I'd like to thank Jennifer Dodd for all her incredible, fabulous, and helpful work on redesigning Abby's Yarns. Thanks to all her hard work, we're able to roll out the new and improved look and feel, and I'm going to actually be able to bring some sanity to archive content and make it easier for folks to find all the various things that have come to be hidden around here.

Working with Jenn has been terrific, and lots of food for thought about small business stuff and doing things right -- so much so that this week, I'll be doing a quick interview with her for the blog, to tie in with presenting all the various new features. But for now, I just want to say TA-DAH! Look, we have new blog.

And thank you, Jenn.

UPDATE:

Tomorrow there'll be a lengthier post talking about specific changes, but I wanted to take a moment and address a question that came in from a first-time commenter:

Suddenly my RSS reader is cluttered with tweets from this site. I like the blog, but if I wanted to read tweets, I'd be on Twitter. Can anything be done to respect the preferences of those of us who still enjoy complex ideas and syntax, or should I unsub?

One of the things we're rolling out is separate RSS feeds for various types of content on this site. It looks like we rolled things out with the two main feeds swapped -- the first being all article-type content, and the second including various other types as well (like tweets, new videos, and that sort of thing). We've updated that, so now (as intended) the primary RSS feed is posts and articles only, and the supplemental one is everything. And, coming in the next few weeks, category-specific feeds as well!

FedEx just brought me my copy of my first instructional DVD! Drafting: The Long And Short Of It, from Interweave Press and sponsored by Louet North America, is an advanced beginner to intermediate level workshop in DVD form. One hour long, we get into the meaty topic of how to fine-tune your yarn to get the exact results you want.

Continue reading "Drafting: The Long And Short Of It DVD!" →

A few weeks ago my husband said to me, "So have you ever heard of EDC?" I thought about that. The only thing that leapt to my mind went way back to being pregnant, when that stood for "Estimated Date of Confinement," and referred to, you know, your due date. Somehow I didn't think that was what he meant, though, so I said, "I'm not sure."

"It stands for Everyday Carry," he told me. "Check it out -- there are forums and stuff, where people are talking at length about what they carry around every day."

I thought about that for a minute. "You mean," I said, "like my pocket stuff?"

"Yeah," he replied. "And then there's extended EDC -- and that's like your bag that you always take with you."

"Huh," I said, pondering this idea as a discussion topic. Now, don't get me wrong: as a fiber geek, I frequent a range of forums and mailing lists and the like where people discuss exotic and obscure stuff in excruciating detail. So I'm definitely not down on the idea -- it just hadn't occurred to me that this was, you know, something people got into talking about. "So," I asked, "what is there to say on the subject? I mean... what, like, this is what I have in my pockets and why?"

"Exactly," he said. "Plus details about the stuff, and what you could do with it."

"Huh," I repeated, still thinking. I mean, I actually have a specific list of things I truly can't cope with not having on my person, and I've been known to totally rant about it. I'm an extremely pocket-oriented person and I like my tools. I've come a long way and stripped down to a point where I actually carry a lot less stuff now than I used to. But still, there's a core list of things I can't cope with being without, and my wardrobe choices and lots of things about my lifestyle actually revolve around what I now was realizing was a concept people actually, er, have a name for. And forums about.

"In fact," said my long-suffering better half, "people even make YouTube videos about their EDC."

"What? Seriously?"

He showed me some. I felt torn. On the one hand, it seemed... strange. Self-important to think of making a video about the crap in your pockets. And voyeuristic to watch. But, you know... interesting. "You should do an EDC post on the blog," Chad suggested, half-joking. O, the absurdity -- after all, who'd want to know what's in my pockets, or the bag that hangs by the door so I can grab it on the way out? And what's next after you start telling people that, going into detail about the stuff that lives in your car? I mean, I've talked about the emergency knitting and spinning stuff. I've thought about blogging my packing process, and then concluded I just am not sure I want the world to know what my real life ratio of socks to spindles in my suitcase is.

But with a few weeks of consideration, I decided I really was going to do an EDC post. And this is it. And it even comes with YouTube videos. Seriously, I've emptied out my pockets and my little carry-around-town bag (it's totally not a purse, I would never carry anything so girly as a purse!) and decided to share. Here you go. First, what's in my pockets...

...and what's in my carry-around-town bag.

I'd love to hear from all of you about your EDC. I wonder what we have in common and what we don't? For example, most chicks would probably have makeup in their EDC. I do own makeup, but... it's not an every day kinda thing for me. And some people are capable of feeling comfortable without a knife and fire, but I'm not -- I don't even really like going outside and walking around without those things. I started carrying a knife and fire of my very own when I was 8. Anyway, I'd love to hear what you carry! Tell me about it, blog about it, let's go!

Allright, first things first.

The coffee is done and I have some so it's safe to try to blog. It's been a busy few days. Beth and I were talking Tuesday about how I'd be able to ship her some new batts around the end of the week. I think what happened was that she said I ought to just bring them up and drop them off, and then I said no, she should come down and pick them up, and then we went back and forth like that for a while, and next thing we knew we'd hatched a scheme.

But she totally started it. You can tell when you look at her that's the kind of chick she is.

First, she was going to drive down Friday, with the kids, and then head back that night. We (Chad and I) told her we figured she ought to stay for the weekend and we'd all go to King's Island, but alas, she had classes to teach Saturday, so that was out. But we continued to work on the scheme and ultimately, about 2:30 Thursday afternoon, she arrived with a 7-year-old daughter and 4-year-old son in tow... plus some fiber, spinning wheels, a little loom just in case, a few accessories and stuff. You know. Just the essentials for an overnight trip.

Like young Maggie's wheel:

which of course looks totally at home in our family room, amidst Legos, Bionicles, the decorative bare playfield for Williams' Earthshaker adorning the wall next to a giant speaker, with scattered items on the floor including a small trebuchet scale model, bedspread my grandmother made in the 1950s, and a Doctor Octopus robot arm which we acquired at Disneyland a number of years ago, and which Edward has used for every imaginable purpose to which a robotic arm might conceivably be put.

Allright, allright, so other parts of the family room sometimes look sort of like this.

You know, sometimes. Kind of. Depending who's over.

Anyway, the Ladybug there is Maggie's. She is 7, and an accomplished spinner and fiber person.

