...and all I got was this funny-lookin' spinning wheel that isn't even back home with me yet.

Alden Amos custom Canadian Saxony with very exhausted SOAR mentor recovering from SOAR flu

I'm way too tired to give the whole story just yet, but now you know: I'm home. More shortly.

(seriously, you know you're jealous about the wheel. it's all that.)

0640: Past time to get up, really. I let myself linger in bed far longer than I meant to, but man, did it feel good. I told the already-up-and-cerealed manchild that yes, he could have some computer time before going to wait for the bus, and deployed the travel-sized coffee grinder because the big burr grinder has been steadily breaking for the past 6 months, and yesterday, really refused to grind. Once I got over it enough that it was funny, I kept mumble-singing Memphis Minnie, amusing myself greatly, not sharing the joke because I'd just have to explain it to pretty much anybody I tried to share it with.

Today, we're going to do a real productive day. Really for real this time.

0720: The morning bookkeeping's done, first email pass done, and I've written a few things we need from the market on a post-it. Boy's gotta go down for the bus in 10 minutes, so it's about time for us to start the dance where I ask him why he isn't ready, he says he can't find his shoes, and I say that if he were to put them by the door, then he'd know where they are all the time, instead of having them randomly be anywhere in the house where he happened to kick them off. It sounds like it's drizzling. Had I realized that, had I been thinking, I might have not bothered to make coffee, driven him down to wait for the bus in the rain inside my car, and then headed to pick up those few things from the market and just coincidentally, you understand, found myself buying an enormous latte. But, no: I blew off a lot of work yesterday and it's all gotta happen today, so there will be no using the guise of altruism and responsibility to go get myself a coffee treat.

0725: But it's raining kinda hard. So maybe there is. He is gonna get a ride to wait for the bus. I don't do it often but... every now and then... if the weather's foul... and it is... We'll just see if, while sitting at the end of the rather long driveway, I change my mind and just do happen to go where there's espresso.

0820: Oh fine. I caved. Perhaps excess caffeine will make up for the productivity I gave up yesterday when I sat down... and stopped moving for most of the day. So in about 2 minutes when the liquid strength is gone, the workday begins in earnest. No playing. It may be a day that calls for extra-loud, extra-toe-tapping music, because the truth is that doing production carding is a slog and sometimes it can be brutally hard to keep on going.

0915: Brief email wrangling of the most urgent variety. Oh god, why didn't I clear out more email yesterday? WHY??? My first spinnng workshop DVD is getting close to market and there's work to be done towards Louet building a workshop-in-a-box kit with it. I'm excited about it for sure. There's also tech edit work to be done today. There aren't going to be enough hours. The batt shipment I hoped to get out this evening is either going to go Saturday morning, or Monday. See, this is why I hate sitting still. Actually, I like sitting still and taking a break sometimes, but the truth is that afterwards, I always seem to wish I had that time back.

1015: My wonderhusband brought me new tunes for working to. This time, it wasn't even a trick -- like the mix CD he made and left in my car, which turned out to be beyond a rickroll: it was entirely made up of New Order extended dance versions. I finished up a batch of 26 batts bound for Amy King in Maine, part of the order I keep hoping to finish and ship tonight. I named it "OMG It's October." Because seriously, OMG, it's OCTOBER, people.

1130: Could be lunchtime. If it's fast. I break to meet my husband in the kitchen and see what's there to eat.

1152: Had a lovely quick lunch of leftover brown rice, chicken, peas, and cheddar cheese. Back to the grind.

1335: Almost done with the second-to-last batch of batts for Amy's order. Worked on it through a tech editing call and a call about lining up one last thing for SOAR materials. There's an outside chance I might actually get this order done today... and then too, I just remembered today is the day school sends home midterm report cards. Seriously, already? Yeah. Seriously. Wow.

1400: One more smaller batch to go. I can do that in 3 hours, surely. Batt count for the day so far is 52.

1440: On track, but taking a 5 minute break for my feets and a pint of water.

1600: I'll be working late, but I'm finishing this today, fer cryin' out loud.

1630: Reviewed the midterm, and because he failed to turn in 2 language arts assignments, letting him pick a fast food dinner is off the table. My better half is heading over to spend the evening helping his dad with his new computer, so at least nobody will hate me for working late tonight. Dinner'll be a quickie: tortellini, which the kid loves. Another half hour or so of work to go before I break for dinner. But since it's Friday night, I'm treating myself to a hard cider while I work late. Had to spray the cat with water for jumping on my hard-working LaserJet again. Grrrrr. Will she ever learn?

1730: Just about done. All that remains is bagging and tagging and getting it all in the box and to the post office, but that's for tomorrow. Not a bad day's work: 88 batts all told, which is a record for me, and therefore, I'm not going to kick myself any harder for the slacking off this week. I made hundreds of batts. No wonder my feet are tired.

1800: Dinner handled and back to work.

2010: My better half is home and I'm knocking off batts. Made some headway on the ones that have to happen next week... perhaps enough to buy myself time to take off and go get a massage, which I've been trying to reward myself with for a while. Heading to the family room to watch a movie with my family, while working on that DVD copy on my laptop. Usually I'd spin or knit or something, but I want to get this done and my hands are really, really sore from carding so they need a bit of a break.

2255: Bedtime. That writing isn't done, it'll have to be first thing tomorrow morning, around 0600, at this point. I'll be sound asleep by 2330 and awake by 6 whether I like it or not, even though it's Saturday. It's been that way for at least 2 years now. So tomorrow's getting that box shipped, finishing that writing, and a range of household chores like sweeping and mopping the kitchen and doubtless doing some laundry. There's always more of something to do.

A few minutes shy of 0600: Up, and down the hall to my office. It's late September, so it's still fairly dark. Not as dark as it will be when Daylight Savings Time ends, though. I have no empathy for people who enjoy mucking with the time of day twice annually. Pick a time and stick with it. This spring-forward-fall-back crap is just stupid. I have to start coming to grips with it well in advance nowadays or when it happens, it really frustrates me. But anyway. In my office, at first, I don't turn on the light. I just make my way to my computer chair and shake the mouse so my monitor comes on. I'll turn the actual light on later, once my eyes have gradually adjusted a bit more.

