Cabin Fever Rescue

So, that was an interesting week, eh? We've been talking about gemstones alot in our house. Partly because on our little birthday excursion and whilst walking around downtown, Thing 1 and I slipped into a little shop and found some gorgeous raw gemstones. Something very affordable to see your kiddo pick up and dazzle at and so I forked over a few buck so we could each get one or two. It's partly that and partly that Maine is full of fascinating stones and our property is home to some really interesting ones. So, we've been talking about how wild it is that a seemingly boring stone on the outside can be chipped away a little bit and become something fascinating or, when thrown in a rock tumbler and polished - become a gleaming jewel. Fascinating, really - isn't it? Only, if you were to take that process as a theme - it would seem that last week was the tumbling about and not yet feeling pretty part - LOL.

The birthday, however, was awesome. I mean, after all, doncha think there would be one or two stones in the tumbler that you wouldn't mind tumbling into so much? Either because you could have fun talking to that rock or because that rock has a cool tune on it's Ipod or because, well, you know - it's one of those rocks. Sadly, there are very few rocks that you could bump into that would potentially be one of 'those rocks'. Proof, I guess, that life isn't always fair. But, let me get my mind out of the gutter and back on the birthday - it was awesome and, if you are at all curious - she's tiger's eye, carnelian, and citrine and I'm moonstone, rose quartz and bloodstone because, you know, everybody's got a dark side - mwah ha ha ha!

The weekend was crazy. But that's pretty normal and since I live on a funny farm - it seems by now that would be an understood given. Just slather mud all over that and walk around falling on your butt alot in more mud and you basically have a picture of those days...you could insert ghost popping out of closets, too, if you needed the extra adrenaline push but I'm quite okay without it and kinda easy to scare so, please, hold the ghosts on mine.

So, the snow is now all gone and mud is here and the list of things you must do before you cry and fall exhausted into bed hoping nothing wakes you up but also knowing it just probably will happen at least once has just gone from one page, though chocked full, to a spiral notebook of endless lines of things you didn't finish last year, things you must do this year, and things that you've been adding to the back of the list for 5-8 years....and on dwindling sleep because the days are longer and the nights are shorter and you can only derive so much sleep from those fewer hours if you're still being woken up all the time. A cat behaving badly, another cat de-mystifying the butter dish on the table and knocking it off even though it's handmade beautiful pottery that you scored and you treasure it. A kid - which is okay because that's part of the job but still, ya'll, it means being awake! Or any other number of things that could set the dogs off and have you tumble out of bed half awake thinking something grand must be going on and find out it was a noise off in the distance that just annoyed them.

By yesterday, I was feeling the fever in a pretty powerful way. Like, it took all the strength and compassion I had, plus biting my cheek on the side over and over, to keep from bursting into a full blown case of terrible twos in a 38 year old woman's body. Which, unless you've devoted much time to being ultimately attractive in that body by doing things like regular exercise, taking care of yourself, buying nice clothes that fit, accepting that to make them fit you have to know your size, and sleeping....I think sleeping is definitely in there somewhere, is really NOT CUTE. I wasn't sure I'd make it. After all, I'm in sock hell. I finished one pandora handspun sock but could.NOT.FIND the other ball of pandora and have been going out of my mind looking for it. I have one mardi gras sock done and need to finish the second, but have lost the red beads for it. Urgh and urgh and...stomped just two times like a terrible two before she quickly composed herself, again, and tried to pretend it didn't happen....

Then, like magic, I got a package it the mail. I knew it was magic the minute I read the note on the back, "Josette's Emergency SpringThaw/CabinFever Rescue Package". Theresa (tarrilynn) sent me a super package of happy love. A handspun, hand-knit headband/neckwarmer which I love so much! And, the chickie knows me too well - chocolate, coffee, and a whole bunch of new teas to try once I stop sniffing them all because they smell so good. Tea is a full experience, ya know? You have to let all the senses have their fun. Girl, if you're out there, thank you so very much. Within one day of opening your package, the sun returned (which is the reason for the not so good picture that doesn't do justice to your lovely knitting and spinning AT ALL but I couldn't bear to close the curtain as we've had day after day of gray skies and rain), I found the pandora yarn - and have thought of at least 4 places I haven't searched for the red beads and shall once I've gotten a few things done, today. I know, it's this late in the day and I still have hope:)

On the reputation of singles.......

Singles always get a bad reputation, haven't you noticed? In yarn, I mean. I like to think the world has evolved enough that we, as human beings, are less quick to judge and measure based on things like whether or not we are 'attached' or, in the case of yarn, 'plied' to another. If such judgment is still rampant, I likely would be the last to know as I've not been single in some 16 years plus a dating period. So, if the world is still infantile, hateful, and selective based on the most primal need of human existence - to find only things that are like us and be terrified of anything or anyone who chooses a different path, please don't tell me today. I mean, I kind of know there's potential for it but, ahem, I am practicing ignorance (quite good at it, aren't I - LOL) for an attempt at inner peace at the moment. Or not.

It could be that I've just fallen so deeply into the pit of yarn lust that I am actually living and experiencing the world through the concerns of my yarn. Ahhhh, but that is so not surprising. I've long since been aware of the deepest levels of dorkdom that I can aspire to and, perhaps, even attain in this life. So, tell me, why do singles get treated with such disdain. At best, singles are passed off as an option for thick n thin yarn play for a squishy hat or scarf or, worse, labelled 'art yarn' and, thus, consecrated in the 'you only want a little of this because you can't really use it for anything' category. I mean, I took these batts and made them all into this pool of yarn love and, I've got to tell you, I'm itching to use them up in a project!

I've been loving singles for a long time so I've asked quite a few people why they don't love/trust/accept singles. Here's some of what I've heard in reply: Well, not here just yet because I need to type this sentence to tell you that I'll randomly be putting in some singles who need to be cuddled and loved and appreciated for their contribution to the fiber world and will note the yardage, fact stuffs, etc. after the reply they appear by in italics. So, again, here's some of what I hear and my response to the 'evidence against singles':

Singles always pill.
This is true and false. I've only been on this planet some 37 years so I'm no expert but one thing I think I can say with certainty is nothing does something EVERY TIME. Life as we know it is just too random and chaotic to allow religious repetition. There's always room for a heretic to bounce in and radically shift the scales of the word 'always'. Some singles do pill. Some plied yarns pill. The propensity to pill, in my experience, is more due to the quality/structure/blend of the fibers. If you've spun a yarn with a wildly varying mix of staple lengths, you know what I mean. When I blend my angora bunny into a batt, I have to be very careful. Angora, being a staple of less than 3 inches, generally speaking, likes to pill when carded with a 5 inch staple of wool. Still, when done carefully, it can be avoided. An addition of a stronger, yet, more slippery and less spongey fiber like silk or bamboo can significantly improve results. Likewise, breed differentiations, health of the animal, processing, etc. can greatly change the fibers that go into your spinning stuffs or commercially spun yarns. Singles don't determine pilling. Wool pills, sometimes....this one is credited to chaos - not singles. Life varies. Wool is alive. (This little skein is an 88 yard single spun from 1/3 of a jester batt that I had left over from another project. She is a silk/wool combo with some blingy stuffs in their and is included in the project pic above. Proof that singles make a great project as you can add little leftover bits from your stash together and make something fabulous)