She helps her mother with many things around The Spinning Loft, and she's been spinning for almost 2 years I think? I met her -- as many spinning teachers have -- while teaching workshops at Beth's shop, and for me personally, it was really a thrill to meet her. While Maggie is almost certainly better behaved and quieter than I was at her age, I definitely remember helping my parents with fiber workshops and spending time learning fiber-related things at every opportunity. I remember that not everyone took me seriously as a weaver then (and by extension, spinner and knitter and crocheter and many other things), and that it was sometimes hard to have interests which no other kids participated in, while being so young that grownups often just assumed you wouldn't want to interact with them.

Maggie's totally a kid, but she's serious and focused on her pursuits. She's skilled and knowledgeable and aspires to be a spinning teacher, perhaps starting as soon as next summer. She wants to teach kids to spin, and this fall, she'll be attending the Spin-Off Autumn Retreat as a scholarship recipient. She's as interested in spinning as many kids are in Spongebob, Pokemon, Legos and the like.

She also makes Maggie Batts -- from scraps and miscellany and samples -- which she sells through her mother's shop, and uses her earnings to fund her fiber pursuits (right now, she's saving for another spindle). I was absolutely thrilled to be able to contribute to her Maggie Batt materials stash the other day, and get to hang out carding with her.

Her son Ryan came too.

Ryan's a lot like Edward was at that age, and despite the age difference they got along famously. Everyone enjoyed the cats, and Kaylee out-cuted Paimei, somewhat to Paimei's chagrin. It took Kaylee a day or so to recover from all the being-played-with -- a day during which she was sedate and well behaved. The kids can come back whenever!

Everyone got to go feed the neighbour horses fistfuls of clover, and pat them on their velvety noses. When Ryan slowed down with the clover, one horse started nudging him in the head with her nose. Beth found a four-leaf clover; she says she finds them all the time. Me? I'd never even seen one before.

A few rides in Jeepy happened.

Just look at the carnage! And I showed Beth my favourite swift:

I think she might be trying to stock them in her shop. Oh, and I'll have you know that while Beth did manage to find a picture to take that included not only a skein of Bernat acrylic but a Robert Jordan book on my shelves, it's much more likely to see a shelf that looks like this:

So there. But it's true: there is cheap yarn in my house. There's a purpose for everything. I don't recall why I have a skein of pastel ombre Bernat acrylic, but there was doubtless a reason. As for the Robert Jordan, I plead "airport bookstore." Seriously though, the first one was fine. 2 and 3 were even allright. But since then, it's as if 8,000 books have gone by and NOTHING HAPPENED. "And yet you bought them," Chad always says. You see? I'm an optimist.

Anyway. There was much scheming and conspiring... and ultimately a spinning wheel hostage exchange.

Beth will be back next month to reclaim this (Lendrum Saxony) hostage from me, and when she returns she'll be bringing back the Journey Wheel I let her and Maggie take with them.

Neither of these wheels is something people lend out! What's amusing about it is that I have a Lendrum Saxony on order, and Beth has a Journey Wheel on order. So this is like a preview visit.

All in all, the question is, was this a day playing hooky -- or a serious business trip? I vote "serious business trip."

Allright, I'm going to do a few questions relating to my wheel collection, because it's been a long week and that's what I think I have the cycles to do.

Ok, devil’s advocate here: Why do you have so many? Are certain wheels better for spinning certain kinds of yarns? And how do you justify buying a new one? (I know I’d have a hard time convincing my husband that I needed more than one wheel, thus I ask.)

So, here's the thing: I'm a textile professional. It is my career. Right now my focus is spinning, so I spin, and I write about spinning, and I teach people to spin. Those things, plus producing handspinning fiber, are what generate income for me. These are the tools of my trade.

If I were a woodworker, then chances are I'd have lots of saws, lots of specialized equipment for doing specific tasks, a stash of custom and hard-to-find sandpaper, piles and piles of various types of wood, and even more than one of what seems like exactly the same thing. Being a professional spinner is no different.

Different wheels do have different strengths and weaknesses, and different purposes to which they're ideally suited. It's the same as how a mechanic has different wrenches and screwdrivers and jacks and ramps for the cars to go up on and a stash of spare parts and a creeper to get under cars and maybe an engine lift or might choose to buy the house with a huge garage that has a pit in it. I have wheels that excel at super fine yarn, wheels that multitask, wheels that do a good job plying or dealing with bulky stuff, wheels that are great for a beginner, wheels that are compatible with each other in the event of a problem occurring, wheels that are expressly for travel.

Because I do this professionally, I may have a real need to have multiple kinds of things going on multiple wheels at a time. I can't fail to sample something on a wheel because I have a lengthy project in progress, and queue up work behind me finishing that. I really do need to have a wheel open at pretty much any time; if I have a big project on a given wheel, that doesn't mean I won't need to do a smaller one in the interim. I can't have the bottleneck of only one wheel.

I also have wheels because some time ago I recognized that the cosmos had appointed me to a position of great responsibility in which I am required to save wheels from uncertain fates, and often find them new homes. I'm like a spinning wheel foster parent. I save the wheels nobody wants from ending up living under bridges and spare-changing. Sometimes there is rehab. Sadly there is no government support for these activities, but that's not why I do them. Often there is no reward but the joy of ultimately finding these poor beleaguered wheels a loving home with a spinner or would-be spinner who has been trying to get a wheel for a while, to no avail.

And then too, I need to have extra wheels in case there's someone who simply has to be turned to the dark side taught to spin and given a chance to work through it. Sometimes people don't realize they want to be spinners, and may argue with you about this. They'll say all kinds of things -- oh, it costs money, I can't afford a wheel, where would I put it, I just don't know if I'd use one, maybe I wouldn't like doing it, I tried with a spindle but something doesn't feel right. Most of these people are wrong and must be re-educated are ripe for indoctrination actually ARE interested, and if loaned a wheel, are easy pickings and become addicted, providing a captive audience in the future have an opportunity to explore spinning at their leisure before going out and starting their own wheel collections and decide if they want to make an investment in spinning equipment.

I've also had times when I've been working on an article for which I had to provide photos, and it's been a drag going around saying "Hey, do you have a good picture of a double drive wheel?" and "Can I just borrow your Traddy for a bit while I'm working on this technical piece?" It's much easier to just walk over to my own Schacht Matchless, set it up, and do what I need to do.