I do my first email pass -- several accounts, just a nuking of spam and cursory check for anything life and death. Really, just for stuff that's life and death. I only want to deal with big things before coffee, nothing small, you know? I read my horoscope, look at the weather forecast, and make the second email pass, in which I flag things for actual reading and followup once I've got the coffee. I check for blog comments, sometimes look at Ravelry.

Around 0630: If the manchild isn't up, it's time to wake him up. But he's been good lately about getting himself up, good about taking a shower without nagging, good about making his own breakfast... and so while there's still morning stuff to be figured out, it's much less than it used to be. I start downloading transactions to balance accounts, household and business, and go to make coffee. During the seeming aeons that it takes to brew -- really it's 3 minutes -- I start emptying the dishwasher, reloading it if need be. And here's where a major personality flaw of mine comes into play. I can't make coffee for myself first thing in the morning, because if I walk into the kitchen and the first thing I see is dishes in the sink, it ruins my day. It flips my crabby switch and I can't turn it off all day. But I've learned that if it's a little later in the day, after I've done something else, if it just isn't the very first thing, then I'm okay. I may gripe for a few minutes, but then it's over. I used to always do dishes before bed, one last pass just to be sure... but for various complicated reasons involving living with other humans, that hasn't worked out for me in over a decade. And now, to be honest, I'm usually going to bed dead tired, asleep on my feet.

Around 0700: I talk to the kid through all of this, about his upcoming day and mine. Sometimes I rant about how someone spilled orange juice and didn't wipe it up and now it's sticky and gooey and more work to clean up. I think of that as an homage to my own parents pointing out the same stuff, or as inevitability. Sometimes I have toast for breakfast. But I always have my massive cup of strong coffee, adulterated only with heavy cream. It's a vice I'm unwilling to even consider forsaking.

0730: The kid's off to school. Me and my coffee finish the bookkeeping, invoicing and the like, and tackle some of the needs-handled-today email. In a perfect world, somewhere in the past 90 minutes is when I'd be getting blog posts done. It was, for a long time, and I need to refocus. And in my other perfect world, this is also when I head out and go to the gym to spend 30-40 minutes on the elliptical trainer. I do well with that up until a really busy time hits, and then I can't make myself do it, because I need every minute to get work done.

About 0800: This is when the workday officially starts. It gets pushed to 0830 if I've hit the gym, or if I'm blogging or something. The first 2 hours, even email and blogging, don't count. At 0800, that's when I either start production, get cracking on a major project like an article or book, or tackle whatever big thing it is that needs handling. Today, it's a production day, and I'm 15-20 minutes behind (but this is forgivable, because after all, I'm blogging). I have batts in progress in the studio and this is Wednesday. Wednesday is early release day for the city schools, and so the manchild'll be home at 1530, which means stopping then at least to welcome him home, find out about his day, and commence with any necessary homework nagging. Plus, lunch is usually half an hour, shared with my husband in our kitchen... but today it's a working lunch out with one of my retailers, so it'll be longer. So my production time is short today -- not more than 5 hours considering that after lunch, I'm making a midweek supermarket trip.

About 0830: On the way into the studio (it's such a hike -- it's the bedroom next door to the one that serves as my office) I gather up dirty laundry and start a load. I put my hair up tight and wear close-fitting clothes, because I'm going to be working with a motorized carder all day. This means tooth-covered rotating drums. Nothing dangly. No way. I take the phone with me, and I play loud music. I have until 11:30 to grind out batts.

0900: The in-progress batts from last night are done. I weigh them, bag them, and move to the office to print labels and put them on the invoice. I doublecheck that the order I finished yesterday is all there, invoice is right, stickers are right, and so forth. That's 6 big bags, and I haul 'em downstairs and see what I have laying around for a box, since I'm delivering them today at lunch instead of shipping. So far this morning, my music library has spit out some Al Green and some Steely Dan. It tried to spit out Ice Cube, but I clearly haven't had enough coffee for that yet.

1030: Halfway done with what should be about a 24-batt batch. The third load of laundry is in. Musical high points have been June Carter Cash, Bill Monroe, The Spinners, Three Dog Night, Judas Priest, Bonnie Raitt, Muddy Waters, and ZZ Top. I take a quick email break.

1130: Time to break, clean up a little from the carding work, find a respectable t-shirt at the least, and get ready to head out for lunch with Susan from Ball and Skein in Germantown, Ohio. She's my local dealer -- Germantown's about 45 minutes away -- and we're doing a batt handoff, plus we really need to see if we can't firm up a date for me to do a workshop at her fabulous new shop space. It's a little chilly today, proving fall is really here, whether anybody is ready or not. Lord knows I'm not. It's 53 Fahrenheit (about 12C) and breezy and I'm coming to grips with the idea that sandal season may genuinely be over.

I'm about halfway through the last blending pass on this batch of batts, so after lunch, I'll finish that up and then do the final finishing and sizing pass which makes the batts come out more or less even in size across the entire batch.

1430: Home again, home again. Checking email with intent to get that batch of batts done before the workday is totally over. This evening is also a wash for productivity since I have to go to a meeting at the kid's school. Also, it's time to move the laundry again.

1530: Kid's home. The homework checking has been completed. I'm proceeding to try to squeeze out the remaining batt productivity I can before dinner. I feel like I've gotten nothing done today to speak of. I always feel like that on Wednesdays no matter what.

1700: End of the production day. My better half cooks dinner and I hang out in the kitchen with my spindle. Kid's done with his homework.

1800: Everyone's fed, the kitchen is tidied, and there's 45 minutes till I have to be at a school meeting. Sounds like time to fold all that laundry. Mmmmmm.

1845: Off to that school meeting, visions of coming home to a beer dancing in my head. Well, the visions are dancing in my head; I'm not envisioning a beer dancing in my head, because that would just be weird.

