Crazy Lanea

Chicago

Last weekend, I went out west to visit with Two Sock Knitters, and another Sock Knitter, and a whole passel of contra dancers.  The University of Chicago hosted a fantastic dance weekend, complete with the fantastic bands Cosmic Otters and Nightingale, and the amazing callers Adina Gordon and George Marshall.  We went to tons of yarn shops, a quilt show, three of the four contra dances the weekend provided, restaurants, Irish sessions--I haven't caught my breath yet. 

We get the fun started with a trip to The Fold.  Of course we did--how could we not.  Jonathan got some spinning pointers from Toni, and Meg and I dedicated ourselves to supporting small business in the greater Chicagoland area. 

Toni has a thing or two worth considering on offer, in case you haven't had a chance to stop by.

   

As usual, I didn't take enough photos, and many of the ones I did take aren't great.  Our surroundings for the dance weekend were beyond compare, though.  The university's buildings are gorgeously ornate.  Even the locks were gorgeous. 

The stairs were worth the price of admission.

And the dancing and music?  Hot.  Inspirational.  Astoundingly good.   What a dance weekend. 

As if I wasn't happy enough with all of these things, both bands included footwork in their sound.  Ahhhhhhh.  These are Keith's feet during Nightingale's Friday night dance.  I couldn't take pictures on Saturday night because I had too much dancing to do.

I'll tell you about the quilt show and my visit with another sock knitter next.  Now, I need to go prepare for the continued remodel here at our home sweet home and count the days till my next chance to dance.  Soon, I'll be able to dance on my own floors for the first time in years AND I'll be rid of the biggest source of allergies in my life.  The mere thought is making my eyes well up with tears of joy.   Get on your feet, and tune up your instruments, people, because the floor is going to catch fire under your toes if I have anything to say about it. 

Visiting

You know what's even better than working from home?  Being informed that the powers-that-be want you to charge eight hours but only work five.  I never ever ever want to go to an actual office again, I'm so spoiled now. 

Today's early quitting time could not be a nicer gift.  Since Scott and I grew up in this part of Virginia, we anxiously await stealing time with all of our far-flung friends who decide to come home and visit their folks over Thanksgiving.  Which means that I start thinking about possible guests and what they may want.  Which means I start obsessing about the house and cooking.  I know that none of our friends or relatives will perform any white-glove tests in our home, or demand a specific food, but taking care of this huge, valuable present Scott and I bought each other seven years ago is never a bad idea, and I use welcoming  people I love as an excuse. 

I also try to use some of that manic energy to improve parts of the house that only matter to me, since I'm here far more than any of our friends or family.  To that end, I decided that the closet in my studio needed an overhaul.  It's a crappy closet, as most closets built into knee-walls are.  I tore every single thing out of it, banished old shoes and clothes, donated bags and bags of clothing and shoes Scott and I don't need anymore, and re-purposed some old shoe shelving to hold spinning supplies.   

For the first time, this frustrating closet, with the worst hanging system in the world, a small door that offers poor access to the sloping right side, and a puny shelf above is actually working the way I want it to.

The ironing board is accessible, the only things hanging on the nearly-useless j-bar are a few garments I need to mend or iron, and my spinning and felting fibers are all laid out on labeled (labeled!) shelves.  In the section hiding to the right are whole fleeces waiting for processing.  Now, I just need a working doorknob to protect all that fiber from a wool-stealing cat. 

Folklife, homelife, and wedded bliss

As I mentioned last week-ish, during that phase when I was posting zippo, I went to the Smithsonian folklife festival with Bodwin, Ruadhan, Mapgirl, and Kevin.  It was blazing hot, but the festival covered Virginia, Northern Ireland, and the Mekong Delta.  So we couldn't miss it.

I tell you, I have never considered so decorating a vehicle.  I am a slug, I tell you.  Entirely devoid of artistic inspiration.  I don't think you can appreciate the insane amount of work that went into this bus from here.  Just trust me--they worked hard.