Singles Bias
Again, the notion that something always does anything just baffles me. Yes, some singles will bias. This is mostly due to a common error that spinners make (especially when beginning) of over twisting the yarn. I've come to particularly despise this notion, though, because it really isn't fair. Some singles will bias. Some, though, like some of the popular lopi or noro style singles will fluff up and knit beautifully into a project. If you have a yarn that is mostly even but has a very few 'too tightly spun' spots, try going down a needle size or two and that can help correct a bias. Also, spin more. I don't like to waste anything so I don't advocate being a perfectionist or anything. I like plying when plying is appropriate but I also think that even to make a good plied yarn, knowing the first step - an awesome single, is the best start. As you improve your singles, you'll find that spinning them just a bit bulkier results in a gorgeously pillow soft yarn. It's the notion that the plying corrects the error of the over spun yarn in the first place that irks me, I think. Oh, who am I kidding? It's mostly just the lack of fairness in declaring all singles as 'biasers' that gets my goat. I knit with singles often. For the first few years that I was both a spinner and knitter in the wild and desolate area of Northern Maine - I was pretty much on my own. A group of other 'wannabe spinners' and I got together every few months to exchange ideas and have an excuse to pot luck but, beyond that, I was learning on my own, which is to say my errors were my teachers. I learned singles spinning and I never looked back. bows head in thanks to Paula Simmons..... I had no idea that the bias against singles was so strong until, at a fair one day, a woman picked up a hat of mine and remarked that she loved the yarn and how the heck did I knit those singles without a bias because singles always bias. I was astounded. I thought I must be knitting wrong (self taught knitters doubts, heh heh) or something because ALL singles bias and none of mine would do that. Really, I just look like I'm still bugged about it. I'm over it, promise! snork. The sparkling beauty on the left top of this ,rant paragraph('Jadis' batts - spun in a 265 yd./2oz. skein of cool bliss) is part of a duo that began this whole project. The skein to the right and her knew they were destined to appear in a project together on account of their story. That lovely periwinkle skein on the right ('Ice Queen' 350 yds./3/6 ozs.) is the yarn I spun from my sweet David's batts (ComeInSpinner on Etsy). They arrived at the same time as I was developing a new colorway for the coming week I was calling "Jadis" in tribute to my fave character in the Lion,Witch & the Wardrobe series. It was so weird because David called these beauties 'Ice Queen' and, together, they whispered and enchanted me, too, just like their namesake. See how they're sitting, together, here, closely chaperoned by that dark purple and bossy ball of jester batt yarn in the back?

Singles break.
This is a totally understandable fear and,also, often true. It is tricky to find the balance between over-twist and spun so loosely that the yarn breaks with the slightest bit of tension. And, let's face it, no one wants to knit something that will unravel too quickly after the 'falling in love with your knits' process has occurred. But, finding that balance has grand rewards. I've found, most of the time, that singles are stronger than we give them credit for. A break or two in a skein doesn't necessarily mean that knitting that yarn is hopeless. Again, a slightly smaller needle than the project or yarn gauge would usually call for can do wonders to repair a weak yarn. I know it defeats the purpose to do so, but you could also knit two single strands held side by side if you're wanting to knit your singles, but worried that they won't wear or knit with the strength you need. And, of course, if you find your singles are continually 'breaky' - that means you probably want to add a little more twist. I am particularly smitten with this project - my conch shell vest from 'Dazzling Knits' spun with Cotswold singles and a thrill to knit. Who knew that the girl who lost her enrollment in the honor's program (and, thus, the scholarship) on account of the fact that, though she made straight A's in everything else and had a tutor, seriously failed Geometry, would be knitting modular? Proof that life laughs at you if you don't give in and giggle soon enough!

Singles aren't 'real' yarn.
I confess, I've only ever heard this once but it made smoke fly from my ears and took all the kindness and strength I had to smile and nod and button the opinion machine (aka - mouth) and say nothing. I just listened while a fellow spinner told me that thick n thin yarns were for people who couldn't care to bother with proper spinning and that no one in their right mind would spin a single for something like, gasp, a sweater. I had a sweater wip in my bag at the time and I swear I broke a sweat worrying about whether or not she'd seen me knitting on it earlier that day. I said nothing, but I haven't seen her in years. Singles are certainly REAL yarn. They are great yarns to use in a soft sweater that massages your skin while keeping you warm. I have, literally, worn my single spun sweater out. And, for the record, it outlasted two commercially spun/handknit sweaters that were 4 ply yarns. Seriously, though, if you think I'm still upset about this, trust me she's totally lying, I'm way over it. (Rolls eyes) Another shot of my vest in progress because I'm so darned in awe of how a pile of little shells - such as those mangled little shells on the top left - get tamed by the circular needle and begin to feed on each other to become something like this (pic on the right). Smitten may not be the word. Picture a 5 year old getting JUST WHAT HE WANTS on Christmas morning under the tree. That's more like what I'm feeling for this project at the moment.

All that said, I am taking the evening to spin up a skein of sock yarn that I've been dyeing to knit. She will be a two ply. Then, I'm launching into spinning a 3 ply sweater's worth of yarn so, clearly, I am not entirely devoted to singles. All I'm really saying is - give peace (and singles) a chance. Oh, that and that I have had this nagging 'you haven't done something you should have done by now' feeling for a few days and realized (smacks forehead in disbelief that the time flies so quickly) I hadn't drawn the winner of the December Great Giveaway. So, I did, and Lorraine has a surprise of yarn lovin' coming her way. Woot Woot! The next Giveaway will be announced Feb. 1st. Okay, who do I think I am? It will be announced sometime AROUND Feb. 1st. There. That's better. This whole 'be more realistic in 2009' gig is a challenge!

Oh, hi, uhm.....awkward silence....

You know how, sometimes, you run into someone that you've not talked to in a looooong time and you instantly realize that it was you who dropped the ball on the communicating and being a friend part and you suddenly break a sweat and feel like screaming out, "Oh, gawd, I hate myself!" but you don't and you just fumble for a minute before you come right out with it and apologize for being such a numb person and forgetting to remember the important people in your life?

I'm sorry I've been gone a while. Stuff has happened. It kinda keeps happening and I've been waiting for the 'right' time to figure out how to talk about it or decide if I can or want to. That was dumb and maybe selfish and, for those of you who expressed worry or concern, really wrong. I'm sorry.

So, here's the nutshell. Life is changing rapidly on the farm, and the whole concept of the farm is changing as well. Change can be slow and is sometimes an elusive and spiteful thing - showing you one face one time and then radically deviating from where your thought you were headed. So, as of now, I know little of how and when big changes will come. It would suffice to say that I'm alone rowing the boat save for the physical chores that I am helped with....and I don't mind it so much. It would also suffice to say that things have been sometimes rough, often sad, and a few times quite scary. I just keep picking myself up, hugging the Things and trying to get on with the day as best I can. And, when that doesn't work, I sit and knit and drink coffee and eat chocolate and cry after they've gone to bed.