2030: Home. That's done. A beer and a little bit of spinning should round out the evening nicely. I think I'm going to refuse to look at the computer for the rest of the night. What a strange and unproductive day to have chosen to try to do this day in the life post. I'm going to have to try to do a more normal one sometime... supposing I ever figure out what that would be.

I have officially lost all track of time. In the past 5 minutes, or else perhaps it's 5 years, the manchild finished school for the year, started summer day camp at the local YMCA, I got my copy of Amy King's new book Spin Control, I went to Colorado to work on an exciting new project I haven't gotten clearance to blog about yet, I saw the first laid-out pages for my book, I went to TNNA, my 40th Anniversary cherry Matchless arrived at my dealer's, and officially started trying to make exercise part of my routine even though there's no way I can fit it in.

Okay, it's been 9 days, and I feel like today is the longest I've sat still (I think I feel that way because it's true). I feel completely dizzy. And exhausted. And years behind on my email. And vaguely as if I'm forgetting at least 8 other things that have happened. But there are two pieces of big news. The first is that tonight, for the first time since I don't remember when, I have time to spin something totally just for me. Something that isn't committed to a project, necessarily. Something whimsical. Something I don't have to spin, with no deadline. And I have absolutely no idea what to spin. None. I am totally at a loss. I can't remember what to do with myself.

The second is that my book is officially available for preorder! I can hardly believe it, but, as my long-suffering editor said to me the other day, "This ruse that we're publishing a book is getting expensive." She was kidding. I hope. Seriously though, it's real! It's a real book. I saw real pages for it. With real pictures, and real words, and everything. It has an ISBN. It's, you know, real. It's really expected in November. And I've had a few folks ask me already where they can get signed copies. The first answer that came to mind was "Come where I'll be signing them," but when I said that in Amy King's earshot this past weekend, she pointed out that with the wonders of modern technology, it's actually possible for people to pre-order them, which she'd set up for her loyal Spunquistadores to do. "You should do the same," she suggested. So I'm copycatting her, and there's a link on the right nav bar where you can do just that if you're so inclined. When the first copies hit the warehouse, I'll get your pre-orders in, sign them, and send them out to you forthwith. Make sure you let me know who you'd like it signed to, or if there's anything specific you'd like me to say.

But please do still come see me where I'm signing books... and I'll let you know where that will be before too long. But in the meantime, I'm off to do my comfort spinning, and I'd love to hear what you consider comfort spinning!

Honestly, there are plenty of times -- many of them in December -- when I find myself thinking I clearly did better living closer to the equator. It's partly the shorter daylight hours and the sad, oblique nature of what sunlight you seem to get. When you couple that with a frantic rush to finish lots of things by the end of the year, then throw in a heaping pile of holiday, it's like a nasty conspiracy aimed at getting me down. I'm not the world's biggest fan of winter, and it's been a struggle to find Christmas cheery ever since my dad died. You'd think you would get used to people being gone -- and you kinda do, I suppose, I mean this will be Christmas number five since he died and it's sinking in -- but it's still a total buzzkill at times like this, especially when thanks to the season, you try to do something like go outside for a breath of fresh air and some sunlight or something, and all you get instead is cold and bleak.

Deep in my brain, I always know that once the corner is turned and days start getting longer, my mood starts to improve in short order. But simply knowing that doesn't eliminate the mood. Mostly, I push through the darkening of the year by dint of sheer momentum, which I fuel with loud music when it flags.

But, although I've been sadly remiss on the blogging front, lots has been happening. Momentum, it would seem, is reasonably effective. I've managed a few classes and a few deadline projects, and one of those is big. A lot has been non-bloggable. But I think I'm through most of that at this point. Just not without casualties.

A major casualty is my workspace. Actually, both of my workspaces.

Due to deadlines, I've just been pushing through getting stuff done as things become more and more chaotic in my work areas. It's truly unpleasant. At this point, I have to haul huge piles of things out the hallway, and spend days on straightening. I thought I'd get to it this week, but... I haven't; work intervened. Maybe next week. Of course, then, kid-home-from-school and Christmas will likely intervene. Argh! It's going to take a lot of loud music. That much is certain.

So, maybe you're wondering what kind of deadlines, eh? What would be so all-encompassing and nonbloggable that it would leave me with so thoroughly trashed a set of workspaces? What would keep me from even blogging about not one, but two, new spinning wheels?

Oh, okay. I have some new spinning wheels. The first one is my walnut Lendrum Saxony that I'd had on order for a while.

I got to pick it up at SOAR, and Beth took it home for me, then drove down with it just before Halloween. Plus she brought the other wheel, but we'll get to that. The Lendrum Saxony comes unfinished, and my better half's been wonderful about working on the finishing for me, which is just plain ol' oil. Why? Because my mother-in-law has a fabulous old walnut table (and other dining room stuff) made from beams salvaged from a 16th century monastery, and that's what she has used tending to it for decades. She reports it has really been the right thing for that wood in our wildly variable Ohio Valley humidity and temperature, and I believe her. So we're going with the old and low-tech solution.

It'll take time and lots of coats and it isn't going to be a high-gloss finish. But I know it'll darken nicely over time, and it'll happen faster than I expect. Things always do. I was astounded a few weeks ago to look at Beth's new Journey Wheel. Mine is so much darker than hers, and mine's not quite five years old.

But, anyway, the Lendrum is a wheel I've been eagerly awaiting for a good while. As a few folks have been mentioning and asking me about, I did get Gord Lendrum's prototype "stupid fast flyer," as a few of us have been calling it. This flyer isn't on the market or available -- it's a beta test kind of thing, and hopefully Mr. Lendrum won't kick my butt for blogging about it; seeing as how it was seen and tried out by a number of folks at SOAR I think I can get away with it. It is indeed stupid fast. So fast nobody with any sense wants one. So, you know: stupid fast. It's like driving a car that doesn't go under 30 mph. It can be stopped, or at the slowest, going 30 (but usually, it's going about 110. You have to be some kind of mutant who can exhibit telekinetic powers over it to make it go 30). So parking it, you have to go from 110 down to 30 using the power of your sheer force of will, and then straight to stopped. Just right. And if you don't....