In addition to the wacky bus, there were some cool exhibits, particularly on ancient Ireland.  Shocker, me focusing on that.  Lookit!  A mini roundhouse.

I want us to make a full-sized roundhouse so badly, but it never really occurred to me to make a little one to use at demos.  I may have been hit in the head too many times for the thinking parts to be working right, these days.

And there were some repro tools, including a nalbinding needle,

And some lovely repro pots

And a cool repro stone figure

Tommy Sands was playing at the festival, so I filmed him singing "There Were Roses" (big download, there)  If you're not familiar with Tommy and you're at all interested in pacifism or peace in Northern Ireland, get familiar with Tommy.  And have a few pints with him if you ever get the chance--he's loaded with good stories and generally wheedles lots of free drinks out of the publican. 

We also went to our friends Barry and Sarah's wedding up in Pittsburgh.  Where I took horrible photos because I am just too shaky sometimes.  Espresso doesn't want me to be a photo-journalist. 

I came away with clearer photos, but none of the happy couple together.  We had a lovely time, and Barry and Sarah seemed to have a good time too, which is very important in a wedding. 

And then I went right back to the two sweatshops, one for web monkeys (I finished the bid bad new site), and one for Crazy Lanea, tailor to the Celts.  Here is the larger portion of the fabric pile I started with. 

About two-thirds of that has been cut into pieces for clothing.  I'm actually sewing several things for myself this year, because the pile of fabric I was hoarding for personal use was taking up far too much space.  I'm a bit panicked over how much work I need to do before next Saturday, so, er, let's distract the crazy girl with cat pictures before she cries, shall we?

Scott got a sander:

So Yarrow got a new toy:

Which he proceeded to defend rather viciously:

That face generally comes right before Speedwell falls prey to his  housemate.  Poor Speedwell.  As usual, he hid from the camera.

Back to sweatshop.

Visiting

Juno came to stay with us last weekend.  We had way more than our share of fun.  Let me give you a rundown. 

Juno finally got to meet Scott and the pets.   Kayo tried to be fierce, but realized that fierceness would get in the way of being spoiled.  Speedwell gave up the scaredy-cat routine pretty quickly and declared his undying love for her.  Yarrow tried to convince us he was too cool to pay any attention to us girls, but even he cracked and wound up playing with Juno. 

We talked non-stop.

We did a fair amount of knitting and spinning.  Juno's new travel wheel is intriguingly well-designed, and started making overtures to my wallet.  My wheel came out of hibernation for the first time in ages.  The blanket and the lace scarf grew a bit, a mostly-full bobbin grew into a full bobbin.  It was good. 

We ate bridies.  I only made the standard 36 bridies.  They made a great dinner on Friday night, and we broke down and shared the rest on Sunday.  There were some homemade cookies too.  And pancakes.  And a trip to Picante.  Not all at once, mind you.  No one exploded.

We went to Middleburg to visit Hunt Country Yarns and the Red Fox Inn.  Surprisingly, we got in and out with relatively few incongruous jodhpur sitings.  And I made it past the book store without a single purchase.  I am mighty. 

Sunday, we spent the afternoon at Bodwin and Rowan's place, knitting, convincing Nehyatt that she should learn to knit, and watching the guys smash things with hammers.  And eating bridies, of course. 

All fun.  All, all fun. 

And now Scott is interviewing for his dream job, and then heading off to Arizona for a week to swing sticks and hang out with Richard.  I am trying to control my jealousy.  Well, I'm trying to try to control my jealousy, and plotting ways for Kayo and I to sneak into Scott's luggage.  Don't tell. 

The world is thiiiiiiiis small

I got my last Christmas present today.  My Mother-in-law had mentioned that she found something she thought I would really like, but that there was a bit of a wait for it.  Today, UPS came by with a box of goodness.

My Mother-in-law Karen, a fledgling spinner who lives in Utah near the llamas-in-law, ordered me some great rare-breed fibers.  From Spirit Trail--a nearly-local business owned by a friend.   Seriously, the world is teeny tiny. 