SWWWWEEEEEEP!

Now that we've gotten that mess outta here, life will go on. So, to change things up again and (hopefully) indicate to the Universe that I am willing and sometimes capable of riding the waves of tumult, Look for a Friday post of a non-knitterly or spinnerly origin. Remember near a year ago when I said I'd show you how I make my super skin healing salve? Let's do that, and some soap (mmmmm...can you smell that from here?) and then commence to petting fiber and knitting away the hours until holiday knitting is over and lambing season begins!

On the long ride, I'd like to say, ya'll have been awesome to me. The emails and pm on ravelry have been lifesavers and huge pick me ups. I felt strong knowing that so many of you were humming along behind me - even if I was too pig headed and stubborn to come here and shed tears before you. I'm a sentimental fool and a bit ashamed when I can't hide my feelings which is just about never. Forgive me?

Like Swimming In A Toilet

That's just what the last week has been like. Like swimming in a toilet- only the toilet doesn't flush. It's been everything and nothing, really. Silly stuff, car stuff, farm stuff, kid stuff, and, of course, when all these things are going wrong - the partner jumps off the see-saw, sending you plummeting to the ground on your poor ankles.

Every year around this time, I begin to contemplate the Cosmic Fart that is Mercury retrograde. And, c'mon, ya'll - is it just me - or does it seem like the little planet has been in retrograde a bit much, recently? Well, I consulted the various sources of wisdom on the subject that I turn to and found it is not in our imaginations. Indeed, the little angry planet ONLY retrogrades three times a year and for a few weeks (usually) each time. Only, this year, the second one had other 'influences' that made the few weeks before and after pretty much, uh....swimming in the toilet.

This would also be the case with this one - a doozie he's reported to be. Starting on September 24 and finishing with whiplash tails of chaos on October 31. I know! It should be over by the 15th but, due to the extraordinary circumstances and influences, we get it for two weeks more. Snorkeling, anyone?

Now, my particular chart was chock full of all sorts of inspiring and comforting things like: 'family matters may be testy' 'spend some time alone as others will likely not be there when you need them' and, my personal favorite ' your finances will seem to be a disaster' but running a close second is 'a cycle of minor accidents and upsets will happen' (oh, joy, let's bake something yummy and celebrate) and, then, the warning to not let the effects of this situation make you 'feisty'. Are you kidding? I may be beyond feisty. I may be spitting nails if this keeps up for another 3 weeks!

Thank you for attending this rant and enduring my pity party......

Now, for the balance. Yes, the Universe can roll the dice and play hardball with us and I guess it is just the way the ball bounces. This week, we've had some normal troubles - the bearings on the car needing replacement, the equipment playing dirty tricks, the farm schedule being backed up ridiculously due to constant rain and yucky weather, and one of our older ewes just died in the night. I know it happens but, after 12 years of raising animals, I still don't handle it well. I cry, I feel terrible, I despise the Nature that I generally profess to adore, and I question, deeply, whether or not I can handle the pits that farming folks can fall into. It doesn't help that it is very upsetting to the Things as well and so they need to be able to have the support and friendship of their mom while they learn to grieve. We just won't mention how poorly some other people handle it. Really.

So, swimming in the toilet is an accurate depiction of this week EXCEPT for the exceptional people that continue to spread smiles throughout the world and regenerate those of us who are fresh from the day's swimming. Here's where I drop the party banner, take off my fuzzy novelty yarn party hat, and say that people, in general are awesome. This week, to counter the effects of the cosmic fart, I have received emails that made me cry they were so kind, messages here and on ravelry about the fiber, the yarn, the enchanted knoll stuffs if you will, some pics of people's finished projects, and, in general, many hugs, cyber hugs, and friendly gestures. They always mean alot to me but this week they have just been huge. Huge! Thanks and mwah!

I'm not really in a place today to do justice by the Shawl I just finished. She'll block a bit longer and come back tomorrow, when I've had a chance to dry off, remove the toilet smell, and get my feet under me again.

I have discovered banging your head into a wall is actually therapeutic.......

I was supposed to be here days ago but as the Universe seems to be bowling right through my carefully laid plans - I, as you know, was not. Fasten your seat belts, my pretties, because this Mercury retrograde thingie coming up at the end of the month promises NON-STOP ADVENTURE! Supposedly, it will be the biggest of the year. This would be great if it was a time of endless pleasure, non? Or, maybe even a time of maximum efficiency - so that you have that brave sense of accomplishment when done with it? Uh-oh - but this is the one where chaos rules the day, arse-backwards happenings will be happening, and the general sense that banging your head into the wall MIGHT actually bring relief! Lucky me, I got a 'pre-taste' of it yesterday.

I was really going to come here to say a big ole teary-eyed 'thank you' to the Sheriff of Knittingham for giving me the 'I love your blog' award. Thanks, Lorraine! In addition to being a stellar knitter after my own heart, and the designer of Guinevere, my greatest winter knitting passion (it will be mine this year!), Lorraine is just one of my treasured knitterly people to know. It helps that she has a most fabulous sense of humor as I regularly stick my foot in my mouth (just to taste it, sometimes!) and she never seems phased by it....gotta love a friend like that! I'm not good at picking people and blogs so I'll just say that the award goes right back at ya cuz, let's face it, you're always on the list when I have to cite a blog I lurve! Oh, and hope you are feeling better, soon! Cruddy ole flu, I wish it would go away and leave you to knit in peace!

So, I was also going to show you this. I know, I know, I was supposed to be knitting the 'curved shawl' from VLT with the handspun treasure chest yarn. We will walk through that process in a bit. I was going to show you this yesterday but I woke to the sound of one of my kiddles asking Dad if he was 'okay' in that worried tone. I scuttled into the room to find him bleeding - apparently he was cutting a bagel and stabbed the palm of his hand. The man needed pressure and a towel and it was not the 'right' time for me to study with perplexed thoughts how the dog spit he could have made such a deep cut with a bread knife. Only, both of the bread knives were STILL IN THE DRAWER! Hmmm. I thought about it later and would have asked more on the subject except he was so helpful to offer to cut the base for me and the Things 'exhibit' for the fair so I dropped it....until I heard the sound of 'oh crap, that hurts' coming from the studio. Scuttled again and found that he was so busy cutting through the base that he failed to notice his finger was actually the thing that was making the cutting hard. Fortunately, the base is covered in fabric so no one will notice the blood all over the naked material. Towel, pressure, silently shaking head and biting tongue VERY HARD, I let it go. Later that evening, when he was taking a pot of hot water off the stove and spilled it on his foot (near boiling it was), I scuttled even FASTER to the horrible sound someone makes when they are burned. You know, that AAAAHHHH! squeal that makes your insides churn as you hurl yourself toward such unpleasantness? He's okay, though I may not be saying that for long. After securing the promise that he 1) will not ever cut anything again as long as he lives and 2) will stay away from every conceivable danger and 3) that he's really okay - I offered to put a pillow over his head and relieve him from this obviously slow and wretched process of self-destruction. The short story (right!) is that the bread knife seemed all too practical so he forewent that option and opted instead for a sharp steak knife. When he got to the 'crusty' tough part, he just wrenched it real hard to cut on through....which, it did! Urgh - Bread Knife - it's for bread - who knew? she's banging her head again!