...this happens in about a half a second. I'm not exaggerating. Plus, to park it successfully, you have to establish physical contact with the flyer so you can use your brainwaves to safely bring it down to about 30mph, and the way you do that is by sticking your hand -- your SMART hand even, the one you like to use to control twist and stuff -- into the flyer that's rotating at, no lie, like 4500 rpm. It's a little like making a leap of faith that it's going to be totally fine to stick your hand into the hub of a propeller.

I adore the flyer. I just love it. But, you have to realize, this is because I'm stupid. I don't want a thing about it to change, really, because... because it's so totally badass. But yet there is no way I would recommend it go on the market. Sane people would hate it. I'm about a month into coming up to speed with it, and I still have a ways to go before I really own it. All my wheel-spinning habits are so ingrained now, complete with little things to slow down my drafting... and it's like learning to spin all over again. At 110 miles an hour. You know. Stupid fast. Reckless endangerment speeds. It's fine for the track, but no wheelies on the freeway, know what I mean?

Well, so. I also had a terrific opportunity to pick up another big Saxony -- this one a 30" Schacht-Reeves. Beth brought that one down for me along with the Lendrum. The irony here is getting two fabulous new wheels while in the middle of deadline madness. So I used the new wheels as bribes for myself -- "Just finish this up and then you can play."

Mmmmm. I picked up this fiber at SOAR but didn't get a chance to actually sit and spin it until recently, seen here on the Schacht-Reeves.

It's BFL from Gale's Art, and it was really a delight to spin.

So it's kicked off a bit of a BFL binge for me, but we'll talk about that in an upcoming post. I've also had lots of spindle spinning to do.

Beth pitched in. Such a friend. All of these spindles, and more besides, are off right now being photographed. Off where? Photographed for what? Well, now that I've handed in the manuscript and all, it's bloggable. They're off at Interweave Press, being photographed for use with said manuscript... which sometime in fall of 2009, will be a book about spindle spinning.

So, you know, what with having lots of spindles not at home right now, I've had to restock. Fortunately I've had help. Just look at this fabulous early Christmas present:

It's the most fabulous Moosie ever. It just plain is. See what I mean about a BFL binge, too? Yup. BFL binge.

I'm still down a lot of spindles for the time being, but I have picked up a few (and I'll blog more of 'em). Like this Greensleeves Loki, seen here with some slubby cotton going onto it.

Okay, the truth is, the only reason I spun that cotton on that spindle is because I liked the colour combo. I just thought it went really well.

Well, realistically, I'm out of blogging time today. On the bright side though, I mostly have blogging mornings back now. Just in time for hectic holidays!

Tune in again in a day or so for some fun and exciting info about plying and finishing. No, I swear, it's going to be exciting. And informative.

Omigod, it's August. How did that happen? Once again, summer drawing towards a close finds me further and further behind on things I thought I'd do. Like, this year, blogging hardly at all, ev en with the whole early-rising thing going on. At least there have been some remarkable early mornings.

So, here, have some coffee and yarn that kinda matches.

It only matches in that photo, though. In real life, it's way more orange.

A while ago I stuck a couple of cotton seeds from Johnny Freakin' Cottonseed into some pots of dirt. They both sprouted. Early on, one vanished in the night, presumably felled by cicadas or a bird or something, but the other...

What, you don't see it? I swear there's a cotton plant in there that isn't dead. I don't know how it's going to turn out or why or when or what I'm going to do about any of that, but the plant is not dead yet. That must be good.

And lunches have been good, from Chad's small garden.

So many BLTs, tomato and cheese sandwiches, fancy bread with some goat cheese and a slice of tomato... between the tomatoes and the sweet corn, let's just say I love the summer eats.

I made Amy a blend to congratulate her for finishing her book manuscript.

Fine merino, cashmere, bombyx silk, and tussah silk, kinda tweedy.

That's it. That's what I have; a little bit of eye candy here and there.

It's time for another cop-out entry. These happen when I have essentially nothing intelligent to say, and run around with the digital camera taking pictures.

The weather is crap. Seriously, it just can't decide what to do. Right now, it's somewhere around 70F, muggy, cloudy and gray, and looks like rain, but it's not raining and I'm not sure it's going to. Crap weather for photos. Grrrr.

I did do some spinning over the past couple of evenings, however. I'm way behind on my to-spin pile! It's horrible! And I threw a rod on the hopped-up Camaro, er, I mean, after 8 zillion miles of yarn, I have to replace a part on my fastest wheel, so it's waiting on parts. The horror. But as my better half put it, with almost a straight face, "The good news is, I think you have 9 other wheels."

Which, well, is true. I removed this bobbin, in progress at the time...

...and, walking about 10 feet, grabbed another wheel with which it is totally compatible.

You gotta have the "totally compatible systems" thing going on, you see?

Now, okay, I did break a few cardinal rules I shouldn't break, though. One, I didn't have the parts on hand. I really should have. I've gotten lazy what with having, you know, 9 or 10 other wheel choices. But honestly, I should be ashamed, and I should know better. I have the new Julia up in my office doing some production sock yarn work, which is tying up all 8 or 9 of the Louet bobbins I presently have (so there's another cardinal rule broken: never tie up all your bobbins entirely), I don't like to use the Journey Wheel while sitting in the rocking recliner, the Roberta is just too loud at speed and not so great for laceweight, I think the folding Fricke is behind a few bumps of midgrade wools, this wasn't a charkha project... good thing I had the Saxonie handy, right?

Right.

It's 550 yards from 48 grams of merino/silk/yak/cashmere. Totally all mine, even if it is on the pink side. Penny will kick your butt if you try to run off with it. Just look at her -- can't you tell she's totally an enforcer type cat?

Or perhaps you can tell this is the cop-out blog entry where I run around with the camera making it look like I did something.

But, anyway, I've done some other spinning too. Like, I did finish one of the sock yarns. This one is cabled and self-striping and stuff. It's SWTC Karaoke and it's really, really cool. I swatched a bit of leftover cable:

...and would need to do the socks on a smaller needle. Which is a bummer because this swatch was done on US 2 needles. Oy.