And you know what?  I can't think of a better present.  I've been needing something to get me spinning again, and this should do the trick.  One bag is Black Welsh Mountain and alpaca, and the other is Black Welsh Mountain and Border Leicester.

In knitting news, Scott's sweater has recovered from the frogging and is moving along nicely, the sock-yarn blanket is exceedingly charming except when it's garish, and socks keep growing here and there.  I have set up all of the photo-access juju in the new laptop, but I'm still lacking in light necessary to take good photos.  Good lord willing and the creek don't rise, I may be able to produce some proof of progress this weekend.

Careful what you wish for

I knew I would come home from Celtic Summer Camp with new stuff.  I just wasn't aware how much I would come home with.  I didn't get by without spending any money this year, but Crazy Lanea's (the basket of clothes for friends for which the blog is named, not the blog) covered my shopping bills.  I bought a fair amount of good linen, of course, because I am going to need to make a lot of clothes for a particular friend.  You'll see why. 

This gem of a birchbark box came from Viking Scott, of course.  Birch is very important to me, so I'm a sucker whenever I see it.  I always go to Viking u Like prepared to spend.  How could I not?  But this year, Viking Scott came at me with a present.  We were talking about research and craft, and I mentioned that  a couple of people were really encouraging me to study Finnish culture.  So he gave me this:

It's a repro of a women's necklace from Finland.  It's a horse/sea serpent/goose/dragon/something.  It's bronze.  I love it.  I am going to have to make things to wear with it.  And maybe I have to weave something for Viking Scott . . . see how this goes?

I ordered something special a while back from Shrew, and it was waiting for me.

The lower piece is my new drinking horn.  Etaine drew the image for me a while back.  I haven't managed to get the tattoo (because I'm a scaredy cat, and because I had a minor medical thing to deal with first), but I have the horn now.  I'm actually a bit paranoid even posting a photo, I so hate the idea of someone swiping the image . . . guh.  So don't steal it, dammit.  The upper horn is for blowing, and it sounds amazing.  That's a stag on it.  It's so purty. 

So, then wishing started to get me into real trouble.  When my friend Brogan from Tuatha de Bhriain showed up at camp, he mentioned that he brought me more stuff to bribe me into making him clothes.  The madness started last year, when he walked off with about a dozen garments and left me with a wad of cash, which I almost immediately gave to friends of ours who sell pretty shiny bits.  Some time after camp last year, Brogan read here on the blog that I really really like bone needles.  And then he showed up at Beltaine with a leather case full of bone needles, and a bunch of other vintage needles.  I promised to make him a bunch of clothes, and we discussed having a tailor take his measurements, and I tried to get some color preferences out of him ("not ugly" seems to be his favorite color).  So when he showed up at camp with this strange look in his eye, and I started hearing from Cellagh that I was going to really like what Brogan  brought, I knew I was in trouble.  Yeah.  I'm in trouble. 

That's the full stock of cases and a cardboard case with additional needles.  The top two were the first delivery, back in the spring.  I should point out that Brogan hates that first leather case and would probably like me to return it to him so he can burn it.  I explained that if I did that, the knitters I know would be really really angry and the destruction of something so lovely and useful.  He still wants to destroy it.  The two new cases are, of course, perfected.  The seams are stick straight.  The end caps, again, are cherry.  Careful, lovely workmanship.   That pile of cases has brought me the following:

These are handmade wooden needles of indeterminate age, vintage Paton's needles, and vintage sock needles.  Next: the real trouble:

It's insane, I say!  Look at all of those bone needles.  If they weren't so, you know, needley I would roll in them.  There are sets of DPNs in various sizes, many of which are nice and long, which is ideal for hats and sweaters.  And there are sock-sized DPNs.  When these came out, the lovely Ruadhan (who taught me to knit) was sitting with us.  I was gob-smacked, and mentioned that there were actually too many needles for any one knitter, and the lovely, generous, anti-greedy Ruadhan said: "You should give me some of those needles, please."