I was working on the shawl when the last mishap happened and, because I jumped and ran with no thought for the knitting at all, there were some injured stitches, hence, I am a bitter woman. I left the pattern in question after many head-banging-into-walls sessions that basically consisted of this:

1)I like the shape of the shawl, not the stitch. And the shape, as you all know, is not very complicated. The stitch? My gosh - when do I have time to sit down and knit lace that has no cheating 'purl all' stitch side? I wanted something I could carry around and knit when I'd otherwise be biting my tongue and hissing 'bread knife' at everyone!

Solution: Designing a simple shawl in the half-circle shaping that I like and ditching the maddening holey stitch pattern.

2) The stitch pattern is holey. And, no, we're not speaking in a spiritual sense here. It has lots of holes. Lots of holes for a Mainer means I could wear it maybe one month a year. Sometime after black fly season leading up the the 'no one told me summers in Maine would be this stifling and hot' season that others casually call 'summer'. Holes, as you know, let air through - which is in direct contradiction to the supremely cold air that I'd be wearing the shawl for protection from. I poo-pooed this excuse, at first, and chastised myself for being too lazy to knit the hard stitch. Until, I went and looked at the shawls I have so far. Aside from the black poncho I made years ago and have since worn to a state of frizzed out lint-collecting that it really is for 'around the house' or I'd probably need a dust bunny permit to wear it in public, and my 'barn shawl' that I crocheted years ago and wear during lambing season (so, it's in pretty rough condition as it has been used once or twice to wrap a cold and failing lamb in to rush them inside for CPR by the wood stove), all of my shawls are excessively holey. Not that a shawl can't have some lace and some holes, understand. I mean to say that my natural inclination is to pick a stitch that is very 'open'. And that is wholly (gawd I love a pun) inappropriate for Maine weather. Hmmm. Let's recap - the two shawls that are not holey are near worn out - implying they are used regularly. The 3-100 holey shawls that are collecting dust in the closet are in prime, nigh brand new condition. Really freakin' demanding stitch for another holey shawl????

Solution: Designing a simple shawl in the half-circle shaping that I like and ditching the maddening holey stitch pattern.

And, finally 3) After denying the inner wisdom that propelled me through this thought process, (I mean, I'm surrounded by such vast intelligence that it is obvious to everyone how I might feel overwhelmed and incapable of meeting such competence - Bread Knife!) I cast on and kept on stitching anyway. Stitching, drinking coffee, ripping, cursing a little. Okay, by the third time, the coffee was cold so I was cursing ALOT. Still, I got about 5 rows in, stretched it out to block the stitch pattern, and felt that the way the color shifts in the boldly adult rainbow yarn was going was, well, kinda boring.

Solution: Designing a simple shawl in the half-circle shaping that I like and ditching the maddening holey stitch pattern.

Are we seeing a pattern, here? Guess what I did? No, really, guess? I ripped it - again. Then, I put it down and went on with the day's work. I'm a glutton for punishment because I managed to convince myself, again, that I lack the discipline to knit a good shawl and that I might also lack the talent to devise my own pattern. So, I cast on - again! And, this time, I knit 10 rows before I realized I hated how the yarn looked knit this way. Bread Knife!

I ripped, I laughed, I threatened to stab myself through each fingertip with a sharp, aluminum sock needle if I tried to cast on this shawl in this stitch pattern again.....and I'm working on a simple half-circle shawl that will have a dazzling border chock full of holes - so that it keeps my neck, back, shoulders, and chest warm. With the holes that low, only my butt will be frozen and maybe if that happens - some of it will fall off. Bread Knife!

Great giveaway winner will be announced next time, promise!

Any ole woman will do......or - scars from my southern childhood

The past week has been nothing short of pure mental torment for me. I mean, I know I fail regularly (if I weren't so secretive and protective I'd let you ask my family members and I'm sure they would gladly site many embarrassing and revealing moments of such failure) to keep my mouth shut if I cannot find something nice to say or a nicer way to say something very rude. To be truthful, it's not just because I was raised to believe that women were practically fortunate to not have been turned into the field like cattle and that a meek, quiet, and very busy woman was the best kind to be. Gee, and I wonder why - even though I've long since directed my attention toward growing and trying to let myself see and be some light in this world, I still can't seem to curb my workaholic tendencies. Exhausted, barely able to think straight some days and still nodding off to sleep thinking, 'dangit - I forgot to do (insert a, b or the whole alphabet here) today!

Having it just be that would be so boring and silly. It has greatly to do with self-preservation. See, I know that when I'm fuming, when my face is red, and when I want to walk up to someone and pull a Mo from the 3 Stooges on them - that is when I'd do best to keep my mouth shut. I say the dumbest things, totally miss making my point, and provide ample rope for a quicker thinker (which may be MOST of the population) to hang me with. When I'm cool headed? I can argue until the end of the world. But, when I'm furious, I look like a monkey hyperventilating. Okay, maybe a monkey hyperventilating is even more eloquent than I at that point.

So, I tried sitting on my hands. That just made me angrier because I couldn't be spinning or knitting and, besides, I then remembered that sitting on one's hands was meant to prevent the HANDS from moving....my personal experience is that it is of little use to prevent loose lips from sinking ships and angry women from hissing. I started spinning - a natural reflex for me when I need to think and still do something that makes me feel PRODUCTIVE. I didn't even notice what I was spinning until about 1/3 of the way into the bobbin. It was the Tia Dalma batts from the August Happy Hooves Batt Club. Poetic justice, I think. A strong woman who relies on her own prowess, intellect, and ingenuity to measure her life. Then, I realized that there was just no way I'd be able to NOT say something not nice and I'd just keep avoiding the blog until the hissing and bubbling brew of thoughts subsided or I finally had some of the yarn from my yearly dance of natural drying actually dry so I could show it to you.

It really comes to this. We're either fiber women or fiber men and I pretty much find that fiber men tend to be some of the most favorite people of my life and generally pretty 'wise' to the ways in which we can make a world where women and men make the world good - together. So, I've been getting increasingly insulted, p.o'd, and hostile to my bones over the last few months. I know what you're thinking. Well, not really, but you might be thinking something like (eyes rolling) "uh-oh, the hippie within has taken over," - or, "not another treehugging 'angry left' rant!" or, "gosh, she sounds alot like those voices in my head!". You get the general idea and so do I. I try to leave politics to other bloggers but since most of my knitting and spinning time this week has been peppered by this indescribable desire to scream bloody loud for days - I'm counting it as fiber talk.

A few months back, I made a choice that I would not vote for Hillary Clinton. I have my own personal reasons for the choice and I am certain that it had to do with her policy mostly and her attitude some. I just felt like she was so intent on winning that she lost the bit of humility that generally makes her endearing. That her approach was not as fair as I would have liked. It's not the first time I've felt that way. 16 years ago, I made a decision to become a SAHM. A few years later, when watching her speak, I was stung when she suggested that she could have stayed home making cookies but decided she had real work to do. I would be small to keep that as my reason and I assure you it was not. I've long since forgiven that sting, found out much more about the person behind those eyes, and generally come to respect her. But, she would not get my vote. Why? I won't vote for someone JUST because they are anything - be that elephant, donkey, woman, man, veteran, etc.

