I survived SOAR!

Yesterday morning, while frantically attempting to locate coffee, figure out if I knew where all my spinning wheels were, what I was shoving in the truck when, and what time I’d manage to hit the road, I ran into Stephanie, who I think had probably had more coffee than me at that moment — I had just discovered that the only coffee that was left was decaf, which as we all know, is not in fact coffee at all. “I’m surprised SOAR doesn’t have a death rate!” she said, and several responses occurred to me. Slowly, though, given the aforementioned lack of adequate coffee. The first was “Are we sure it doesn’t? Did you check?” and the second was, “Man, I wish you hadn’t said that right before everyone starts driving home.” I might have actually even said one of those things, but I can’t be sure. I probably just whimpered something about coffee.

But, in any case, here I am at home now, not having become a major SOAR casualty. I say “major” because the sad truth is I’m a wreck. A mere husk of a human being. I’ve been trying to post a simple “I made it home!” post for the past 4 hours, and this is as far as I’ve gotten.

So, how was it? Well, it was, wow. The kind of event where you’re sitting in a chair spinning, and someone walks past you, and you say “Did you know you have a swatch stuck to your butt?” and she says “Yeah, it’s on purpose,” and the 12 people who overhear the conversation don’t so much as blink. The kind of event where you’re eating dinner with someone you just met who, in turn, mentions someone you haven’t met, and someone else at the table says “Which one is she?” and the first person says “The one with the real Orenburg,” and half the people at the table leap to their feet and say “Where is she? I gotta see that!”

And, you know. By “see” they mean “fondle.”

Or you could also describe it as the kind of scene where the drunks are nigh coming to blows, not about whose sports team is superior, but about whose worsted is more worsted… and when it comes to blows, it involves whipping out spindles and proving it. It’s the kind of place where everybody is covered in fuzz and fluff and you see people walking around wearing garments you’re pretty sure you saw on the cover of a magazine a few years ago… no, not garments made from the pattern, the garment from the photo. Where “Did you make that?” is arguably a stupid question, where you’re walking around spinning and people stop you not to ask what you’re doing, but rather, where did you get that spindle, and do they have more? How much was it? What? You’re kidding, he should raise his prices! It’s the kind of place where you see something priced for $250 an ounce and you think, “My god, what a steal!”

There’s a ton to say, and at some point when I am slightly more coherent, and the photos have been sorted, I’ll say it. But for now, I’ll leave it at “I’m back, I survived, and you guys should totally all go, even though it causes positively surreal fatigue and will probably leave you looking at your very full inbox and thinking of it like procesing a Shetland fleece with nothing but your hands.” For those of you waiting on replies, the inbox has been skirted and I’m separating the locks meticulously as we speak. Many, many, many thanks to my better half, who engaged in many epic and heroic feats over the past week. He’s the greatest ever.

20 thoughts on “I survived SOAR!

  1. I’m desperately jealous! Though I did get to spend the weekend surrounded by skeins of silk and up to my elbows in dye.

    Conclusion number one – I didn’t purchase enough silk.

    Conclusion number two – the limestone-laden central Pennsylvania water is just lousy for acid dyes. Anybody have suggestions beyond use more acid or buy distilled water?

  2. Welcome home!

    Re: “… but about whose worsted is more worsted…”

    Ugh, I can just see that. I’ve been to spinning gatherings where everyone is trying to out-talk and out-impress each other about their knowledge – what they know, name dropping galore, my technique is better than your technique… That kind of brusque, LISTEN-TO-MEEEE talk makes me very uncomfortable.

  3. ****
    ā€œIā€™m back, I survived, and you guys should totally all go, even though it causes positively surreal fatigue…”

    Amen sister. I’m barely coherent myself, and I’m at work. I hope they aren’t expecting too much out of me today! Good luck recovering.

  4. Survival seems to be a common theme amongst those of us who blogged today. But DAYUM it was worth it.

    If you’ll excuse me, I need to go to bed now.

  5. Were you the Abby with Stephanie in the sweater unraveling? The photos were neat – wish there had been a video!

    Sounds like it was a blast and I wish that some day I will make it to a SOAR.

  6. On a totally unrelated note, (glad you enjoyed it, though) I have a question for when you have your brain back. I was just watching your drop spindle video on youtube and have a question. During the video you were holding your arms up quite high, presumably so the video would see your hands and the spindle. I was curious to know at what level you hold your arms normally when drop spindling. Holding your arms up that high would quickly result in tired arms and sore back. What is the most comfortable level longterm?

  7. It is so amusing to me, reading the SOAR post trifecta of abby/yarnharlot/juno and their very similar yet entirely different posts. Sounds like it was a blast.

    Butt-swatch: I might have to start using that as a derogatory, kind of like butt-munch, or as I sometimes say butt-mange (as in mange, mange – eat eat!)

  8. You all do know that they have a draw to see who gets into SOAR? With these great posts I bet that next year there will be an even larger number of hopefuls waiting for the draw results. I’ve been three times, and couldn’t agree more that the whole thing is an event beyond wonderful. Should I dare to mention that it is also expensive?

  9. I went 2 years ago and had the time of my life. I’m not a smiley type of person, but I swear I was smiling the whole time I was there. Everyone should go at least once before they die (I typed dye first!!). Like a pilgrimage. Spinners Mecca.

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