Frankly, I can't refuse her.  How could I?  Look at all the freaking bone needles.  And she taught me to knit.  It's all her fault, really.  I have since made up a package of delight for her.

But the needles weren't the end of the insanity.  Brogan also brought me this:

It's a briefcase Charka. 

Crap.  I am going to be sewing until the end of the world for him.  I just know it.  So Crazy Lanea's has a new policy: if your name isn't Brogan or Scott or Lanea, get to the end of the line and wait patiently for your opportunity to ask for clothes, but prepare for refusal. 

And then we got home, and I had a discussion with Juno about wool.  And I admitted I didn't have any unprocessed wool in the house except felting materials.  And, of course, she sent me this beautiful CVM.

She's so pretttttttyyyyy!  Yarrow wants to marry her.  I might let him gently wallow in the box, supervised of course, for just a little while before I start scouring.  True love cannot be denied. 

Sheep and Wool

This has been really hard to write, because there is simply too much to say.  Each day really was several days long. 

Every year, I go to the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival to help out at the Tuatha booth.  In theory, demonstrating Iron-Age wool-, leather-, and flax-working techniques and discussing Hallstatt, La Tene, and later ancient artistic styles allows me to give my friends a hand at the booth, teach some interesting things to the public, and protect my wallet a bit from the huge ball of temptation that is the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. 

This year was a bit different.  I was fragged from having to work like mad to meet a crazy deadline at my new job on the Thursday before the Sheep and Wool festival, and by the general upswing in work for my own festival, PCF.  By Thursday afternoon, I was downright punchy, what with the ten-hour days and the not enough sleep.  And then Thursday night I got a visit from my muse at about 3:00 a.m., and she wouldn't rest until I was in my studio, pen in hand, writing, well, something that may have once been part of the lexicon but went astray.  The new myth-poem isn't done yet, but let's just say I was either visited by genius, or I'm engaged in true hubris.  And then the beltway was closed on Saturday morning while I was driving to the festival, so, yeah,  I was punchy when I showed up.   I read Mary a snippet of the new piece, and she seemed to like it, so I was all bouncy, the way I get when I think I've spewed out some words that are worth keeping, and maybe even saying more than once, in public, possibly into a microphone.  And then:

That's, whew, that's what made me twice as bouncy.  The man in the next booth came over to see if I had, in fact, a tail that is a spring.  Never been asked that before, me.  Brooke gave it to my Saturday morning, on behalf of Tinsmith.  Mary polished it.  It's full of bugs.  It's huge.  Seriously huge.  The size of my palm.  I've been selling Tinsmith CDs at their gigs for a while now.  I do it because I like their music, and because I love Brooke and Mary, and because it just makes sense to me--you help your friends, you know?  It's what you do.  And they've tried to pay me a bunch of times, and I always refuse.  Well, I guess they showed me, huh?  I'm gobsmacked.

Anyway, I didn't end up doing a whole lot of demos on Saturday.  My brain was all a-sizzle, and I had money burning a hole in my, er, no pockets--here sir, please take this money and give me something for it!  Yes!  Hickory stools!  I need two.  Have you seen this?  It's full of bugs!  Where are you going?

(I love these stools, and the guy who makes them is a hoot.  And a great fiddler.  I've been trying to buy some for years, but I'm always too late.  Now I have two and, er, I have no idea where to put them.  )

And then I got back to the booth with some small furniture and the largest eclair in the world, or maybe it was ice-cream for breakfast, and Mary said a tall blond was looking for me.  And I wondered . . . Is Juno a tall blond?  I mean, she knows I'm dressed like a freak, but I don't think I know what she looks like.  I should sit still!  Ooh, crap, I'm incapable of sitting still.  . . . And all sorts of friends were dropping by, and there was chatter and snacking and oohing and aahing over their purchases and some sketchy plans to buy everything at the entire festival. 

So that's what I was like for the first several hours.  Etaine also had a hearing of the new bit of verse, and she didn't call for a good smiting, so I think it has promise.  And Jill giggled a lot when she heard it, and I think she out-bounced me.  So, you know, it may make a debut on a stage next month.  Sheeeww, no smiting.