Then too, I've got to be familiar with all the major wheels out there. Why? Let's say I'm teaching a class, and someone is having trouble with a technique. 9 times out of 10, the reason for this trouble is a wheel adjustment. I need to be able to find the source of the problem, correct it, and move on, very fast. If the problem is with the wheel and it's broken and it's not an adjustment, then in the interests of keeping that class moving, sometimes another wheel must be found. Fortunately, I often have one. But seriously, teaching spinning often involves teaching people about wheels. A good spinning teacher who covers wheel spinning should, in my opinion, know a lot about wheels, and also shouldn't be one of those people who propagates misinformation. I like to speak based on my personal experience whereever possible, and I try to make that a broad range of possible places.

If you had to narrow the collection down to only four wheels, which ones would you pick, and why? Could you choose only one, and if so, what would impact that decision most strongly?

Well, why do I have to narrow my collection? Is it the apocalypse? I'm trying to think about what conditions would cause me to have to choose only four, or only one, wheel. Totally sounds like the apocalypse. That has to be it.

What kind of apocalypse? The kind where I'm going to hole up in the house and take potshots at approaching zombies until things stabilize and we live in a world without a lot of modern conveniences? Because in that case, none of them go, and in fact, I need more, because I have to set up to teach people to make textiles so we don't have to live in a "The Matrix" world of ill-fitting and shabbily knit raglan sweaters in which nobody owns a crochet hook to pick up the dropped stitches. I mean, seriously.

Or is it the kind of apocalypse where I have to flee jack-booted thugs and go into hiding in a tiny attic?
That would be like living in a small house, and I already did that. That was why I got the Suzie Pro: a production wheel that takes up less space than most folding chairs. In this case, I'd keep the Suzie Pro, the two Louets, the Journey Wheel, and the Schacht. I know that's five. Shut up, they're small. The charkhas don't take up any space either.

Maybe it's the kind of apocalypse where we have to get in the truck and drive as fast as we can away from a fast-approaching lava flow which has come all this way from the Yellowstone volcano blowing its top. There is no room even for the cats, and I can only take the Journey Wheel, and I never recover from the loss of all the others, but live out my life in a strange post-apocalyptic bunker talking about everyone I left behind.

I'm totally disinterested in the type of apocalypse that requires wheels to go away. I vote we only have the kind of apocalypse in which I become the sage old lady everyone loves for making civilized life possible when you can't buy jeans from Bangladesh anymore.

Well... so that covers two questions, anyway. We'll be talking lots more.

In that way that things sometimes go, a wheel followed me home yesterday...

It's an older Country Craftsman, a 24" Saxony wheel, literally never used. It needs some cleaning up and minor tweaks, but should be a solid enough spinner once those are all squared away.

Posting the picture on Ravelry, though, resulted in folks asking to see pictures of all my wheels. At first I laughed that off, but then, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a neat idea. The boys helped me get everybody lined up on the deck for a class picture:

We took a couple.

The tall kids are standing at the rear. We let the Autoknitter join in despite not being a spinning wheel, on account of it’s a very cool machine, and tall. In the middle of the back row of tall kids is my old Majacraft Suzie (more on her later), which I really need to ask Glynis for more info about one of these days. At right in the back row is the Country Craftsman you saw earlier.

Middle row, from left: Bosworth Journey Wheel, Schacht Matchless, Majacraft Suzie Pro with accelerator head, Majacraft Saxonie, Louet Julia (S-11), Fricke S-160F.

Front row (seated), from left: Bosworth Book Charkha and Bosworth Book Charkha B-1, Ertoel Roberta, 1964 vintage double drive electric spinner (LOUD!), Louet Victoria.

Over the next few weeks, I'll be telling you in detail about each of these wheels. And by the end of the summer, I'm expecting a couple of them to matriculate and move out.

(That means I'm going to sell 2 of them before the summer is over)

The Good: I got some wonderful, beautiful, stunning, fabulous fiber from Amy. She and I have been known to swap fibers on occasion; this is mostly because every so often, you want to eat someone else's cooking, even if you're a nitpicky shrew who likes things just so (that would be me, not Amy). We like each other's cooking -- that is, fiber work -- quite a bit, so these little swaps and surprise gifts are always a major treat.

Of this particular fiber, Amy says, "I made these batts with you in mind - then I thought they had too much grease so I wasn't going to send it. Then I sampled it and knew you had to have it. The content is CVM from a prizewinner at 2007 Rhinebeck but I also blended in some soy silk. I hope you like them as much as I did."

Truth to tell, I was slobbering before I even found her note explaining. These batts are just... so stunning. I just can't tell you how stunning they are. And unfortunately, here's the first The Bad: I also, apparently, cannot make a picture remotely come close to doing them justice. This one is probably the best.

But it's totally unable to convey why -- and this is The Ugly -- I bumped the spinning that I needed to be doing for work, and started spinning this, for me, instead.

That doesn't do it either. They're a gray-green base with mild tweed elements of both colour and texture, and natural coloured flashes of soy silk. They're frothy like way-too-rich-mousse that has a definite whipped texture to it but is also heavy and substantial. They're so good. So very, very good.

It breaks my heart that I cannot show you how fabulous these are. You all need to come over so I can shove them in your hands. And if you are coming over, please bring coffee. Strong coffee. Once the manchild was off to school, I started to take a look at my list for the day. Bear with me, please.

For a typical work week, I generally try to stick to a breakdown of "Production: 12-24 hours; Operations: 10-12 hours; Development: 12-20 hours." Total work hours in a typical week: 32 - 56.

Production is things like dyeing silk, or producing yarn and fiber for sale.

Operations is stuff like packing, shipping, inventory, accounting, routine correspondence.

Development is writing, patterns, product testing, market research, and some correspondence.

Like I said in January 2007.

Both production and development have strong risks of slopping over into my personal life; in some cases this is acceptable and in other cases, it’s not — but that’s a whole new range of stuff to talk about, best left for another day. For now, suffice it to say I’m figuring a slack week is 30-some-odd hours of work, a busy week maybe as much as 60; with average weeks somewhere in the “around 40 work hours” range. The big tricky issue for me, really, is how to limit time and be focused; I have a tendency to just work nonstop, whatever I’m doing, and that’s what needs controlling most in my life.