Women, I think, are beautiful creatures to the soul. I also think we've had a pretty unfair shake of the world dice. But, for us to change that, we must decide who we are. Are we men walking around in heels? Are we angry? Are we victims? Are we nuturers? Are we teachers? Are we people who have a deep understanding of the plethora of advantages that we have yet to utilize to bring a more fair and just balance to the human experience? Are we better? Are we worse? Are we all the same?

So, I start fuming every time I hear a former 'hillary supporter' claiming they have found the light and are now voting for the OTHER woman. As if all women are the same (though each one's understanding and position on the issues is drastically different). Then, I hear her running mate talking about how he can't wait to 'unleash' her on Washington. And every woman, it seems like, commentator or interviewee saying the word 'sexism' over and over and I start feeling like screaming, AGAIN. Do we want to be trophies, or respected members of a collective whole? Can't we just ask some real questions and get some real answers?

Urgh. I mean, urgh! I didn't want to vote for Hillary because I don't personally feel she is the right person for the job. That doesn't make me sexist, it doesn't mean I'm not a 'real' woman, it doesn't strip me of my own sisterhood. I could name a handful of women whom, if they ran for President, I would not only vote but would spend much of my free time supporting. I've voted mostly for one party but there have been many times over the years that I've voted for another. I've voted for women, minorities, men, and maybe even a hyperventilating monkey or two. Just because a woman enters the room on a ticket, doesn't mean that we have betrayed our womanhood by not blindly adhering to what I can only term as the female equivalent of the good ole boy system.

C'mon!(she's starting to hyperventilate,again)If we are going to run for office as women (which, personally, I prefer to pretending androgyny) then we cannot expect everyone else to pull out our chair for us! If we are running against a man, and that man asks questions about our credentials - that is not sexism. That - is politics. That's why you'll frequently find a man running against another man doing the same thing. We belittle ourselves and betray our sisterhood more, I think, by proposing this than we would ever do to just answer the questions with the confidence that we are assuming to have in our own abilities. My head about exploded when one of the interviewees (CEO of HP, woman, working mother of 3 kids under the age of 4) answered a question from another woman pertaining to whether or not a mother of five, one being a 5 month old baby might be able to give herself fully to the demanding task of the job by calling her sexist. Shall we start pulling each other's hair and fighting in a mud pit as well? Urgh, again.Why does asking the same question to a woman that one does to a man mean someone is being a pig? If you run on your motherhood, tout it as a credential of your life, and generally present it as your driving purpose for living, whether to satisfy your base or because it is genuinely true, then you can't turn away in horror when someone criticizes your performance or questions your ability to do that AND a job. In the world of men, anything they use as a credential to purport their overall ability is subject to questioning and critique, is it not? Play fair. And if you can't play fair, you better be tough as nails because your discrepancies are bound to come back to haunt you, sometime. But we have to stop saying a woman can do anything a man can do - and then expecting to be treated more fairly than a man in a game that is so cutthroat as politics.

Thank you for taking this little roller coaster ride through my brain. The Tia Dalma is spun and I quite like her. I'll go focus on her qualities a little more and take a day or two new hiatus. The fact that my hair looks like I've stuck my finger in a light socket and my eyeballs are bulging may be an indication that I should have done that a few days ago.

And now for the funny part - there is a funny part, right?

That would pretty much sum up the last two weeks. At first, when so many things started to go wrong at once, I entertained myself by imagining a candid camera scene in which some guy in a plaid wool suit would jump jubilantly out of a closet and tell me to smile because it was all a funny joke. I must have been so busy giggling that I failed to realize we live in a house that we are building as we go and, duh! - we have no closets. Closets are something you build when you're done shuffling rooms around for each 'phase' of completion to begin. I don't know where the plaid wool suit comes in but I suspect that it is my repressed sinister nature wanting all men to suffer.

Clearly, I was so staunchly in denial that when I pinched my sciatic nerve, I truly believed that if I just kept on going, it would eventually heal. Because, you know, the way to calm a spasming nerve is surely to abuse it into submission. Actually, I can't take credit for this one. I know my self and knew better. I was just being proud. As is the tradition in this house, the formula we work from is Mom has way too many things to get done +getting a kid ready for a week away from home+she's in pain and wincing with every move= the other adult in the house decides to approach everything with cold calculation and inspire his overburdened partner to her greatness by reminding her to do her duty, or work through it, or some other such nonsense that, if said partner even had a scratch in his throat, would be received - should the same thing ever be said to him - with utter insult. Apparently, that wasn't thought of. Nor was the act of actually HELPING but we just won't go there.

So, I kept on keeping on and - guess who's still in pain? It is getting better, though. The good news is that sometimes I get so distracted that I simply forget to 'check' myself and make sure I'm living for health. So, there has been much in the way of reforming the nutrition (or lack of), thinking in the herbal ways again (which I sort of lost track of this last year), and generally working toward a healthier self. You know me - dump a truckload of lemons in my yard and, after I've delighted in the terrific smell of citrus - I'll set right to making buckets of lemonade!

There is one funny part to this week and that would be my last blog post. This is what I said I signed up for in the Ravelympics:

8 ozs. handspun in a natural gray corriedale X and cotswold X
8 ozs. handspun in white cotswold (which I will dye with plant dyes in the coming weeks - blog fodder alert!)
1 first year sheep puppet
1 fairy godmother sheep puppet
1 scawl of handspun pumpkin juice for the wip wrestling - less than 1/2 of it left to finish
oh, and the Philosopher's house socks.

However, a quick jaunt through my projects folder quickly revealed that, I left out 1 set of BMW batts and 4 ozs. of Esmaralda to spin up. Just for the record, I was sort of delusional by the time I added those and maybe also a little desperate to work with some other spinning fiber than white and gray. Still, a promise is a promise so I've gotten to work.

The socks are finished and I will refrain from judging them because, as you have probably realized by now, I am a bit cranky. Also, though, because I think I will try another pattern from this book before I say more. This one, well, it just doesn't work for me. But, I'm not really into short socks anyway so I should have known better. My greed and lust to make socks out of dk wgt yarn was instrumental in my completely ignoring the obvious- like that a heel flap is essential for my weirdo lusty calves on top of skinny ole freaky ankles. They're done and we move on...work through it, so to speak. There is one puppet and a friend in the works. See him? Awww, he's so sweet!

Around him are the 2 sets of 8 ozs each (totaling a lb) of handspun gray plus 2 (4 oz) sks. of handspun white. I found the missing needle to finish my scawl under the bed today so that is in progress and I'll be spinning in color tonight. So, foolishly optimistic or just plain blind fool, I'm still working toward the finish line.