And then I snuck over to the Knitters Review lunch, which was a hoot.   I met a bunch of people I'd only known from the forums, and I saw some of my local knitter pals, and I was driven to distraction by jealousy for all of their delicious woolen bits and bobs.  I saw Clara and Amy and Anita and Jayme and her sis Jennifer and Carol and e_looped and Vi and Ms. Glickafar and Purlewe and Naomi and all sorts of folks.  Forgive me if I left you out, my brain was sizzling, after all.

And then there was a tall blond woman at the booth, and it was Juno, and she's as great in person as she is online.  And the amber at the Tuatha booth sucked her in while I had to deal with some emergency Celtic Festival business (I swear, it's like a child sometimes, that festival). And Juno was with Rachel H.  and Cassianna and the Village Knittiot and Mr. Knittiot.  So I played hookey and we found what was left of the delicious cormo from Ohio, which Etaine's sis Michelle had scored.  It will be spun up on Juno's new wheel, which we then went to meet.  It's gorgeous.  I got to spin on it a bit, and I'm too short for it, I think.  I love it anyway.  A huge crowd formed around Juno and that wheel.  It's a work of art.  It's treadle is more elegant than many whole wheels I've seen. 

And I got some felt-food:

Which has a great destiny, oh yes, and it will meet that destiny on the Potomac Delta. 
And a tiny bit of sockyarn:

Because wet-felting on the Metro may land me in jail, and a girl needs a hobby.   

And then we all just sat in the shade between the barns, chatting.  It was wonderful.  I was finally still, and I was with folks I had just met, and I could bear stillness with, well, folks I'd just met.  Gorgeous.  Rest.  Interchange and colloquy and conversation .  .  . you see where I'm going.

But I knew I'd left Tuatha ages before, so I eventually went back to see if Brooke or Mary needed a break.  And Mary called on me to blow my (long-horn cattle) horn many many times.  Really, that may have been the activity that most filled the weekend.  That darn horn.  It turns me into a dancing monkey.  I had to call on Jill as a relief-hornblower,  there were so many calls for the horn.  Late Saturday afternoon, we learned that boy scouts will respond in droves if they hear the horn, but rather than offering assistance to the woman blowing the horn, they will ask to
a) have the horn or
b) play the horn  or
c) know where I got the horn, and upon learning it is far away and inaccessible to boy scouts
d) ask over and over and over if they can "please please PLEEEEEEEEZE have the horn.   Or" (whisper whisper) "buy it for  . . ." (mutter, turn in unison towards the chatty scout, look in their pockets, and count) "buy it for $7.21.  Please.  Oh come on,  please, lady.  Drat."

There may have been a wormhole involved, what with the lead boyscout saying "drat."  I can't decide if it was funny or if that lead scout was painfully sarcastic.  Wait, no, it was both funny and painfully sarcastic.  Guard your daughters.

Sunday morning was for shopping.  I had to buy at least three presents at Sheep and Wool:
A birthday present for my Step-dad, who is a wood guy:

Check: spalted ash box from Enchanted Forest.

A mother's day present for my mother-in-law, who is a quilter:

Check and check: a magnetic pin-holder and a gorgeous seam ripper.  There's a chance I got one of each for myself, but I'm not admitting anything at this point.  Just, um, draw your own conclusions.

And a mother's day present for my Mom, which I knew Tuatha would provide:

Che-he-he-heck.  A lovely piece of stained glass, from the hands of Mary O.  The center panel is particularly great, but tough to photograph--it's etched on one side with some New-grange inspired spirals and on the other with a swirly moon.  Fan-freaking-tastic.  This will be hard to hand over. When you expose your loved ones to your favorite artists and artisans, you dig yourself a deep comfy hole, I tell you. 

And then I got down to brass tacks.  Two Golding spindles, the little,
And the big:

Soap, for a fun project with the girls on the Western Shore next weekend:
Some mohair roving and locks, for the best present I may ever make anyone:

Wow, I hope I can pull this off. 

