Fiber Follies

I am frequently cranky and unabashedly opinionated. I try to behave myself in real life. It’s a stinker. I’m a stinker. Just ask anyone who knows me. I will at a whim change the old, ferociously held opinions, and be just as vicious defending the new.

I own my own business, so, yes, I work for a living. Or try to. Make a living that is. Being self-employed means eight to twelve hours work each day-every day. No exceptions. I won’t get into home care, grounds maintenance, critter care and social obligations, since most everyone has to deal with that stuff too. A nine-to-five job with regular pay and benefits would be a dream vacation. And my taxes are much higher than they were when I was a drone. But I love what I do so I’m sticking it out.

I’m aging. Rapidly. After a lifetime of being too young for this or that, I find the only thing I’m too young for these days is retirement. In many questionnaires including demographics, I tick that last age category. It sends a chill down my arthritic old spine.

I love to knit! I’ll happily try to knit anything that strikes me. I love trying to design and knit garments for my unusually-shaped husband. Give me a chance, I’ll try it. Now I’m spinning, so watch out. Oh yeah. Weaving, too. I am armed and fiberous.

I just happen to adore cats.  My home is well padded with cat fluff.  I like it, it’s soft and it gives all my clothing a lovely aura.  Where I ostensibly set up this blog to write about knitting and the other fiber things, I’d rather write about my cats.  Fiber does what I want it to, cats do what they want.  They’re interesting and they adore me.

I live in a small house on almost six acres. There’s a nice big pond in the back field, and I’m working on filling in the front and side yards with gardens. Grass is bad. Gardens are good.

That’s all you get. That’s really all I am. Nothing special.