Fiber Follies

You figure it out.

What? You can’t make out what it says? Here’s a close-up:

Is there another entrance?

We’ve had just about one dire weather forecast in each of the past three or four weeks. Mostly of the high wind variety. I run about in terror, certain that the power will be out for days and days and here it’s the coldest part of winter and do I have oil lamps ready and candles in candle sticks and are the hurricane lamps all set for disaster and how the hell do I hook up the generator when I’m terrified of major electric stuff and it’s so darn heavy I can’t even get it over the doorstep in the bunkhouse where it’s stored let alone uphill all the way to the house and there’s probably no fuel in it anyway and oh dear I have lamps and candles but no matches and it is so cold already and is the heat working. I prepare for no power for days.

And we’ve received each and every storm in all its cold gusty glory and the power never flickered but once.

We had an ice storm last week. This, however, wasn’t forecast to leave us as encased as it did. I was so thrilled to have power after a night of hearing the ice blasts falling that I ran out to take a few pictures. Then remembered that in the last huge ice storm we had power until mid-morning the following day. I dashed indoors and hunkered down to get as much electric-reliant work done as possible. And to stay warm. And to make extra coffee and put it into insulated pots to see me through almost a whole day of no electrics. The electrics functioned throughout with nary a twitch.

Today the high winds that romped and roared in yesterday are beginning to die down. It gave us very cold wind chill values! I had to go outdoors to give the dog water and wet food every hour, his water dish froze quickly in the wind. He won’t drink but a loud slurpy teaspoon or two then walk away, letting it freeze again, so I also fed him up with lots of moist meats and other moist stuff which he loves. At least he’s not getting dehydrated but I do worry. Poor old fellow is about as brilliant as a door knob. He needs all the help I can give him.

The house is icy cold. It used to be snug but I think all the wind storms over the past several years have knocked out some of the stuffing around the edges. I try to seal cracks and around openings but apparently missed most of them. And fuel is too expensive to keep the place warm anyway. So we bundle up and shiver a lot.

I’ve been taking part in a “Spin Every Day In…” thingie that originated on knittyboard.

It started with a Spin Every Day in January. I was all too glad to participate, foreseeing magic completion of the cardigan project. I was lucky some days to spin for five minutes. Most participants moved it on to Spin Every Day in February, I guess the momentum and motivation was too good for us all. I’m still not finished with the cardigan. I got damn sick of spinning natural coloured wools too. So I took a 9 day break from natural to spin up some of the colours I had on hand. See?The blue and green and red bobbin are blue cashgora, green cashgora and eye-searing red/pink silk cap. Yes, the same silk cap that had it in for me all the while I spun it. Eventually I beat it into submission and used it as a cross ply with the cashgora. I think it’s absolutely gorgeous although I have no idea what I would make of it. I also spun up a little packet of heathered green silk top, dyed at the farm. I plan to ply the silk with something but haven’t chosen its companion yet. So. there you have it. Nine days of spinning every time I could squeeze in a few minutes, putting off bedtime for hours to get just a bit more done, and all I have to show for all that are two lousy bobbins of stuff.. It’s lovely stuff though and I’m glad I took the colour break. Now I’m back to the cardigan project. I hope to complete it before I die.

I have heaps and heaps of lovely fiber to spin, looking forward to spinning them motivates me to keep at the eternal cardigan project. Here’s a recent acquisition, from Winderwood Farm. It’s merino/viscose, and aren’t those blues and greens just as tasty as can be? I love the colours Bob puts into stuff. This will probably be part of a nice airy wrap. Or shawl. Or something very nice to be near my face. I wouldn’t put such pretty on my nasty calloused old feet. So it’s something to wear high and proud. Which means, of course, that I must spin it ever so carefully. Which also means that I must create some sort of pattern for it. I have such a hard time finding the “right” pattern for any yarn I possess that it’s just easier and faster to invent one. Hopefully the one I invent for this will be worthy.

I have arrived at the conclusion that my fiber stash is expanding, all on its own. I’ve been spinning the cardigan wools since August (!). I did take lengthy breaks from that when Risky cat passed. I just didn’t feel like doing any of the enjoyable things for a while after that.

I had the naive idea that I could easily spin 25-30g each day. This on top of work and doing EVERYTHING around the house and ALL necessary errands ALL BY MYSELF, as well as keeping the remaining livestock healthy and happy. I’m lucky to have ten minutes in a day to spin. I don’t know about some of the spinners out there, you all seem to spin a few kg a day without breaking a sweat, on top of caring for small children, home-schooling said children, caring for hundreds of sheep and cats and dogs and the occasional fish or bird, travelling all over creation, working two full-time jobs and knitting entire garments while bringing the pasta water to a rolling boil.

Honestly. I just ain’t as good as you all. I’m slow and deliberate. In the time you’ve sheared the sheep, cleaned and picked and processed and dyed and carded the wool and spun it up; I’ve managed to put an empty bobbin on the wheel. In the time you’ve taken your gorgeous hand-painted hand-spun wool from bobbin to knitting needle, completing an afghan or ruana or a half dozen baby blankets, I’ve cast on for a scarf.

Oh well. I may never be quick about it but I surely do have fun.

I decided to start spinning a silk cap. I haven’t spun a cap in months and thought it would be a nice break from the cardigan spinning. This cap is an amazing combination of reds and pinks, bright enough to emit light in a dark room. I can ply it with some cashgora I spun this past week, it’ll add wonderful contrast and body to the yarn.

Now. There are ways and ways to spin caps. My preferred is thwacking it into a cap shape, then peeling out a layer or a few of silk. I place my hands in the “rim” and pull until it breaks, giving me nice long chunks of silk to spin.

Then I put the rest down.

Yeah, right.

Forget it. Silk cap is sticky. I’ve been spinning my nice long chunks while more layers here and there and the rest of the cap dangle by invisible filaments to my fingers. Don’t bother shaking, it just makes the silk find more opportunities to stick. It sticks to clothing. It sticks to hair. I grabbed a tissue to blow my nose and ended up with pinky filament stuck in a nostril hair, which filament also happened to be caught in an eyelash. I tried to pull it away and felt like my face was unravelling. The damn thing was all over me. I’m so bemused by all these blobs of silk dangling from my everywhere that I’m losing the desire to spin.

Spinning silk caps is like wrassling with cotton candy.

Except a battle with cotton candy is one I’d win.

Superbowl what? 42?  is this Sunday, I think.  Blergh.I can’t bear to sit through American football. What a silly waste of time. Anyone ever tell those guys that they’re not even using a ball? It’s a dingdang torpedo. Any game that cannot be played without everyone stopping to catch their breath every yard or two is boring.  And what’s with the getup those guys wear? snerk. I think there ought to be some way to make the game interesting. Maybe landmines randomly placed on the field. Not real landmines, that would be mean. But mines that explode into geysers of paint, lots of noise, streamers, the works.
I have also decided that wrestling is not a spectator sport!  No, I’m not referring to that rubbish on television, I can’t stand to watch staged mutilation.  I’m talking about the sport played on school campuses.  Anyway, wrestling, it’s such a squirmy looking thing to watch. Kind of embarassing.  You know.

Well.  Now I retreat meekly back into my corner.