And if you've been reading this blog long, you'll have realized by now that for totally mysterious reasons, I seem to do a lot of "lilac" at this time of year.

It's merino/silk/cashmere tweed. I think Amy has some similar ones left for sale.

I almost opted to make it a singles. But, no.

It'll look a lot nicer once the sun comes out and it's all the way dry. With 196 yards here, this'll be a scarf for me, I think.

Stupid lack of sun. Stupid muggy cloudy weather. Why am I even thinking about warm things? Right, because this is what I do.

Paimei is trapped behind a screen. He hates that. He'd love to be allowed outside, but he's just too glaringly white and, well, let's just say he got the looks and the personality but the brains? Not so much.

Then too, there's this. It's a problem tussah silk from last summer. I loved the colours, but didn't trust the brown (and with reason -- one other test project I did with silk dyed with that same brown had definite excess dye issues). So I set it aside to use on something for me. I have a project for it. If it can be done in time.

And if I don't decide to use Daffodil here instead.

Crap! I'm so glad we just talked about that, because...

I totally threw the Daffodil silk singles into the sink to soak, and forgot about them. I'd better run, folks.

Oh, before I forget, there's some maintenance work going on with my abbysyarns.com email today. Your mail to it, if you send any, will be deferred briefly during that maintenance. If you urgently need to mail me, use afranquemont at yahoo.com -- just today, 2 May 2008. By this evening, things ought to be back to normal and I should have a nice backlog to sort. Perhaps I should plan for that with a beer run this afternoon, eh?

This is the manchild, waiting for the school bus. He only has about a month of school left. Okay, 5 weeks.

I sent him off this morning with a slip filled out saying I'd totally be willing to share a little bit about my job for his class' career day type thing. Those of you who know me will probably not be surprised if I tell you the slip's "Any additional info?" space was entirely filled with sentences like "I can spend more time if you like and with some advance notice, bring cheap materials which I'd donate and teach the kids to spin real quick." I've been thinking of changing my job description or title from "Production Fiber Artist" to "Compulsive Yarn Evangelist." I'm not sure that works to describe it to fourth graders, though. The lad has an image in his mind of what I'll do for a demo, based on a short movie they saw about "turning wool into yarn in a factory, with machines," as he put it somewhat scornfully. He suggests showing things with spindles, as he's not sure a spinning wheel can fit into the classroom, because it just has normal doors. Ever since he said that, I've been wondering what he's been doing every time I have moved a wheel around the house. Or taken it outside, or brought one home, or... Anyway. His description of what he's like me to cover is "Take some wool that's right off a sheep, then explain you can wash it and stuff, and card it, then spin it, with two kinds of spindles. And bring wool and yarn and cloth to pass around."

That's my boy.

It is definitely spring, finally! If it snows again, I'll be surprised and angry. Yesterday was shorts weather; today might be too. Chad has mowed the grass for the first time (mowing becomes a very routine, twice-weekly thing in this neck of the woods), and we've pronounced three of the baby trees, plus all the lilacs and a pair of holly bushes, dead from last summer's drought. One small maple made it, and the larger cherry and magnolia trees did as well. But I'm thwarted yet again with the lilacs. It's so unfair. Lilacs were among the first things I thought of when we decided to move back east. Surely I deserve lilacs for my springs. I guess we'll try again.

This is Kaylee.

She's really not a kitten anymore, but I still call her one. Of that, she is forgiving -- but the glare should tell you she's less enthused about other things lately, as I've been locked in the yarn room with Cardzilla.

This stuff is red.

Yep, red.

Brick red. I probably should have kept some. But, you know, I have plenty of work to do spinning as it is.

This is a bit of sampling. It got done on the car ride over to pick the manchild up from spending the night with grandparents, and back (something like an hour). Now it's in a 2-stranded ball and needs plying. I'm lucky that I can get stuff done while riding in the car. I have lots to do. I'll tell you about this blend when I ply it and measure it and so on. It's dyed blue Corriedale and some Sea Silk -- that new chitin-derived synthetic.

This is Tiramisu.

You know, because it's got all these layers of creamy and chocolatey and coffee-y frothiness. I probably should have kept some of this too, but I didn't.

I didn't keep any Tropic, either.

It's Falkland/silk/alpaca.

No, I kept none of these things. They are all -- along with many friends -- headed for The Spunky Eclectic, where the delightful Amy (you might call her Boogie) will be making them available to you.

Now that I have those things out the door, and now that I've indulged in a third cup of coffee to tell you about 'em (and surreptitiously hope spring is here to stay -- risky a thought as that is to ever speak aloud, and all), my nose has to hit the grindstone again on the writing stuff front, so there may be a bit of a blog silence coming up, and it'll probably be 2-3 days to answer lots of email, because if I let myself get sidetracked with any of that stuff, these other things won't happen, and they need to. Because, you see, if they don't happen, I won't get to that space where I get to clean up my studio and office; and if that doesn't happen before school's out, I'll... I'll... probably have a total tantrum, which is really poor form for somebody's mom, not to mention generally a waste of time and energy.

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.

In years past, I used to live on the highway. That was, in fact, almost 20 years ago, and in an era when I never would have thought that, should the World-Wide-Web occur, it would be attempting to sell me Mississippi Fred McDowell ring tones for my cell phone at the place where I'd link to lyrics that attempt to explain that phrase. So, what's living on the highway? In my case, I worked for a Chicago bluesman by the name of A.C. Reed. We'd go out on runs -- a day's drive in a Ford Econoline extended van full of musicians, followed by checking into a motel, setting up at a club, generally eating fast food, then playing ear-bleedingly loud music in a smoke-filled club full of variously intoxicated people, followed by breaking down, packing up the van, getting more fast food to eat, crashing for as long as possible at the motel, and then doing it all over again.