The good news is... um, I have this concept, and in theory, sold my boss on it. The bad news is I haven't been experiencing nearly as many slack weeks as busy weeks. Or maybe that's the good news. Or it's both. In a perfect world, if I have a week with big development, then I do a leaner production week. Or something. You know, so it all balances out. I haven't been so great about balance. I haven't been so great about keeping work from taking over my personal life. And the ugly, well.

I need to stop frantically, reactively working, and commit an act of neatness in my office. I need to do this badly, and there is simply not going to be TIME for at least a week. This situation is entirely untenable and yet I have to live with it for a while, till I can get the space to figure out where to store the old 21" monitor, answer paper correspondence and file it, be honest with myself and move out some yarn, and that kind of thing.

In my office, there are kid school papers, some of which are keepers and some of which are trash. There is mending I need to do. There are near-finished projects because I suck at finishing things. There are areas which were pristinely tidy until a cat decided to go haywire there, and now, it's cascading chaos. There are things I've left out and acccessible which don't need to be out and accessible because I haven't touched them in a year. There are things I meant to hang on the wall. There is stuff I can't find. There are even two empty beer bottles from last night, which I did not take down to the kitchen and dispose of before crashing. More than the empty beer bottles being there, though, there is the situation of which this is proof: late-night drinking at the office, while working. That is a sure sign of "omigod, take some time off, or else."

But on the bright side, I did find J. Jonah.

The manchild gave me J. Jonah Jameson here for Christmas some years back. He has stayed in his packaging, because his packaging proclaims that he has an amazing super power. He does. He has Desk Pounding Action. No lie. He has lived on every desk I've had ever since.

I have to come clean here, and explain that J. Jonah Jameson -- Peter Parker's overstressed and temperamental newspaper editor boss, who hires him on a freelance basis to take photos of Parker's own alter ego, Spider-Man -- has long represented a lot of things about my own work life for me. J. Jonah's not easy to work for, but the truth is he's not a bad guy at all. He has standards and expectations that are arguably impossible for mere mortals to meet, but, um, but something. I'm sure I justify that somehow. He puts Peter Parker to work, doing outrageous things nobody else could do, seemingly unaware and uncaring about that, interested only in results, unaware of Parker's bizarre work-life balance issues and dual identity and the moral wrangling Parker must do. J. Jonah never stops moving, and he's the kind of guy who, as in the first of the recent Spider-Man movies, feels it is important to counter an accusation of libel by saying "No, it's slander, libel is printed."

Plus, he has DESK. POUNDING. ACTION.

My boss -- my own alter ego -- secretly worships J. Jonah Jameson.

But, so moving right along, the J. Jonah in me has apparently failed to be concerned about my own schedule, demanding that I perform on command and simply deal with the laundry later. This morning, I went into the laundry room to see how that was working out. The good:

Paimei is very comfy on the high shelf. That's good. The bad, of course, is that he is atop some hand-wash-only items and handknits in need of minor repairs. And the ugly, well.

I made a horrible mistake. I forgot to move the last load of laundry last night, and now the load in the washer at left will have to be re-washed. What's particularly ugly about this is that I'm not sure "forgot" is entirely honest, because the truth is more like "would have had to fold stuff presently taking up the laundry basket, and put it away," and instead, I was drinking beer in my office and editing photos. This is a clear failure of work-life balance. It's ugly.

Moving right along though, there is some good news. Momentarily, I'll be getting a box of batts shipped off to Beth at The Spinning Loft for her to sell. Once that's done, I'm going to be making another giant box of batts for Amy to sell at Spunky Eclectic. Let's hear it for my very exclusive dealer network!

The bad, unsurprisingly...

...is that this is a lot of work, and my studio isn't in any better shape than my office. The ugly is that it may even be in worse shape.

Truth hurts. Let's look at "good" again.

Those Amy batts spin up nice too. Again, photos don't do it justice. Hey, the sun's out! Maybe I can take it outside! Oh, right, but the bad news is, the sun may be out, but we're back to winter temperatures (or just above). I'm so ready to be done with winter. And the ugly is, well, look:

I should be doing stuff with things that are in those boxes, instead of using them to keep me from gaining access to the closet, where potentially, I might even be able to store things that are making it impossible to straighten my office. But I won't know until I get in there, which at this point, will require a game of Tetris. So, later.

In other good news, I think I like these beads on this little shawl, which is done except for the beads, which I'm sewing on.

They're more iridescent than this flash photo shows, and when I finish the thing, you'll see how awesome it is. But the bad is...

...I not only seem to not be finishing it right now, but I seem to have draped it atop my to-be-filed file to look at, and then covered it with other projects. And what's ugly is that the box of beads now seems to be lost on my desk. It's probably under the unfinished hat.

But, you know, in good news, I've pruned my inbox down to 399 emails. 399! This is fabulous. Of course, the bad news is that they're all emails which need answering. And the ugly? Well, some of them are getting stale, and call for long answers, and I won't be getting to those today either.

Ahem. Indeed. What more really need be said? I'd try to explain, but my inner J. Jonah is exercising DESK POUNDING ACTION and demanding results, so I'm afraid we're all out of time here. And don't tell Mr. Jameson, but I might also be out of clean socks, so I have to go brave Mount Laundry to find out. If you haven't heard from me by Monday, send help. With coffee.

A few people have asked me recently if I have any advice to offer about going to Interweave's Spin-Off Autumn Retreat.

Yes. Here it is.

SOAR is intense!

Don't try to plan for other things during the course of SOAR. Just go and do SOAR.

How does it work exactly?

Okay, here's the deal. SOAR is broken up into two parts: the workshop portion, and the retreat portion. For the workshop portion, when you sign up, you'll choose your first, second, and third choice of workshops from this list. You'll only get into one of these! You'll find out which when you get your confirmation and whatnot. For the workshop portion, you arrive Sunday afternoon or evening, there's dinner and a kick-off presentation in the evening, and some unstructured social time.

Monday morning, you get up, eat breakfast, and start your workshop. There's a break for lunch (and usually one coffee break in the morning and one in the afternoon). After lunch, you go back for more workshop, until dinnertime. All your meals are large group meals, buffet style, and you eat with whoever you eat with. After dinner, there may be an evening lecture for you to choose to attend, or not; and probably some unstructured social time as well. Tuesday and Wednesday are essentially the same.

