as it turns out, while spinning this fiberatic masterpiece.

It took me some time to realize that it is easier to draft the fiber if you don’t hold it too tightly. Drafting is the process of thinning out the fiber so that only the amount that you want to spin at one time is available to the twist. At first I kept a death grip on the fiber, thinking that if I let up one little bit, the fiber-- along with my hand and arm-- would be sucked into the Orifice (a crucial part of the Mother Of All, I wonder who named the parts of a spinning wheel), creating a non-viable form of spun fiber. Then I discovered that if I held the fiber gently, a few of the individual fibers could escape at a time, making drafting oh so much more pleasant. But I still had a lot to learn.

In the first one or eight hours of spinning, I would constantly see my “yarn” break. I would patiently thread it back through the orifice, rejoin the fiber and continue. I casually mentioned this in conversation to Sam one day, trying to pretend it was a funny little thing that I could get over and it was no big deal. I tried very hard not to let on how enlightened I became when she told me that I probably wasn’t putting enough twist into the fiber, and that maybe I should increase my spin ratio. Aha! I remembered somehow that I could do that by putting that rubber stretchy thingy that ran the wheel down from the Big Ring to the Medium Ring. And so I did; and so my yarn stopped breaking, except for the odd moment when Ginger would jump on it while attempting to make it clear that She was the One who needed attention, not some dead hair from an unknown sheep.

It should be obvious that all of these corrections where being made while one ply of shetland yarn was being put on the bobbin. Therefore, the first half of the first bobbin was full of interesting little artifacts. Two or three inches of unspun clump would be followed by several inches of sliver-thin overspun. Little balls of fiber would cling onto the side of fairly nicely spun yarn, as if along for the ride. It wasn’t until I got to the second bobbin of yarn that I began to produce fairly consistent yarn-- because the Moment of Miracles Occurred. All this time, I had been spinning by holding my left hand in front of my right, and drafting by pulling backwards on the unspun fiber with my right hand. Then, just like Salk discovered Penicillin, just like the boy in the cave who discovered Cheese, I discovered that what I really should be doing is pulling the fiber *forward* with my left hand, out of my right hand, whose job was to keep the fiber from coming too fast. Boy howdy, what a difference that made!!

Well, I tell ya. I got all that Shetland fiber spun up on two bobbins and was ready to ply this into the Yarn Of Wonder. I don’t have a plying shuttle, so I used my regular one and spun backwards. It took me several yards to figure out that a “tensioned Lazy Kate” did not actually do all the work for you. Well, duh. It is called a “lazy” Kate, for pete’s sake. I actually had to control the amount of twist on the plying by intervening between the Lazy Kate and the wheel. As I watched the yards go by, I was impressed. Through my fingers was running real, beautiful, 2-ply Shetland yarn!! But wait! I started coming upon the parts that were done Before the Revelations. Some of it started to look (to be charitable) like boucle, some like woolen spun, some like a woolen with a binder of thread. I started to laugh. Every time I came upon a different look, I laughed harder. I finally finished plying and wound it onto my niddy-noddy to make a skein. I washed this very interesting spawn of spinning, evoking a wonderful sheepy smell, and hung it to dry. The more I look at it, the more I laugh. I can’t think of anything that has given me more pleasure in a very long time.