In that lifestyle, you spend most of your time squabbling with fellow musicians, talking... er, all manner of trash, chain smoking, arguing about whether it's gonna be The Clown or The Colonel for lunch, asserting that you know it's really Canada when the Tim Horton's show up, and the real Mason-Dixon line is actually the Waffle House line (it's the south if there are Waffle Houses, someone contended), telling the new guy he was stupid to buy smokes in Indiana when you'll be in Kentucky tomorrow and they'll be even cheaper, talking... er, trash, and, well, staring at a lot of asphalt. You get to know a lot about the interstate, and what's close to it, and where they go, and what they're like. That's what living on the highway means. You'll be out for weeks at a time on some run, driving frantically to make the gig, not a moment's real downtime, your life in suitcases and plastic bags of stuff from the last truck stop, constantly on the move, constantly telling and hearing all manner of stories.

So, one of the things A.C. used to always say up on the bandstand was that he was fittin' to get down. "I'm gonna get down like James Brown!" he'd shout, hot pink tenor sax in hand. And then, with a rueful sixtysomething grin, "I better not get down too far, though, or I might not get back up!" People would laugh, and A.C. would do a number -- something lively and danceable -- and the wisecracking would keep going. Eventually he'd say, "I done wore it out on that one. I'm gettin' old! I can't do the things I used to do! Man, I look like Keith Richards!" (He didn't, but this would make people laugh a lot anyway.) "Only Keith Richards is already dead, all he's gotta do is lay down!"

Any time any of us living out on the highway would get to feeling particularly worn down, we'd find ourselves saying that: that we looked like Keith Richards, and we were already dead, all we had to do was lay down.

Well, last week was spring break. And the poor manchild -- he got sick. And then about Wednesday, I started to feel not so fabulous. Thursday I took us both to the doctor, who verified there was no contagious plague going on here, and gave me the good drugs so I could make my gig in Michigan that weekend. You don't cancel gigs unless you're in the hospital. You gotta make the gig, and once you're there, you gotta do the gig. Old bluesmen know all this, and it's exactly how so many of them have managed to quite literally play themselves into early graves. Which old bluesmen also know, but it doesn't change the fact that you gotta make the gig, for lots and lots of reasons. So, medicated much more professionally than your average old bluesman, and taking full advantage of Trucky's comfort, I hit the highway and pushed straight through the roughly 4 hours up to Howell, Michigan. Just a mild, short drive -- nothing like having to go from, say, Atlanta to Telluride overnight (really, we did that once).

While I was driving, it dawned on me that despite all manner of experience with being out on the road, I pretty much never hit the road alone. On the one hand, it's totally sweet to do so -- you never have to argue about what music to listen to, or stop for someone else's bio break, or any of that crap. On the other hand, it gets lonely after a while and it stinks to be fumbling for your own cough drops.

The Spinning Loft is on Mason, just off the corner of Michigan, in a little bungalow, with parking back behind it. Beth has the first floor -- one large room and two smaller ones, plus storage, a bathroom, and kitchen area. And a front porch, it seemed, but this being March in Michigan, who looked closely at that? Not me. But still, it's a fabulous, down-to-earth, comfortable space, with wonderful light and, let us not forget, fiber, wheels, equipment, books galore.

About the time I was done unpacking (but not setting up for the gig yet), we were joined by Sharon Winsauer and Faina Letoutchaia, and basically, that's when it all started to get out of hand. Lucky for Faina and her cold, me and my cold took pity on her, and did not force her to hide under a table where I couldn't video her showing us how to really use Russian spindles. Lucky for me, she showed me anyway, and now, given some practice, in another five years or so I might be able to spin a viable amount of yarn with one.

Sharon had brought, to show me -- and I failed to photograph so this is her photo -- the real, genuine, actual, original Heere Be Dragone shawl. Folks, there is no way to make photos do this one justice. I want one of these shawls so desperately, but I'm the biggest loser in the world when it comes to carefully following a gigantic chart... and when I said that, Faina chuckled. "The thing is, about Sharon's designs," she said, "It is only one repeat." Faina and Sharon both scoff at my plaintive wails of "But I knit so slow! I'm not a good enough knitter to tackle this!" including when I confessed to Faina that I'm still chickening out of starting her famous Forest Path Stole due to gross incompetence in the execution of nupps.

That's when Beth had Faina pull out her latest shawl.

This is Beth's photo, because I was too gobsmacked to take a picture, apparently. Seriously, I came home without a picture. What Faina has done here is take Andean (including pre-Columbian) designs from weaving, and translate them to lace. This is a feat which Faina makes look easy, but I'll tell you, it gives me fits, even with patterns I know off the top of my head since early childhood. A while ago Faina and I were talking about this general concept, and I was showing her photos of various kinds of things, and I think I probably pointed her to this incredible time sink -- The American Museum of Natural History's Anthropologial Textile Collection. If that link isn't working, start with Anthropology Department at AMNH, and look around their collections links for the textile collection. There's a searchable browser interface -- ohhh what a time sink, full of the ability to look at things like this and that and... anyway. Seriously, go get lost in that collection. I don't know if I can make any of those links work for sure if you don't already have their site open, and the thing is, it's just an incredible textile collection. Even if I am biased, and it's a collection that my parents' work contributed to years ago.

Anyway, Faina... Faina is truly one of the world's finest textile researchers, and don't let her tell you otherwise (which she probably would attempt to do). Her fluency with all things fiber is simply amazing. And her interpretation of patterns involving complex symmetries and subtle nuance is amazing. So there she is, standing there with this unbelievable shawl, the design sources of which are absolutely obvious to me, but they've never been knitted lace before, and she tells me I should name the shawl. Such an honor!

People were clamoring for the pattern for this shawl, but she has no immediate plans to write up the pattern. However (I'm so lucky) if I can manage to spin enough Faina-acceptable yarn, she'll knit me one. That's a done deal. It may take me some time, but it's a deal. And that, of course...

...is why I need to spend a lot of time practicing with these, after the quick lesson Faina gave me. That, incidentally, was a real eye-opener! I can see the potential for quite an extreme level of productivity with the Russian spindle as pictured above. These are made by Edward Tabachek and the incomparable Faina has had input into them helping Mr. Tabachek get them fine-tuned into production-grade tools like traditional ones. I have to say, it's often the case when I'm looking for some rather esoteric or near-forgotten fiber tool, Tabachek is the guy who makes it.