On Thursday, the retreat portion starts. If you were only there for the workshops, this is when you'll head out. The marketplace opens this day, and there's nothing scheduled for it. There are still group meals. People who are coming for only the retreat portion start to show up. Thursday evening, there's a kick-off session and you sign up for retreat sessions. You get to choose four total; two per day. Thursday would be your main shopping day at the marketplace, too.

Friday, you'll get up, eat breakfast, go to your first retreat session, be there till lunch, and then after lunch, go to your second session, till dinnertime. After dinner, there may be evening programs. Saturday is the same, but generally Saturday night there's the big spin-in gathering. There are informal spin-ins and socializing and whatnot all week, of course. Sunday morning, there's breakfast, and generally a closing program, and people start to head out.

Will my family likely want to go along?

In general, I wouldn't count on it, unless they're fairly fiber-obsessed. Like I say, it's intense and pretty nonstop. Whatever down time you have you'll likely end up spending on fibery pursuits. If that's likely to cause strain, you may be happiest not trying to fit it in together with a family trip.

If I can only do one of workshop or retreat, how do I pick?

Tough call. I'll assume for the sake of this post that you don't have a scheduling issue one way or the other, and just talk about choosing one.

The first thing I'd do is take a look at the workshops. Have you, for example, always wanted to take an in-depth class on carding with colour? If so, Deb Menz' workshop session would be three days of that. Or maybe you've always wanted to take a class from Nancy Bush or a class from Judith MacKenzie McCuin; this year's SOAR offers both in one class... for three intensive days. Or maybe you just know that it's time for you to take some serious, no-joke hands-on and in-person instruction of a general nature; there are a few such options this year. But the bottom line is, is there a workshop -- or multiple workshops -- which you are just dying to take? Are you looking for three intensive days of study? If you are, then there is probably nowhere better to go get it. One teacher (or two for the Nancy and Judith class) for three days! I can tell you that as a teacher, it's an exciting prospect, because all too often you're trying to fit a lot into a smaller length of time and it's hard to do the topic justice, or you have to pick and choose what you'll cover. Workshops are terrific intensive classes.

If, on the other hand, there isn't anything you definitely want to commit three days to, or you aren't sure; if you'd rather have a larger chunk of uncommitted time; if you would rather get smaller chunks of more teachers, and more variety... well then in that case, the retreat may be the way to go. For a first-timer, the retreat is possibly more approachable in that you get to sample various teachers, and then reach those conclusions like "That's it, next year I want three days with Sharon Costello if she's teaching here again," or "Wow, cut silk pile is amazing! I had no idea! I need to know more! Lots more!" But at the same time, the retreat is a little bit more hectic because there's more going on and more moving from place to place; for the workshop, you set up in a classroom and that's where your activity is.

What classes would you pick?

It dawned on me belatedly that, as a SOAR mentor, I wasn't going to get to take any classes. I know, I know, it's obvious, right? Still. That's the down side.

You'll say this is a cop-out answer. It's really really true though! Anybody who's teaching at SOAR is going to have fabulous stuff to offer. Every single one of the classes offered is going to be excellent. No matter who you are, there is something for you to learn in each and every SOAR workshop or retreat session. You could literally pin the schedule on the wall and throw darts at it to pick, and you'd get great classes. Last year, for instance, I talked to someone who's been spinning since before I was born, been to pretty much every SOAR, and who was taking Maggie Casey's Spinning 101. And she learned stuff. I took Sharon Costello's needle felting retreat session, even though I thought I had less than zero interest in needle felting; I loved it, and it changed my mind about all kinds of things.

But that said, you could start by ruling things out. Let's suppose I were picking classes for me. For example, I'd love to take a Deb Menz class, but I also know that she teaches regularly at the Cincinnati guild near me (and which, one of these days, I'll make it to a meeting of -- it's just that I keep remembering it's the first Thursday of the month *after* the meeting is over). Anyway, I could go take her class there, and look for someone at SOAR who never comes to the area where I live. And I took Judith's workshop last year; maybe I should let someone else have a chance, and besides, I can't just always take the same person's class, even if it's Judith!

It's also worth considering things simply from the perspective of when you're likely to be able to take another class with this teacher. For example, even though I don't think I have a major interest in colour in knitting, this is the first time I can remember seeing Vivian Hoxbro teaching at a venue I can get to in quite some time. That was why I took Margaret Stove's retreat session on spinning fine wools for lace last year, and boy am I glad I did.

For retreat sessions, I think you pick two that you know for sure you want, one that's from a teacher you've heard great things about but have no idea if it's a subject you're interested in, and one that you think you just aren't interested in at all. For me last year, I knew I wanted to take Carol Huebscher Rhoades on spinning big yarns, and Margaret Stove on lace yarn... and I'd heard great things about Maggie Casey as a teacher so I took her class even though it was about long draw, a subject I know fairly well. And I wrapped it up with Sharon Costello about felting, expressly to broaden my horizons unexpectedly.

I have nothing but praise for all the SOAR mentors this year. Except maybe that Abby chick; what a poser, who does she think she is? But seriously though, maybe I'm lucky I can't take any classes this year, because it would be impossibly hard to choose.

It's not all about classes or shopping!

My father used to tell me I'd really like SOAR if I went. "Oh sure," I'd always say, "I'm going to go, and hang out with your friends... great. Whatever." I'd been to plenty of fiber shows and conferences and the like as a tagalong of various kinds. I really didn't need one more, y'know? After all, it's just one more fiber event.

That's honestly what I thought, and I couldn't have been more wrong. It's so much more than just another fiber event. SOAR is without a doubt the major fiber community event. It's where you go as a pathological fiber-obsessed nut job, to be with your own kind; to realize that you can just walk over to the author of some of your favourite books, and have a totally regular conversation; to meet people you would never have known were out there, let alone that you'd end up best friends; to have your boundaries pushed and your brain picked and your assumptions challenged and the seeds of a jillion new projects planted. You go to SOAR, and you realize you're not alone, and this is your fiber family, and you have things to give to it just as you can count on being able to come home for Thanksgiving dinner in a pinch. It's where a chick in a conversation (Hi Rachel H!) says "I'm really interested in building wheels," and is then rushed over to meet a bunch of dudes named Ashford, Schacht, and Lendrum, who are all standing around chatting. It's where you can stand around socializing with the people behind those shops you've mail ordered from, and really realize what they do for the community.