A tiny bit of spinning fiber:

A touch of Lincoln, for that big special felt project.

And a cherry nostepinne:

Mad.  Mad, I say.  I've never bought so much in so short a period of time.  Except maybe when we bought our house--the house is bigger I guess, but it didn't involve so many bags. 

So then Sunday afternoon I hung out with friends and relaxed and spun.  It was a fantastic weekend.  I don't think I can wait another whole year to do it again. 

P.S.    As I unloaded the car Sunday night, I forgot to close the door to my studio.  I heard a rustling noise, and turned to see my 8 pound pint-lion dragging the entire bag of Lincoln roving down the stairs.  When he got it to the bottom of the steps, he opened it up, climbed inside, and started huffing

He put up a real fight when I took it away.


And then he just stood guard.  In his own kitteny way, he was saying "All I wanted was a Pepsi, just a Pepsi, and she wouldn't give it to me. "

Yarrow is a wool thief.  And an addict.  I live in fear.  What if he gets Speedwell hooked too?  What if they get a taste for llamas? 

Vernal Equinox Show and Tell

You'll have to excuse my lack of blogging recently.  I've been on vacation for the last week or so, burning through leave at my old job before I start my new job.  The Vernal Equinox was here a couple of days ago, and it really feels like I'm staring at tons of new beginnings, and lots of appropriately spring-y goings-on.  I'll catch you up, visually. 

I've spent a lot of time reading, far too much time cleaning, a fair amount of time grocery shopping, cooking, and baking:

These are lemon berry muffins I'm working on . . . I think I have a really good new recipe in the works. 

I've spent some time knitting, though not as much as I wish:
These are some wool socks for my Mom, who is apparently overcoming her wool sensitivity.  These are the test.  They're made of Wildfoote in the Elderberry colorway.  Chris gave me the yarn--thanks Chris!  I've got another pair of Trekking socks almost done, and I've made some headway on a cabled sweater I started a while back.

But mostly, I've been making some serious acquisition runs.

One acquisition run, which fell before I got the new job, let to many many stitch markers:

Bird and spiral bead variety (I had a serious weakness, here, and you're seeing it.  Why would you need that many markers in one set?)

Glass cane flower bead variety.

Crackle-glass bead variety.

And agate leaf variety.  These are the only ones I'm likely to keep.  Sheesh.  See what happens when I abuse Joseph Campbell lectures on PBS?  I already had far more stitch markers than I really needed. 

Another acquisition run took me to the Scarlet Thread, a great local embroidery shop.  I found these:

Which are horn and antler floss cards and laying tools.  I bought every little bit of hubba-hubba goodness they had and begged them to order more.  There is a third laying tool, and it went to live with Olwyn and the girls. 

And then, of course, there is the mammal-acquisition project, which has led me to these guys. 

You can't tell to look at it, but this bigger, older cutie above (who needs a new name) is playing with the same cord as this younger, much smaller cutie below (who needs a new name):

They should be moving in with us this weekend. 

Tuesday, my final planned excursion went awry.  My Mom and I forgot that most of the shops in Middleburg are closed on Tuesdays, so we had a great lunch and sighed over the locked doors to our favorite places.  I had to go back this morning to bring some donations to the Treasure Hound, which is the thrift shop owned by Friends of Homeless Animals.   I popped into Hunt Country Yarns first, of course, because I needed spinning fiber.  That wily Bob apparently hypnotized me into buying this haul:

of Tussah and Bombyx silk, gray carded Merino, Wensleydale, and a couple of skeins of Bearfoot.  Now, on a normal day, that would be a serious score, and I'd be done.  I mean, I have Wensleydale wool to match my Wensleydale cheese:

Who could ask for more?

But no.  See that black something in the top right corner in the upper picture?  That's the first thing I saw when I went over to the thrift shop to make my donations.  If you're not sitting . . . well . . . don't fall down.  I almost did.  So sit. 

Are you sitting?