So, other than that, the only thing slightly funny (and I suspect more so for others than for myself) was my attempt to pull off getting Thing 1 to camp 'without any stress'. Yes, if you must know, in private I like to dress up as Wonder Woman and pretend I can save the world. As you all know, directions and times are sort of a challenge for me. Certainly, I can read a map and tell time - it's more the concept of them that is puzzling. Thing 1 and I are in a most fun time wherein she gets to go on alot of show travels with me and we are finding we travel together very well. That is fortunate, as I hope to spend much time with her in the coming years. The unfortunate would be that we are discovering she has the same inability to conceptualize space/direction/etc. No problem, we are rule followers and, unlike OTHER people in our house, we trust in maps.

So, determined to not make her late, which, let's face it, is very stressful, we left 2 hours early, maps in hand, and headed confidently out for our many hours drive. Oh, things went so well! We cleared the 'within 50 miles of your destination' mark in no time. With nearly 2 hrs. to spare and our bellies growling for lunch, we pulled over and had some lunch. Deciding we had so much extra time and not wanting to be 'dorky' and show up too early, we decided on a little walk after lunch to loosen up my back a little. If you don't know, and I hope you don't, driving a car with no cruise control for hours with a pinched sciatic nerve is...well..... really effing NOT FUN! We ate, we walked....we had no stress. Our map proved well for us and all was funny clowns and laughter. We got back in the car, ready to make the last 1 hr. stretch of the drive - and that's when a torrential downpour began. At one point, I had to pull over because the windshield wipers were working their darndest and we still couldn't see a thing. We waited. It didn't let up. So, I finally concluded that we'd try again. Now, we were driving much slower than before, plus the time sitting there going WTF? and stuff - so we were no longer enjoying a leisure of spare time. I got another 10 miles before hail - and I mean lots o'hail came pouring down. Cars were either pulling over or Nature was whopping them off the road so we gave in and sat it out like good little girls. We showed up 40 mins. late. That's the funny part!

Now that I'm done swimming in the pool of pity - I haven't forgotten about the Great Giveaway. So, I did what I always do. In respect of my technological savvy, I wrote down every one's names and drew one randomly from a bowl - harmonyfb gets over 200 grms of match and contrast sock yarns! Ah, the yarn love works to make me smile every time!

Life without an ego.....

So, the other night, we're all sitting around after dinner chatting a bit and the subject that my kids are still young and young at heart enough to discuss with inspired delight came up - what they most want to do with their lives. I look to the time that many friends of adult children have remarked about - when they may not be so free to just dream and imagine the limitless possibilities of the life before them - with a quick fleeting glance because I love so much to hear their ideas, hopes, and inspirations. All of us are writers, spinners, knitters, artists, and farmers. What each of us finds possible as an off-shoot of that is about as varied as an ice cream cake is to fresh, potent chili pepper.....there's nothing we don't think about.

So, all are talking about such things and the confidence in the room was building to an almost comical pace. I giggled and said, "whew! Is there enough room in here for all these egos?" when they started to best each other. I'm going to be the best writer. No, I am. But, I'm a better speller. Yeah, but I got more favorites on my story.... That sort of thing.

It was just a gentle way of reminding everyone to keep the spirit of dreaming and not go sitting down on the chair of someone else's dreams. So, I was a little shocked when one of my own children, a sweet and faithful child bubbling with brilliance, turns and looks at me and says, "yeah, except for you, mom. There's extra space because you barely even have one."

Rest assured, no harm was meant. A most innocent and also terribly funny conversation ensued with points made that even I (what'd you expect, I have no ego) couldn't dispute to substantiate the claim that I operate with a minimal and rather dysfunctional ego.

Since then, I've been wandering through the days, somehow muddling through without my ole ego. Though, when cracking a fortune cookie on our dinner out for Thing 3's birthday, it suggested that my outlook needed refreshing and that I would proceed without issue upon doing that. Another such debate ensued, this time between all three things, about how 'old mom's outlook is - she sure needs another one'. With laughs and giggles and all. I 'neverminded' it - instead, casting off the last toe on my 'Black Magic Woman' socks and mourning my dead ole outlook and missing ego.......the socks were quite a comfort!

The Second Worst Birthday

When I was 6 years old, I knew that I had already had the worst birthday of my life. Two days before I was to turn six, my most favorite and also only great-grandma died of a sudden heart attack just after she'd set the table and put dinner out. While other summer babies were celebrating surviving kindergarten and having parties in the yard, I attended the funeral of my lovely great grandma and spent the rest of the afternoon locked in my room for making a scene at the funeral because they insisted on burying her with her glasses on and I thought that if she was to look like she was sleeping, why make her wear glasses? Unfortunately, I asked this question aloud and my father, thinking me both rude and obstinant, decided an afternoon in my room would straighten me right out. We couldn't have cake because we were in mourning and I think only my grandma happened to even MENTION the fact that it was my birthday. At six, that seemed like rock bottom and I have held that notion since, though this day comes in a close.

Thankfully, we are all well and no one has suffered or died - physically speaking, that is. But things are changing and fast and in a way that makes me feel certain that this stage of change is just that - a stage. A stage is a series of steps that lead to something unknown, non?

On this day, to celebrate that I've FINALLY turned 37 - as I seem to have lost my ability to count and determined that I am turning 37 for three years in a row, I began the day off by starting right to work finishing up two orders that were due last week. Only, last week was a series of stops and starts that left me so flustered most of the time that I had a really hard time concentrating on much. It seems that the seasonal and somewhat biennial occurrence of marital discord is upon us. There's no debating that hubster and I have been in a funk both on our own and together for a bit. And it's an old issue that we've both worked on but seems to be rearing its ugly head again. There's been talk of how to change our situation and working together to heal it is an option less offered than giving up. I don't know what else to say about that other than that 16 years is a long time to put yourself into something and still have it be such a struggle. At this point, I think I want to do what is best for someone else (like the things) and just accept that it is what it is - and stop fearing that if I don't fix it, it will be my fault. So, when I say the man forgot it was my birthday, you can kinda see that that pales in comparison to what else has been forgotten.

So, I did what I needed to do, worked, tried to spend a bit of time with things 1,2, and 3 (they made me a card and keychain - how sweet!) and the remainder of my day will go as thus: finish dyeing yarns, eat something like crackers because it is dollar night at the theatre and hubster is taking the kids to the movies only there isn't enough time for that AND for me to run into the grocery and get something for dinner so he's just going to take them (we still share a car) to get pizza and a movie while I stay home, eat crackers, and work on fiber orders.

Uhm, 37 - you suck!

Prepare to be Astounded....

Pssst....it's me again - the sock. You maybe can't see me too well on account of that I'm the one in the back. Look, uh, I don't have much time - between you and me - they keep a pretty short leash on me but I don't really mind. Anyway, I kinda left you hanging and it occurred to me later that you might be worried about me. So, I just wanted to let you know I'm all right.

The last few weeks have been pretty tough, though. I don't mention it much because I don't want to risk the deep, dark basket treatment again. When I left you last, I might have mentioned a certain arrangement in a light that implied I was not interested. Let me just correct that by saying, publicly, that I reject that insinuation. And, honey, if you're reading (and I'm sure you are since you watch my every move), I couldn't be happier.