After it's over and you leave, time passes and you pick up your next Spin-Off, or you look at the Interweave books on your shelf, then magically, there are faces behind all the names. You're looking at the masthead that says "PUBLISHER: Marilyn Murphy" and instead of that being some nebulous name, you know it's that tireless, hard-working lady who was everywhere at once and still had time to chat with everybody. You know that the Phreadde Davis who wrote the ankletto article is actually Fibergal and she and her husband are driving forces behind many things at SOAR that aren't on the program but are traditions all the same. You know that Carol Huebscher Rhoades, Spin-Off's tech editor, has absolutely stunning hair and works her tail off making sure things are right. You know that everybody involved is a person, a fiber-obsessed textile nutjob just like you, who has made it a personal mission to spread the lore and the community. You know for certain that it's not like in many other pursuits, where it's just a job for people. It is simultaneously humbling and uplifting.

Should I take projects to SOAR?

You should! You should take finished things to put in the fashion show and gallery; you should take things to show and tell with; and you should take stuff to work on, too. There won't be any shopping till Thursday, so if you want extracurricular stuff to spin or what have you, take that along too if you're going for the workshops.

Anything else?

I can't think of anything right now, but ask me a question if you have one, and if I can answer it, I will!

I was dubious Friday morning when the word was going around that we were to be struck with the cold white hammer of wintry weather. That's because, at about 8AM, it looked like this.

Grey and overcast, sure. But that's how we got the flooding earlier in the week, the lingering results of which can be seen in the murky dip in the back yard. Nonetheless, the manchild -- who agreed to assist me with blogging since school was closed -- and I headed out to the market to stave off the risk of him being snowed in with parents who were out of beer.

The wind was getting whippy and a little precipitation was beginning. Edward pointed out I needed my scarf. I retrieved it, and we headed out. Really, although it was grey and chilly, everything was still quite ordinary.

But you can see they were being generous with the salt in our township, even though other nearby towns were reporting that they had run out of salt for the roads.

Really, just grey.

We made it to the store just fine. The parking lot was fairly full, but tidy enough. Actual snow was just beginning to fall.

No doubt about it: Mom was going to need a big coffee. One is almost always acquired when passing this space, ever since they turned the supermarket into a Kroger Marketplace, an absolutely massive store that features... everything.

Is that a tight-lipped smile? Will a giant mocha improve things? Here's hoping -- it's bound to be necessary to fight the throngs.

You can really see the enthusiasm pouring out of both of us.

Yes. Tortellini. And more coffee needed.

This is perhaps Edward's favourite part of the store -- the giant tape dispenser and the post-its that say "Pick up milk," right next to the aisle endcap full of "Spirit Wear," also known as t-shirts and jackets and such like emblazoned with LEBANON WARRIORS.

Most of the other people there were clearly moms who'd expected to be at work, but instead, were taking all the kids to the market, in case the milk ran out. You have to buy milk, bread, and toilet paper, apparently. Chad's parents had explained this to me -- when they moved here after living in colder, snowier climes, they discovered that indeed, if a big snow was predicted, the markets would in fact run out of those things.

Really.

At the Kroger, you can get toys. And furniture, housewares, bedding, books, and sushi, but hey -- Legos and Star Wars crap, mom!

And beer. Let us not forget the beer. That's what sent us out -- beer, to keep the parents in line. Elizabeth, you asked about the kegerator. It's just fine; however, the keg that goes in it... is empty. And it's normally a weekend thing to pick up more, when we run out through the week. This is the "out of beer" situation: an empty keg.

Okay, we're almost ready. The cart is full of stuff for chili, tacos, and pasta; we've replenished the canned soup; there is Boddingtons, hurrah! Just a few more important staples to check on -- oh, and do you see the salt (for melting snow on your walkway) and snowshovels? You can get everything at the Kroger Marketplace.

This is an important source of caffeine for fathers.

What should be here is not here. It has not been here for some time, like since January. However, I remain heartened by the fact that the tag listing its price still has not been removed. Surely if the product were not to return, the tag would also go away.

My son knows as much about these things as I do about yarn, I suspect. Denny's kid can probably fill us in on the details as well. As a mom, my knowledge of Lego type objects is super-outdated, and I can really only say "bad weather cabin fever rainy day distraction type thingy."

And while you're browsing magazine covers while the guy in front of you buys a snow shovel, you can rest easy knowing that your kid won't be asking about anything untoward from the cover of Cosmo.

We're out safe, and Trucky is waiting, lightly dusted with snow.

Mom is so amused.

Yes. Ice. Thank you, Trucky. I'll keep my eyes peeled.

Heading down the main drag where the car dealerships are -- there's one of these in every town above a certain size -- we can see snow starting to stick.

Roads are fine, though. It's been about 45 minutes since we left the house.

And here, on the main fast-food-restaurant drag, we realized that visibility was definitely worsening.

Things were still okay down our country road...

...but it's good to be home.

One of the things Chad pointed out to me about a truly modern -- as in not in a cabin in rural New Hampshire -- lifestyle in a part of the world which has winter (albeit typically mild winter) is that you can have an attached garage. You pull your vehicle right into the garage, and you're already essentially indoors. Really. Basically no scraping ice and shoveling out the car. We live like kings.

Gentle reader from a truly snowy area, please understand that even what you see here could potentially be enough to cause snow days. This is gritty, icy, slushy snow in pellets and flakes, and not everyone knows how to deal with it.

"If that keeps up all day," we all agreed, "We might really get that foot of snow."

Plus it's the blowy kind.

Ahhhh, a snow day.

By lunchtime, it was still coming down, still blowing hard, and making interesting drifts.

And this is noon, people, not dusk. Look, the driveway's hiding.

By dusk, we were well-blanketed, and it was still coming down, harder than ever, even. "They're saying till tomorrow night," Chad said when we went to bed. I turned off the alarm.

I was awakened by a very enthusiastic 10-year-old. "MOM!" he stage-whispered, "Come right now, into my room, and you can see, you can really see, how much snow has fallen. And it's still snowing! And it's not just a trick! Come see come see come see come see!"

Yes. Before the coffee, little man. I'm on my way.

Why, that's enough snow to make an undercaffeinated mom say, "It's even taller than the mess in your room!"

The dad, in his wisdom, proposed an outing to see the snow.

This bare spot was really interesting -- it's definitely the wind-whipped part of the lot, but this corner of house was quite un-snowy. Which is good, because it's where we get Trucky out of the garage.