Anyway, right! So there I am in this fabulous shop, starting off my gig totally humbled by the stars who've shown up so far, and we're just barely getting started with setup! Long about the first sound check, chairs are arrayed around the shop and those fiber packs are spread out and I discover that I forgot the stack of handouts and books I wanted signed by luminaries Beth had told me to expect to see around. Whoops! Well, worse things could have been forgotten. And that's when Ellen walked in. She and I have been friends online for many years, but never actually met in person till this past weekend. I knew it was her by the exclamation, "Ah -- wall of fleece!" and the fact that she stopped in her tracks right there.

You can just tell this is Ellen. She's decimated the Wall of Fleece, and she's grinning about it... in a t-shirt that reads "GOT FLEECE?" Who else could it be? And Ellen brought Jerry along too, of course, and he joined us for our spindle evening. We got started just about on time, immediately after the arrival of Marilyn Van Keppel and Greg Cotton, who drove all the way from Missouri and Iowa respectively. What an astounding list of luminaries! It's humbling, and exciting, and possibly a little intimidating to realize you're teaching a room at least half-full of teachers and people who drove further than you did to get here.

So, spindles. The subject of spindles is hard for me to distill down to a few hours, and I'm passionate about them. But yet, I sometimes feel out of sync with my fellow spinners in the US when it comes to them, and there are lots of reasons for this. So what can I teach people about spindles in a matter of an evening, that's worth sitting around for? The short answer is a few tricks, a few techniques for low whorl, and some discussion that hopefully provides food for thought -- and let's try to make it all fun.

I'm fortunate to have handy examples of pre-industrial, spindle-spun textiles that have been in regular service, and to have examples of the tools used to produce them. That's where we started things off, along with talking about the Andes a bit and how kids get started learning to spin yarn and handle fiber in general -- some fiber, and a stick, followed by the transition to a weighted stick, and the fact that now we're at the level of technological development which allows static civilization to arise and continue. Without this weighted stick, I like to point out, cultures stay hunter-gatherers. This is that primaeval tool which brings humanity out of ancient prehistory -- and now we've grown to a point where we don't even really remember it, or we see it as a novelty as often as not, if we see it at all. Even those of us who love textiles tend to overlook the simple spindle.

So, I like to tell a few stories, and pass around a few things. Last Friday, I passed around a child's garment about 70 years old, and a bag I wove that's about 23 years old. I passed around some spindle-spun yarn, and some simple -- even primitive -- spindles. These are low-rent, low-investment tools... but you can do amazing things with them. And then we hand out the modern American equivalent: the toy whorl spindle with the hardware store dowel. We played with those a while, and talked about what made them hard to work with. Then, we got into some things you can do easily and cheaply to change your spinning experience, and modify the spindle temporarily or permanently to behave more how you'd like it to. We talked about simple repairs, and compensating for problems, and what makes for more or less productivity -- from lifestyle, to technique, to spindle attributes, and so on.

Eventually, everybody had some yarn built up on their spindles, so it was time to talk about how to ply with it. Everyone learned some simple winding-off techniques and ball-winding maneuvers, got the point where they had a small Peruvian-style ball, and we covered plying. We did a few stupid yarn tricks. And lo, we were out of time -- too soon, too soon!

But the wool shop sleepover portion commenced. What madness! What fun! What a wonderful way to get to know folks better, and extend the too-short class time casually. Even if, as documented by Ellen...

...I look like Keith Richards at this point.

Seriously, that photo is half the reason why I kicked off with that story. I totally look like Keith Richards. I'm already dead; all I gotta do is lay down. But instead, I took my high-falutin' decongestant, mourned its incompatibility with beer (I managed to drink ONE) and mostly guzzled the hot tea and chowed down on cough drops.

What a wonderful crowd of folks! Donna, with six kids, is in exactly the lifestyle situation which makes spindle-spinning productive. You know, because it's about all you can do in between wrangling six kids. She was edging an absolutely gorgeous, snuggly triangle shawl. And if I had six kids, I'd be far less perky and charming and personable than Donna. Hah, Donna, I called you perky! Anyway, Donna's post with things she took with her from the spindle evening really makes my week. With a class like that, it's hard to know if, as a teacher, you're really hitting the mark or not. And Donna, I think Beth may have found your crochet hook, if you're missing it.

Beth just forwarded me a photo she got from one of the weekend's Lisas -- this would be the Lisa with the incredibly fabulous leafy sweater, not to be confused with the Lisa who brought her third handspun yarn to show, and I'm telling you, third yarn? The first two must have been a lot of yarn. There's no other explanation for the impeccable spinning she's already doing. Anyway, Fabulous Leafy Sweater Lisa sent Beth a picture of herself spinning off a rock outcropping out on a hike this week. See, Lisa? It's addictive, this notion of goofy spindle tricks. Just you wait and see.

That's Lisa, Faina, and Cindy, during sock yarn class.

Jofran also had to go early -- the following day involving a multifamily trip to Detroit. But before she left, she very kindly offered me space to stay if I am able to make it up to Ann Arbor to see Stephanie's book appearance next week, which I'd love to do, but don't know if I can. But geeze, I'd love to.

We also had multiple Michelles! One was a model student, and one was definitely big trouble. However, this can be forgiven on account of her Trans Am is actually cooler than mine. I have a totally pedestrian 2000 that's bone stock except for the cat-back exhaust, whereas she has a '79 Bandit Trans Am with a bored 454. Perhaps we can schedule a spin-in at a midwest Firebird event. Here's Michelle and Marilyn.

Michelle... had me sign her wheel. Man, now I really feel like Keith Richards. Patsy Z had already signed it, too. Marilyn brought a SpinTech -- so now of course, since I sat right next to her and it's totally quiet, that one's going on my shopping list too. Let me know if you see one.

Here, Kat is hiding her face from us, Greg is surrounded by the pair of Lisas, and Faina is giving me the stinkeye for taking pictures.