Of course, I haven't always been so wise. I admit that when she put you down to work solely on me, squealing with glee that we were 'beyond ankle' and 'almost in the mid-calf stretch', I kinda felt like everything had gone back to normal. Not for some time had she sat and rubbed my back and said soothing, loving things about my fantastic color. Then came the ribbing and the 'elf flap' (whatever that is) and I felt like I was a rock n'roll hero. She had to wipe her lip quickly not to drool on me in the wee hours of the night when she trimmed my flap with handspun silk and merino coiled yarn. When she gave me my tassle, complete with a beautiful brown glass bead, we both shuddered a little - which I foolishly took as a comforting sign that we were going to make it through the impossible saga of me being a mere sock and her being, well, that great big human thingie. I pictured us going for long walks (which, strangely, then, involved only one foot) in the sunset talking at length about the muses of our hearts. My tassel, I imagined, would flow in the wind, offsetting the sparkly yarn nicely - and I felt fine like a rare jewel. I was certain that my days on the shelf were over - and they were. But, the horror that awaited me, the lonely, darkened despair, was unfathomable in light of feeling so euphoric and proud.

Then, I woke up in 'the basket'. It's a deep, dark, dank place, dearest, that I'm glad you never had to go to. After the first day, I resolved to pout a little when she came for me. After the second, I was whimpering and beginning to cry whilst the other 'nearly done' creatures jeered at me and snickered while pointing out my, and I quote, 'fruity fluff and pomp'. By day 3, I was prepared to leap out of the basket and beg her forgiveness for whatever trespass I unknowingly committed but...she still didn't come. On day five, when she finally came back, I doted on her. I shined and twinkled for her. I shook my tassle like a wanton hussy and just when I was sure all was well, she explained that I was only coming out to be 'measured' against the 'other one'. Now, Dearest, I mean no slight on you when I say that I feared it was out of spite alone that you came up one inch short which necessitated me being thrown back in the slammer basket for another two nights. Oh, the jeering I endured from those basket creatures. They laughed at me even as I wept myself to sleep, those bastards!