The driveway, though, was buried under almost a foot.

Our road had, however, been plowed.

Even so, drifting snow had accumulated in this hollow.

The main road into town was pretty clear.

This shortcut, not so much. Incidentally, the poor people with the house at left in this photo -- their fence is constantly being hit by cars. Constantly. All year round, once a month, someone's tagged it. It's amazing. I would have been tempted to replace the fence with Jersey barrier by now.

Here's where you'd get off the highway. In other words, we're on the highway.

In case you were ever wondering why they label the exits with arrows and whatnot.

Chad proposed breakfast.

Amazingly enough, the Bob Evans was open. The service manager and one waitress were making it happen. We were very grateful.

And here's the fast food drag again, not 24 hours later -- complete with a car spinning its wheels attempting to get across the road.

So quiet.

Had this been me, I would not have been being quiet. I would have been cursing up a storm.

Here's that main drag with the car dealerships, again.

and the Kroger parking lot.

This guy and his buddy were out plowing the parking lot; from the looks of things, by the time they finished it, it was time to start over again at the other side.

So what had they run out of, for real? Well, the breakfast sausage was hit hard...

And the frozen pizza.

Plus pre-grated cheese.

Milk? Restocked.

ARGH!

Good thing we got soda, though...

And it's a good thing we didn't need a snow shovel, because at this point, we'd have had to buy a snowblower at the checkout aisle.

This had been plowed clean when we went in.

Here's what it looked like on the way home:

Can't tell what's going on? Let's try this...

That's the plow.

This had been freshly plowed when we left the house also -- maybe 90 minutes prior?

Our country road, too, had been plowed again since we left... and was now worse than when we left.

Yay, home! I didn't go out again, but...

...here's my valiant assistant, in the back yard just before lunchtime. That's right -- you can't see the fence.

It kept snowing till about 8PM -- some 36 hours of nonstop heavy and blowing snow, and it was a bit over a foot (aka 30 cm). Most snow since 1978, apparently.

This has been kind of one of those mornings. The manchild didn't want to get out of bed, which means I got to start right out nagging, before I even had the coffee started, and the whole morning process was behind schedule and time felt pinched and everything. I felt like I was wading through Jell-O getting him a quick breakfast made and my coffee brewing and continuing the delightful motherly nagging at which I've grown so skilled: Find your jacket! Are your shoes on? Do you have your backpack ready? You have to go down to wait for the bus in 2 minutes. Okay, now you have 1 minute. And so on.

That's when the thunderous crash from upstairs happened. I'm hustling the kid out the door, knowing if he doesn't walk out the door in 45 seconds he'll miss the bus and I will then be forced to drive him, which sucks, because all I really wanted was to take a shower and there won't be time, and what DID crash upstairs? Oh geeze, I hope the cats just knocked a thing of laundry soap off the washing machine. And the manchild can't find his gameboy. "It's charging in the truck," his father reminds him from the top of the stairs, "because you forgot the charger at your grandparents' house," while I'm saying "I can't find it right now, you need to leave without it so I can see what the giant crash was," while my better half says "I already took care of it," and the boy says "No, that's my DS, what about the gameboy?" which amazingly, Chad knows is in the kitchen with the Mad magazine, and he hands it to him, and the kid heads out the door with me hollering HAVE A GREAT DAY AT SCHOOL HONEY! and thinking about my now-cooling cup of coffee back in the kitchen.

The crash was the humidifier, filled with water, being knocked over by the cats, and broken. This is a catastrophe on many levels and it's entirely possible that eventually today I'm going in search of a new one. Along with going to a bookstore if the books I ordered for the manchild's 10th birthday don't arrive today. Plus work. But not till after coffee, a shower, and more coffee.

This moment, of course, is when I realize that I, master of my laundry destiny, She Who Controls The Flow Of All Textile Objects In Our Life And Orchestrates The Schedule Of All Of It So That There Are Always Clean Socks, have somehow allowed a situation to arise in which all of the pants which presently fit my enlarged butt are dirty. There is no one to blame for this but myself -- for the state of my laundry and the state of my butt and the state of my wardrobe since I refuse to buy myself more fat pants than I already have. Yes, my routine was thrown slightly off course due to the incident in which the light bulb exploded in my hands and rained broken glass and who knows what else into the basket of clean Mom clothes, but that was at least a week ago. I knew full well I had an untenable laundry situation and I did not remedy it.

More coffee then, and work, while the laundry launders and I dream of clean hair, remind myself I've lived far rougher than this, and start deleting about a thousand stray pieces of spam that showed up overnight in my inbox. Mmmmm. I take a moment to mentally rant about how back in the day, those of us who cared about anti-spam stuff said that, oh never mind. What's the use? That battle was lost more than a decade ago and the computer professional Abby has recovered. More coffee, and a dozen actual emails answered. My horoscope says "Dress sharp, keep your eyes open and don't hesitate to make the first move as the week begins." Gee thanks! Maybe I could be said to "dress sharp" by donning jeans which might have broken glass in them (and that don't fit right now anyway).

**** brief intermission ****

Right, and so there I was, writing that last paragraph, listening to my fat pants in the dryer, when I was informed someone would be stopping by the house in about a half an hour. Now you find me clean, but in too-small jeans (I think I'll skip lunch. I wouldn't be able to breathe if I ate it anyway, not in these jeans. I don't know what I'll do about leaving the house; it's not gonna happen in these jeans either). Perhaps "dress sharp" means "dress such that you feel a sharp pain in the waistband."

In any case, there I was feeling quite Mondayed, when I learned that both Janel and Julia have listed me as a blogger who makes their day! Er... their days? Is it the same day in question, or a different day for each of them? Argh! Each of them says I make her day (take that, inner grammar cop! I'll show you!) I'm stunned, and touched, and I wonder, today of all days, what were you guys thinking? I mean, Janel, you've got no end of incredible projects you take well in hand and just make happen; you amaze me. And as for you, Julia, you're another one of those people who leaves me awestruck, being someone who can host fashion photo shoots and 6-year-old birthday parties with equal grace and style, and actually FINISH things, and look great in your handknits... wow. Janel and Julia, if I make your day, I can only surmise it's because, especially on a Monday like this, you're looking at me, laughing, and thinking "There, but for the grace of God, go I -- I could be an unshowered, behind-schedule harried mom yarn nerd with no clean jeans."