I now have a Singer Featherweight.  I bought it at the thrift store.  It doesn't have a case or a manual or a box of accessories, but that's all right with me.  I have a working Featherweight of my very own. 

And as if that weren't enough, I went straight from the land of the Featherweight to collect my dog, take him for a trek at his favorite park,  and then bring him to the vet.  We had a scare this week after finding a strange new growth on our pup.  The Doc asperated the lump, and was pleased as punch to tell me that my Kayo doesn't have cancer.  Knowing he's healthy is even better than getting all sorts of great stuff.  I even let Kayo talk me into delaying his bath another day, since he'd been so great at the vet. 

How I spent the holidays

Apart from the whole car accident and its attendant drama, this is what we've been up to round here.

First, Scott gave me an amazing present:

If I remember correctly, he gave it to me on the Solstice.  But I could be eliding dates, because my brain is still a bit scrambled.  That, my lovelies, is an entirely handmade, gorgeous, historically accurate lunikeit.  Which is a type of necklace that was popular with the ladies throughout most of Scandinavia and in Rus settlements beginning in the 7th or 8th century.  The moons are called luniks or lunitzas, depending on where you're from, and are symbols of a particularly beloved Norse Lunar Goddess.  The beads are a mix of handmade granulated silver bears, handmade glass lampworked beads, and mother-of-pearl beads.  Even the clasp was handmade by my favorite new Man Who Pours Molten Metal.   So this is the mysterious hunk of lovely I mentioned back in December.  Scott and the Man Who Pours Molten Metal designed it to be just the right length and very wearable.  I've worn it almost every day since Scott gave it to me, and if it didn't weigh a metric f-ton, I might even sleep in it.  I heart it. 

As I mentioned, my entire family chipped in to get me a Lendrum double treadle spinning wheel for Christmas.  I was floored.  I was also a tad worried to start spinning, because most of my wheel spinning last winter happened in the run up to and in the weeks following my friend Michelle's death of metastatic breast cancer.  So what with my cat in makeshift hospice here and the anniversary of my Grandpap's death approaching, I was a bit worried that I would start associating wheel-spinning with grief and death, and I didn't want that, no matter how fitting it may be. 

Anyway, the wheel arrived at my folk's house a couple of days after Christmas, and Scott and I rushed down to pick it up.  I spun a little the night we got it.  And a little more the next day.  And a little more the next, which is when a cop called me, and I went to the hospital.  Our friend  found the wheel abandoned mid-draft when he came to our house to get our dog Kayo and check on our cat.  Sean's a funny guy, so when he called my cell to let me know all was well with the pets, he left a message explaining that Kayo was spinning amazingly well, all things considered.  Anyway, now that things are getting back to normal, I'm spinning more.  That's some muddy Coopworth.  I think I'm making a sport-weight sock yarn.   I don't know who will get the socks yet.

Here are the supposed-to-be-Scott's-socks:

Which are my size, because, well, because I was freaking out.  This picture really makes me want sock blockers.  These poor socks look absolutely tortured, but I promise you they are sock-shaped.  They're fresh off the line.  I love the yarn even more now that the Trekking has bloomed further.  But I do owe them a better pic: things are a bit slap-dash around Mean-Skuta Manse at the moment. 

And these are thick-as-all-git-out Peace Fleece socks, take two:

I made my first pair of socks out of this yarn, and I decided to revisit it.  These beauties are amazingly warm.  I hope they last for years, because knitting them up was murder on my hands.  Because the fabric was so stiff and thick.  They can stand up on their own, even when clean. 

Next, I started again on socks for Scott, which has been more of a challenge than I expected because he's a slender guy with wide feet and heels that never seemed disproportionate until I tried to make him socks.  So these are loose in the ankle:

It's ok--he's not complaining.  I'm using Knit Picks Essential, which is a nice vanilla yarn.  Not the softest, not the prettiest, but available in his favorite color: dark.  These also want sock blockers--that heel does not have a tumor or huge bulge.  So strange. 