But, all of this is a distant memory, I assure you. Since the day you were done, and we lay together for our photo session, I knew you were the only one for me. I mean, look at your tassel - so fluffy and sparkly - you wear your bead like none other. Your patterning is stunning and that curve of shaping on your calf? Uh, if I don't stop here I could get into trouble. Va va va voom is all I'm sayin'...

~~~~~~TRANSCRIPT BECOMES UNDECIPHERABLE OVER VULGAR NOISEMAKING AND STRUTTING~~~

Now, I know you may not be astounded by my socks but you should be somewhat so by the fact that I spun the yarn, designed, and knit them in a month, non? But, perhaps the sock saga isn't what you came here for. Perhaps you came because you always do - in which case I thank you rightly but also offer you the friendly suggestion that you might need to have your head examined. Perhaps you came because it is the first of the month and that is when I announce the terms and prizes for the May Great Giveaway. Heh! Who am I kidding? I don't believe I have announced the Great Giveaway on time - yet (says she who is always late to her own party) so it just might shock and overwhelm you to find that I not only spun some fab yarn and knit some totally quirky elvish socks from my own design in a month but that I also have (finally, I hear some of you whisper) made it to the announcement of the Great Giveaway on time. I sure hope so, because I have no picture. That's just what it is, a mystery. The Great Giveaway for May is for the quirky, eclectic spinner. You'll get 4 ozs. of mix and match mystery batts - chock full of whatever eye candy strikes my fancy as I make them. There are some rules for this month's giveaway, though and they are thus:
1. Ya'll - be nice. This will be explained in the following paragraph (or novel as the case may be).
2. If you forget to be nice, then be even nicer for a while.....it won't hurt anybody, I promise.
3. Leave your name and your most favorite nice thing someone has ever done for you(that you want to share in public, of course, heh heh!) in the comments for a random drawing.

I was a little disheartened to find some bashing of free gifters going on on the greatest fiber forum there isto be found. Kinda got under my skin a bit but then I laughed and, as I often do, thought about what my grandma would say to that. She'd say something like, 'dang, some people are so sour you can't even give 'em honey.' And that would be true.

So, the gist of the thread of bashing were about why or why not to give a freebie when someone buys something from your shop. Some said they did it to market future items, some said they felt grateful that people picked their lesser well-known shops from the pool of available fiber fish in the sea. But, sadly, some insinuated, or outright suggested that only a seller who doesn't believe in their own work would give something away for free with a purchase. Then, there was the assertion that nothing comes for free and, therefore, the purchaser was probably paying for their freebie anyway. This went on and on and basically became another one of those 'who' and 'who isn't' worthy of the title they bear (fartist, for my part)which is infuriating, insulting, and totally sad for me - and I think for most of the great people I've come to know in fiber fun land. It makes it all feel so icky that I (just for a moment) contemplated axing the Great Giveaway and ceasing to send my little 'present' with my packages. I did neither, though, because my intent is and has always been clear to me.

I am a giver. I love to give. Long before I had a shop, or sold fiber in any way, I would seek out bloggers whom I admired, found refreshingly humorous, or was indebted to for some knitterly expertise they shared on their blog that made light bulbs go blinkety-blink in my head and send them fiber oodles of love. The Great Giveaway is not here to lure you into shopping in my store. Though, if you are lured, we will treat you quite nice, indeed - just as we treat EVERYONE. The Great Giveaway, you may recall, is a way that I get to play around each month by giving any random little thing away to someone who visits me often. If you were a local friend, and you visited often, I would send you away with all manner of goodies. But, since we have this orb between us, the Great Giveaway still allows me the pleasure of gifting to friends and strangers. If you haven't tried gifting yet, please do, you will feel a tickle in your heart...a smile will replace your grim grin....and you'll experience a little bit of peace....it is all good.

As for the freebies I include in my packages, ditto. I do it because I want to and should the time ever arise that I don't want to, I just won't. I don't have the organization, wits, or savvy style to use it as a 'preview' to taunt and tease unsuspecting buyers into buying my future stuffs. I just usually (or hubster, whoever the carder may be) take some little samples of colors and some glitzy leftovers for fiber peoples and throw them on the carder. Sometimes, its bits of roving. For yarn peoples, it's often a stitch marker. None of these things adds anything to the purchase price or is in any way factored into my costs. My investment is in the time and consideration I feel for them when I make it. I generally use beads left over from larger projects on the stitch markers and recycled materials whenever I can. So, doubters of the kind intentions of people, please stop bashing them on the forums. Sometimes, people are just nice. I know it must strike you as odd or even annoying but there it is.....you can bully us, hate us, and suggest we are sleuths of fiber business all you want but we just might muster up our most stubborn bones and royally piss you off by continuing to be nice!

Get away from that....IT'S MINE!!!

Nothing miffs me like a copycat. I’m an artist, and a human – if you cut me, I’ll bleed. So, when I’ve had the rare but potent occasion of happening upon someone who is CLEARLY copycatting my work, it boils me over just like everyone else. When someone buys my roving, then the following year I walk by their booth and see very similar colors on a stretch of roving with the same exact name on it as my colorway, I get angry and think about throwing a rock or something. Sometimes, I get over it and sometimes I don’t. I don’t understand a lot about people in this world but what I do continue to learn is that some are gold, some are true, some are fickle and the very few but easiest to remember royally suck. And while I’m preaching (not really but I tend to steer clear of fevered opinion about ‘the issues’ here on the blog so it does seem like murky and possibly baited water I should say that if you don’t want a rant, I’m bound to piss you off today. Even if you do, you might find yourself calling me a pig before we’re through. Oink – already!

So, where were we? Oh yes, me – fuming, pouting in the corner stomping my feet saying mean people suck. There’s no disputing that being pirated by a copycat of any form is really infuriating – and it is a reality as well. People will make up a blog name VERY MUCH LIKE yours and purposely try to ride the reputation you’ve built through your hard work. People will buy your product only to take it apart with a fine-tooth comb and try to duplicate it. Some people will buy a pattern and change a minute few things and call the works their own. I’m not trying to say this doesn’t happen. But, I am the eternally optimistic Cancerian who stands off on the sides saying (in her worst southern accent), “C’mon, ya’ll, be nice!”. I do that because I believe that most people are and that most who aren’t wish they were. I know this even in the face of evidence that the people who do suck continue to make life cruelly challenging for the many more that are good. I’m also optimistic because I believe in chaos. Chaos, my friends, happens! So, sometimes a situation can seem clear but, upon careful thought, your certain accusation of copycattery falters in the wind. Sometimes (she ducks because the robocops of copycat hell are chunking boulders at her now) it is AN ACCIDENT! I mean it! If you are an artist who sells your work, you know of which I speak. That idea that you fostered into an actual material palette before you – that you adored and cooed over and just knew was the deepest expression of your most beautiful inner self? And, when you are brave enough to put it out there, you find something so very similar but still distinctly different and you know that though your unreasonable self is hurt, maybe insulted, really just disappointed that humility had to hit you on ‘this’ particular thing – your rational mind knows that this is just chaos at work. Two very creative people (or more, certainly) can create a very similar object of beauty – totally apart and separate from each other and with no malice intended. It happens. Art, though, is emotional. The delicate balance between feeling bold enough to make something totally original and offer it up to the uncertainty of other people’s perception of it (also known as the realm of the manic) and getting over ourselves and not becoming the Voldemorts of the art realm (otherwise known as total ownership over that which cannot be owned – the creative mind) is delicate.

Last summer, I got this ‘great idea’. It was a good idea. It still is. The idea came when I was making the ‘Black Magic Woman’ batts – a great black background to play with sparkling color on – it was inspiring! Then, observing our chickens feathers in the sunlight, I changed the idea to an’ Auraucana’ batt to reflect the gorgeous green and black metallic feathers of our rooster. That got me to bird watching and I have a fond affection for black birds and darker birds of all colors. So came the Raven batts and the Peacocks as well. Finally, I had a collection. I loved them all and named them the ‘blackbird series’. All was well. Then, I happened upon a fiber company’s site and was looking at their spinning kits for socks – where I found a ‘raven’ series. While their colors are much different than mine, and there is no doubt that neither of us was trying to duplicate another, I shivered at realizing that other people might THINK that is what I was doing. I’d never even seen their fibers before and had already been making mine for upwards of half a year. I felt kinda stupid about my idea for a while – thinking it couldn’t have been such a bright idea if someone else thought it too (because I do have an ego, you know). It was all silly, I finally concluded. I mean, can only ONE fiber person in the world make a bit of fiber that is inspired by a black bird? The whole notion that someone can own an idea even if it is interpreted differently is bothersome. Being bothered is rather innocent. Being accusing is far more damaging. Ideas can be similar and still be entirely unique. This, in the paradox of how strange is the experience of being human, is harder to remember when you feel your work is being infringed upon than the other way around. The batts and roving mentioned may share the idea of blackbirds, but the similarities stop there. This is because there really is no such thing as an ‘original idea’ because apart from pre-meditated copycatting (which, strangely, is generally accompanied by one being stealth enough to evade any legal recourse anyway), all ideas are original. They are things that we perceive and because of that, they are related. They are original in how we apply ourselves to the process of creating them.

At some point, we have to stop running to the courthouse every time someone makes us feel bad, or we allow ourselves to feel bad – depending on your personal philosophies. There’s much talk of copyrights, trademarks, etc. of colorways in the fiber world. I am sad to see that this is the reference point we might reach for inspiring good behavior. If we are to police the copycats, don’t we lose to them in the end? Will not we make the whole realm of fiber love tainted by the arguing and diminishing other fiber lover’s excitement of the craft by bickering and rule-making to the point wherein we are just paperwork and not artist? Most people will tell you that when they see clear evidence of someone actually working hard to copy someone else’s idea – they will not buy from them. Sometimes you have to choose your battles wisely, that’s one thing my grandmother taught me. She also finally convinced me that I am a freak magnet but that is for another day. Surely, common sense and decency will prevail. You can’t shame people into being ethical. All you end up doing then is shaming the seemingly innocent and warning the malevolent in advance so that they can deflect detection of the offense they intend to create no matter how much they are shunned. But we also should maybe be a little less eager to assume that what we imagine is actually fact.

Totally off-topic and further substantiating that I’m not a real writer, there were some points brought up in the comments of the last post that are rolling around in my brain. Carol was kind enough to console me in the process of deciding which ram to keep a ram and which to make a loved and fussed over eunuch. Rest assured, she is right. The whether on a fiber homestead does live the good life. Most vets and sources of farm living information will confirm that a castrated male is, in general, much healthier and lives a longer life than an intact male. They eat better, are able to be with the herd year-round(which is very important to sheep because they are herd-dependent and need the companionship of other sheep) and their wool will not be affected by the hormones that afflict a breeding ram. I say afflict because even our good and loving Rufus will change his personality for about 1.5 months a year when it is breeding time. It’s like he has a dual personality and the fumes of female hormone seem to transform him into a real grump. Our method is done 4-8 days after birth and is complete and sterile. A simple band is placed around the testicles and circulation is cut off. There is a pinch that bothers the lambs for about an hour, then they literally forget about it. No blood, no open wounds. The skin just dies and falls off and within a week, they are all healed up and the better for it. They go on to be gorgeous, kind, and gentile friends.

Lin mentions that castrating before the age of maturity increases urinary tract infection risks but I have found that urinary problems in many male mammals that have been ‘fixed’ from cats to cows is generally caused by dietary imbalance. If you are feeding your sheep only heavy grain, they will be more prone to bowel and urinary tract infections. Grazing on fresh grass, roots, and bark (or good hay in the winter season) and the supplementation of herbs and mineral salts has kept our sheep in good health. I’ve yet to find a vet that recommends waiting until a ram is an adult to castrate and the entire idea seems counter-productive to me. Firstly, the methods used have to be much more traumatic, painful, and the risk of infection is greatly increased. I’ve seen far too many scenarios where farmers castrate an animal after he has reached adulthood and he only goes on to act like a sexually frustrated but helplessly impotent male. Anyone whose been fortunate enough in the two-legged world to experience knowing one of those will likely attest that any measures taken to avoid proliferating that are paramount to creating a better world.