So I've been thinking all morning about who I'll name as bloggers who make my day. Quite honestly, and though I'm sure everyone is saying it, you all do; every member of the blogging community, which is much more of a community than I'd have thought it was, functionally speaking, when I first entered into it. There's no way for me to pick just 10 people; none. So here's a few, and if it's more than 10, well, tough! I'm going to try to name a few folks who I haven't seen named yet, and who consistently help me through those mornings like this one was.

Amy, Boogie, The Spunky Eclectic has been making my day since before either of us were really doing this blogging thing, and she has been a valued member of my online world for quite a few years now.

Sara Lamb is an instigator, a pusher, an enabler, and the owner of a fabulous dry wit. She simply Does Things.

Ellen is another friend of several years in the online world, someone who is always quick to remind me that I absolutely can do what I set my mind to, and who could perhaps be accused of kicking the odd soapbox out right in front of me so I'll accidentally step up on it and start ranting.

Deb Robson is one of those people who just... makes things happen. I suspect she might argue with me about this, but she's one single individual without whose efforts vast amounts of fiber lore would have been lost entirely over the past few decades. She'd probably say "Oh, someone else would have done it," but I don't think that's true; and in most cases, if they had, they wouldn't have done it as thoroughly and as well and with as much love and dedication, as Deb has. And does.

Elizabeth I would never have met if it weren't for blogland. She's down-to-earth, and real, and I know she totally understands why it is I have to crank up the loud AC/DC in my car, and then turn it up again, and again, and if she were sitting next to me and I had to peel out from a stoplight just this once, she'd understand. I know she would.

Amelia and I are evil twins. Seriously, we're both the evil one. But in a good way.

Carol blows my mind; she's real, she's tough, she lives with her whole heart and soul and puts her money where her mouth is.

Ted sent me a wonderful gift recently, which gets its own blog post momentarily. Of it, he said, "For a minute I worried about sending you a handspun handknit gift, but then I thought, maybe a lot of people think that and so you don't get many and you might like one."

Jenny makes my day often, and she especially made my day with her Ode to a Low Whorl recently.

Cassie knocks my socks off; again, a doer and achiever and wonderful human being who I'd never have gotten to know if it weren't for blogland.

I heart mamacate, and keep taking too long to respond to her emails and so on. Like, really too long. Like a year too long. And she has the absolute most fabulous "about" slugline ever: "A blog to serve the needs of the infertile lesbian fiber arts breastfeeding parents of twins community, particularly those who are left-leaning democrats employed in research and education. Don't all comment at once, we don't want to crash the server." Sing it!

Lastly, I feel I should close with a confession of sorts about blogland. Are you ready? Okay, here it is.

When my online friends started reading blogs and whatnot -- and I was a little late to reading blogs, since I was doing 800,000 other online things -- they all started reading this one by some Canadian knitting chick. And all 100-zillion of my online friends would keep emailing me, catching me on IRC, finding my livejournal, sending me AIM messages, or talking to me in person to say "You should read her blog! Omigod! You'd love it!" By the time the first half-trillion people had said so, I had a mental image built up in my mind of some phenomenon like that dancing baby thingy, or the chain letter joke list that got forwarded to me 800 times by every person who'd just gotten email the first time, or the alleged macarena craze. So I totally blew off looking at that blog. Because, I mean, whatever. Whoever this chick was that had this huge mass of fans, just... whatever. I totally didn't care. Big deal. Dancing baby! Macarena! Shut up shut up!

Time went by, and people got more and more into her blog. I mean, it was just nuts -- people were crazy about it, and they'd start quoting this chick, and doing what she said, and I just kept thinking, "Oh, whatever." And then this one day, somebody, somewhere, told me that said blogger did not advocate the darning of socks.

"What?" I said, aghast. I mean, handknit socks -- save them! Learning to darn is also useful, and it's not like it's hard, and there's a skillset there, and... what?

"Yeah," whoever it was said, "She just says to throw the socks away, because darning is stupid and pointless and a total waste of time."

Well, that was it. That was the absolute last straw for me. I wasn't having it. "Well that's it," I said, "I'm going to go right over there and I'm gonna give this wool floozy a piece of my mind! Does she not realize that, as a person who apparently has the attention of scads of people becoming interested in the fiber arts, she has a moral obligation to, well, to not tell people to throw away their easily repaired handknits, at least? That's it! I'm going to go kick her butt!"

So I did; I stormed right over there (well, you know. I was really vehement and vigorous cutting and pasting a URL into my web browser, muttering under my breath and thinking just what I was going to say) and read the post someone had told me about where this fiber trollop said to just throw out your socks -- and as I read it, well, I was shocked. And horrified. I mean, I was utterly aghast. The more I read, the more appalled I was.

You see, the article didn't say anything of the kind.

Nope, it was light-hearted, and this chick was poking fun at herself over her sock mishap. Nothing, NOTHING AT ALL suggested that simply throwing out a handknit was the way to go, or that darning was stupid and pointless.

So, there I was with a great head of bluster and steam built up, based solely on third-hand hearsay. The horror that crept over me could best be described as me thinking, "Oh my god! That poor woman! I even believed this totally false thing that pissed me off about her, and I'm a seasoned 'net skeptic!" I didn't know what to say. I did know I felt stupid and guilty. Surreptitiously, I started reading her blog, as if in some way that counted as an apology. Bit by bit, I realized that here was a woman committed to her obsession -- one she and I had in common, which is to say, "stuff that has to do with yarn." And beyond that, she was clearly and visibly committed to the notion that yarn dorks are a community, and yarn dorks online in particular are a powerful community. To my shock, I realized that I actually... I actually... I might LIKE this woman.

Eventually, I met her in person, and you know what? In fact, I do like her. We could totally hang. And -- and this is the point of where I'm going with all of this -- it's true that I'd likely never have met her if it weren't for blogland, but even more importantly, if I hadn't taken the time to actually go read her stuff, if I'd only listened to the buzz, if I'd just read the occasional thing in a magazine, or her books, I would have had all kinds of misconceptions about her and never gotten to know the actual person. And that's what makes blogland really cool: it's not all edited and streamlined and produced cleverly and structured neatly and whatnot. Instead, it's people. You really can just hang, and that, most of all, is what makes my day.

Thank you all for hanging with me, even on Mondays like this.