the midwest edition
I've been away from the computer for quite a while, and currently I'm in Ohio with my mom, who just had some foot surgery. She's well, and I'm finally able to write.
My biggest problem with this blog has been the photos; I should be posting them, and I'm not. These are my placeholders for the "someday" photos. I have, waiting for release from my camera:
photos of the beginning and end of the Noro Aurora scarf (Katherine, I went with the feather and fan pattern, made it thinner, and got not quite 60 inches out of two skeins).
photos of the beginning of the Rosalind scarf from Magknits, but it's a gift so I don't want to show off the shadow knitting too much. (Thus, the photos are extremely boring stripes.)
photos of the ever-lengthening scarf.
Waiting for release from my mother's camera:
photos of the free wool, and hopeless-feeling photos of the free wool being washed.
self-portraits of exhausted me, taken in the bathroom mirror while waiting for the wool to soak.
more hopeful (read: cleaner) photos of wool washing.
a wool party, with mounds of wool reclining amongst flowers in lawn chairs in the patio.
Many, many photos of the charming, articulate, and hammy 21-mo-old daughter of my high school friend. So many photos that I filled up the card, and must unload before the photos to come, being:
carders and roving.
singles of clean carded wool.
And when/if the wheel ever arrives, you'll get wheel photos too. Possibly hopeless photos of wheels being put together, and then more singles.
Because really, don't you come here for the photos?
***
A word on spinning: I finally, really love it. A week ago I went with Mimazu and Alyse to visit The Fold. There were spinning lessons, both spindled and wheel, and some wheel shopping and purchase (Alyse) and carder purchasing (me) and spindle purchasing (Mimazu). But the very best part was spending time with Toni, who was friendly, talented, and the most serene person I've met in quite a while. I arrived entirely spun up (no pun intended), and she still managed to help me spin a decent thread of wool. Then we tried out the wheel, for which I had to take off my shoes, and we ended up running around the store for the next couple hours in my socks like a giddy little kid. This was extremely good for business.
Spinning, when it's working right, makes me euphoric. I can make fluffy clouds of wool! I can make string! (I haven't plyed anything yet. This isn't a problem for me, because all I want to do with it so far is sit there and look at it.) I feel like one of the Fates. I've still got a hideous time spinning wool out of a bag, but the wool I card spins smoothly for me. Perhaps I'll re-card some of the stuff I bought from the Fold until I get the hang of it.
My grandmother came over this afternoon to visit my convalescent mother, and during the lulls in conversation I entertained them with carding and spinning. She started out unimpressed by the lumpy wool, and asked if it wouldn't just be quicker to buy the sweater. (Don't you wish you had a skein of cashmere for every time someone asked you that question?) I told her I wanted to have some sort of skill when the revolution came. An hour later, we sent her home with a little roving and a tiny skein of single ply yarn. I think she was coming around to the idea.
My biggest problem with this blog has been the photos; I should be posting them, and I'm not. These are my placeholders for the "someday" photos. I have, waiting for release from my camera:
photos of the beginning and end of the Noro Aurora scarf (Katherine, I went with the feather and fan pattern, made it thinner, and got not quite 60 inches out of two skeins).
photos of the beginning of the Rosalind scarf from Magknits, but it's a gift so I don't want to show off the shadow knitting too much. (Thus, the photos are extremely boring stripes.)
photos of the ever-lengthening scarf.
Waiting for release from my mother's camera:
photos of the free wool, and hopeless-feeling photos of the free wool being washed.
self-portraits of exhausted me, taken in the bathroom mirror while waiting for the wool to soak.
more hopeful (read: cleaner) photos of wool washing.
a wool party, with mounds of wool reclining amongst flowers in lawn chairs in the patio.
Many, many photos of the charming, articulate, and hammy 21-mo-old daughter of my high school friend. So many photos that I filled up the card, and must unload before the photos to come, being:
carders and roving.
singles of clean carded wool.
And when/if the wheel ever arrives, you'll get wheel photos too. Possibly hopeless photos of wheels being put together, and then more singles.
Because really, don't you come here for the photos?
***
A word on spinning: I finally, really love it. A week ago I went with Mimazu and Alyse to visit The Fold. There were spinning lessons, both spindled and wheel, and some wheel shopping and purchase (Alyse) and carder purchasing (me) and spindle purchasing (Mimazu). But the very best part was spending time with Toni, who was friendly, talented, and the most serene person I've met in quite a while. I arrived entirely spun up (no pun intended), and she still managed to help me spin a decent thread of wool. Then we tried out the wheel, for which I had to take off my shoes, and we ended up running around the store for the next couple hours in my socks like a giddy little kid. This was extremely good for business.
Spinning, when it's working right, makes me euphoric. I can make fluffy clouds of wool! I can make string! (I haven't plyed anything yet. This isn't a problem for me, because all I want to do with it so far is sit there and look at it.) I feel like one of the Fates. I've still got a hideous time spinning wool out of a bag, but the wool I card spins smoothly for me. Perhaps I'll re-card some of the stuff I bought from the Fold until I get the hang of it.
My grandmother came over this afternoon to visit my convalescent mother, and during the lulls in conversation I entertained them with carding and spinning. She started out unimpressed by the lumpy wool, and asked if it wouldn't just be quicker to buy the sweater. (Don't you wish you had a skein of cashmere for every time someone asked you that question?) I told her I wanted to have some sort of skill when the revolution came. An hour later, we sent her home with a little roving and a tiny skein of single ply yarn. I think she was coming around to the idea.
posted by Trope at 7:53 PM
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