In addition to the knitting, there's been a lot of quilt talk hereabouts.  I wanted to make some broken squares, both for the obvious metaphor and to see if I could overcome some of my, er, let's call if perfectionism, and think of Gee's Bend and necessity and frugality.  The first one is too ugly for words.  I'm seriously thinking of burning it.  The second one:

only hurts my brain a little bit.  Potholder, see.  Scrap cotton denim and scrap cotton batting inside, machine quilted because I  didn't want to bleed all over it, since I'm not down with thimbles lately.  Who knows where it will live.  I won't be making a quilt full of broken squares anytime soon. 

Making those squares forced me to confront the scrap pile.  Now, I know some of you sew, and I'm sure some of you have scraps.  But I'm pretty sure I've out-scrapped most folks who don't work in sweatshops.  I make really a lot of clothes for my friends in my living history group.  And I've been sewing for the masses since I was 15, so that's 17 years worth of scraps from really a lot of clothes.  I've probably made hundreds of garments.  And I've made a few quilts and a bunch of baby slings (for carrying babies lovingly, not flinging them at enemies, sickos) and some curtains and slip covers and such.  And I don't throw away scraps as I work.  I save 'em all.  And my friends occasionally give me their scraps.  And I do a fair amount of patchwork, but I still can never beat down the pile, but am very interested in maintaining orderly, beautiful surroundings.  Which was becoming an issue: my last organization method was:
1. Place random scaps in bottom of basket
2. Stomp on scraps until maximum flatness is achieved
3. Repeat until basket is full and/or broken
4. Drape beautiful finished something over basket of shame
So last weekend, I got serious.  I planned to make another square or two, and instead I purged and trimmed and pressed and folded.  I've gotten rid of two trash bags full of stuff I didn't love or that was too small to use, and the scraps I kept are all lovingly sorted by color and material.  Quite proud, me. 

Oh, and I'm still working away on my first cabled sweater. 

Which is already hard to photograph inside in winter, but is even harder to photograph with my particular assistant:

Scath says hi, and he wants you to know that he fricking hates cancer, but that he loves catnip and steroids and canned food and going outside.  Now pet his head.  "PET MY HEAD, WOMAN!  Stop touching that stupid sheep hair!" 
I have to get another refill on his meds next week, which has me and my vet flabbergasted.   

In short

Scath:

is still alive and purring, though terribly noncommittal about his plans for January.  He's thinner than I would prefer; a bit too interested in my sock yarns and their new handmade Virginia Jenkins basket; quite sick of having pills shoved down his throat; and has been well and truly photographed by my Step-Dad: he of the many lenses and the great skill:

You may think this expression is peaceful.  What you don't know is that Scath is busily hypnotizing my Mom into giving him her wallet.  Me has mad skillzzz.

My sis-in-law's Christmas socks:

Are soft, warm, and well-fitted according to her feet and lovely according to her eyes.  All is well.

My nieces' ballet-slippers . . . are making me bat-shit crazy.  I won't even reward them with photographs.  If they don't shape up tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to have to find another use for lots of pastel mohair.   I have met better-written patterns.  I don't have the strength necessary to snap the size 13 bamboo circs in my bare hands but--slippers, you listening?--I have accelerants, a lighter, and an abiding interest in the transformative power of flame.

The linen quilt:

has decided that blocks of this leaf print are much better than sashing.  It also wants you to know that it is much bluer and greener and not so gray.  And that some will receive the treatment above, and some will become joined with a different leaf print with a white background, and probably become a baby-quilt or two. 

And my family:

procured the kind of present that makes a crazy girl even crazier.  See how jealous the Ashford looks . . .

I love the way she is tilted forward, as if a bit drunk.  She spins very smoothly, and she brought some lovely muddy brown Coriedale along for the party. 
I think her name is Holda. 

And Scott . . . Scott got me a present that is too good for words.  I haven't photographed it yet because I'm afraid some of the crazier Crows may come try to take it from me.  He called up some folks I tracked down a while back, and what they made is breathtaking.  So the word of the day is "lunikeit."  Mmmmmm, silver.