This is the LOUD corner. The moist side of things. In the center, Beth is crowned with a tiara. That's Beth! Oh, and Shannah is back there doing some sort of "keeping the shop running" thing or another. You can only see the tops of their heads, but on the other side of Ellen from me, you'll find the heart of the trouble: Jillian and Carla. They're unmistakably trouble, and unmistakably fun... and Jillian caught me by surprise when she passed along greeting from Kristi Porter -- who I haven't seen since she was in college and I was living on the highway, and we used to hang, doing absolutely nothing yarn related whatsoever. Though I often looked like Keith Richards back then too. Kristi, as then, looks far more presentable than me.

And Jillian's new book is out now, woot! Definitely calls for a beer. And no, I swear, I'm not saying nice things about Jillian just because she brought me two sixpacks of fine local beer. That would totally take at least three sixpacks.

And hey, speaking of apple-for-teacher type stuff, will you look at this?

Faina is such a show-off. Well, okay, she isn't, but she really should be. This little drink cozy makes me want to drag a random chullu knitter to Faina's place and leave them to it. What's most shocking is that I don't think Faina's ever seen a) anybody knitting a chullu or b) a chullu, up close and personal. This is a feat of knitting prowess that truly astounds me. "But look at the inside," Faina insisted.

This is shockingly close. The fabric totally feels right too. "All three colours at once is tricky," Faina commented mildly. Total understatement.

Anyway, so, spinning for socks. Ellen was kind enough to bring along a variety of sock disappointments, and tell their tales of woe. That was a huge help, because what I'd brought along for show and tell, other than some yarn, was a selection of socks, in various states of done-ness, from the circular sock machine. My problem, you see, is that I love to spin sock yarn... and just can't seem to finish a pair of socks.

"Do you have second sock syndrome?" several folks asked in unison. I was trying to think how to answer that, when Ellen answered it for me. "She has first sock syndrome," she said. It's a fact. I want to like knitting socks. But... but I seem to just... not knit them. I start them, don't get me wrong. That's just as far as it goes. I truly need a designated knitter. I'm not kidding; if you're a zippy sock knitter and you want to knit me socks in exchange for sock yarn, holler. This is getting embarrassing.

We started off spinning a firm, dependable sock yarn, with marling and striping, from two colours of blue faced leicester top. We spun firmly, and then we plied firmly, and then we gave it a rough finishing wash, and talked about a variety of things while we ate our tasty lunches. I'm telling you, nobody believed that the just-plied yarn above was going to look like it did. But that photo is of the very skein I passed around, that everybody liked.

After lunch, we passed around Beth's skein of 100% merino, super-stretchy, super bouncy sock yarn. "I'd swear it has elastic in it," she said, when she called me up asking about it. "Oh yeah," I said, "We'll be covering that in sock class. I promise." And it's easier than you think it is! By the time we were done with those 100% merino samples, and washed 'em up again and put 'em out to dry, it was time to get into a little bit of talk about the structure of 3-ply yarn, and why a true 3-ply yarn is going to wear better than a chain plied yarn. We did both of those anyway, using SWTC's Karaoke space-dyed merino/soy silk.

In sum, we did worsted spun sock yarn, woolen spun sock yarn, and "spinner's choice" twice. I think pretty much everyone managed to have a moment or two where the long draw clicked -- and that was HUGE fun, because that's really one of those things I feel is best seen and shown, rather than talked about. Kat's clicked with the Karaoke, and it was shrieks of glee and huge grins all around. "I'll spin what she's spinning," Greg said.

I'm itching to hear, over time, what ends up sticking from the sock yarn class, and what people took home. I had a blast deciding what range of yarns we were going to spin, with what techniques, and choosing the fibers. A HUGE thank you to Louet North America for supplying me with the positively luscious fibers for both of these classes. I'm particularly partial to the dark BFL. And the merino. Plus, well, there's the Northern Lights pencil roving for the spindle class. And, you know, that Karaoke is growing on me. And that white BFL isn't bad either. But, no, seriously, that dark BFL is particularly nice, and I'm definitely going to have to get some of that for my personal stash. It's definitely the nicest coloured BFL top I've had in years.

But anyway, I'll be interested to see who spins what. I'll bet on Kat spinning up some fabulous woolens from that Karaoke, the fiber that let her really get her long draw going. If Jillian has enough beer, maybe she'll do a bouncy merino. And I'm definitely going to spin some of that BFL, and beg Marilyn for her Faroese slipper pattern.

I expected to be coming home mostly empty-handed. Such was not to be the case! Not by a long shot.

The good news is, Beth can score me almonds. And several wonderful folks brought me almonds. Indeed, Marilyn blames me for gaining 5 pounds since she learned about them (but then, since I had SO many almonds, she kept hers and took them home, so how upset can she be?)

I'd just like to hop quickly to this photo from the end of the whole event. See, there's Ellen, not moved too far from the Wall of Fleece, and Jerry looks amused, while Beth (crowned by a skein, of course) is on the phone, probably frantically calling in a desperate plea for MORE FLEECE!

Okay, actually she's talking to Denny. I can't show pictures of everything Denny sent because a) Flickr's being incredibly slow right now and b) I already ate the chocolate. Plus the manchild got his Bionicle, which it turns out, IS the right one, and it's from this year's collection, and was not one that he already had. And I'm sure Chad will find a really good use for luxurious, spectacular salt that he totally recognized for what it was. And I'll wear this:

and embrace my inner pink. For you, Denny. Just don't tell everyone.

Supposing you can get Flickr to do its job, you can see all the photos here:

Abby's Yarns on Flickr

and I'm sure, when you see just exactly how trashed Beth's place is after the gig, you'll agree there's yet another reason I look like Keith Richards.

Sunday morning, incidentally, I lost my voice entirely. It's actually back for the most part, as of yesterday. It appears that, in the wake of pushing myself to make the gig, I... got an ear infection. That would be why this writeup has been so long in coming; lucky for me, I didn't have to make any more gigs just then, or I might have gone out like Charley Patton, wringin' wet with sweat from the bandstand and coughing like mad till I drop on the spot.