Laugh if you must.

Every good bolognese deserves fiber.

One of these thighs is not like the other.

Or, a very good argument for a double-treadle wheel.

But before we discuss the thigh-toning merits of jumping into anything with both feet (she said, trying to sit in the computer chair without that very tiny muscle that used to not exist twitching furiously and painfully...) I should warn you: sentimentality ahead. It couldn't be helped. Wooly people rock. And I suppose I should also tell you why I can't use my kitchen table right now:

The "Fairy Tale in Vermont" table. Word is,
he won't marry me until I spin all of this.
Oh, wait. He already did marry me.
Heuuuu...shall I take you out tonight, darling?

Yes, truth is stranger than fiction: I went to the Vermont Sheep and Wool Festival and didn't buy a single skein of yarn.

A few people who heard that I bought no yarn at all would like to know if I'm sick or something. Well, my right inner thigh is quite sore, but other than that, I feel just fine. Here's the breakdown of the proof:

I think the llama down had something to do
with just how fine I feel.
Bosworth spindle, too. Awesome, both of them.

The alpaca didn't hurt either.
And somebody whispered in my ear
that (dude,) I could get it for a buck an ounce.
The bottle is motherwort. Shh.

This stuff is from The Spinners Hill Shop (no website).
It's made from three types of sheep fleece.
What kind? Ummm...the three types Spinners Hill has....

This roving is from I forget who.
But I'm sure I was there at the time.
Twinkletoes chose it. It's colonial (mostly merino).
Good girl, eh? Plus some chocolate from Norma. Yum.

This little guy wants to give me a fleece.
His mother said so. Really.

But before I snarfed all that (no, no, I didn't steal the baby from its mama), I sat down to try Cate's HEN wheel. I wish I had a picture of it, but if you go to her site, you can find a shot of this wonderful wheel, I'm sure. I'm so happy it was the first wheel I ever got to try—very special, and I had no trouble at all using it. It felt like I'd done this before in some past life, except for I don't believe in past lives, so I decided it happened that way just to annoy the hell out of Norma. Juno stood by, just gloating. She did a lot of that...which is why I love her so much. She gloats beautifully, and does things like make sure I'm hip to a good price per ounce. Dude.

My knitting group, the Montreal Knits gang, was there in full force on a weekend field trip, and they surrounded me while I was in the middle of my first roving purchase. The guy selling me the stuff started stuttering a bit, and I looked around to see what was the problem...I was surrounded by women laughing at me, and it took me a full minute to pull myself out of roving haze to realise they were my knitting group.

Of course, this meant that it was perfectly okay that they were catching me in the act of spending a shitload of money on wool. I had to explain to the guy that I actually did know them, despite the completely confused look on my face. It was cool to see everyone there fondling fiber, even though I didn't manage to come find them at lunchtime. (I blame my kid, who wants an angora rabbit, and my serious addiction to a llama or ten....) These lucky ladies got to stay an extra day, and I'm trying not to be jealous, although if I had stayed an extra day, in addition to losing the kitchen table, I might, say, lose a seven-year-old....

But I was in this for some serious all-in-one-day shopping and spinning action, because I had to be back home by suppertime, and we ain't got roving in Montréal. And you may have guessed from the headlong dive into spinning on an antique wheel, my roving guides for the day were Cate, Norma, and Juno (and Norma's wonderful friend, Michele, who was going to buy a little black lambie that we all wanted badly, but some of us have partners and landlords with aversion to sheep shit and others were not sure how we could avoid the neighbors wondering where the bleating was coming from). If you want great people pictures, visit their blogs. Mine didn't come out so well, and I promised not to embarrass anyone with, say, a picture of us drinking motherwort or somebody trying to convince Mr. Hitchhiker Wheel Guy to build her the Dream Wheel Of All Time, which I'll let her tell you about.

These women are simply amazing, and what you read on their blogs is what you get. "A joy" doesn't begin to cover the experience of meeting them. It was so strange to feel like I had known each of them all my life, except that their faces were not as familiar as their personalities. Two of them drove a long, long way to spend time with me and the sheepies, and one played host and all-around wonderful enabler/organiser of this fuzz-fest. And if I keep talking about the experience, I'll get all weepy and felt the roving. And if I do that, I can't show you my new alternative to Pilates:

Meet Cate's Hitchhiker. Temporarily mine.
To go to a deserving new spinner of Cate's choice
as soon as I can afford my double-treadle.

This is my first spinning on this wheel.
The three-fleece periwinklish stuff.
Long draw, twitchy inner thigh, and pure bliss.

This wheel went to Laurie at Etherknitter before it went to me, and she put a talisman on it for me before she sent it my way. When I give it to the next spinner, I'll make a talisman or mark of some kind as well. Cate has asked that each spinner who tries it do the same. Coolest idea I've ever heard, and the work of a kind and generous soul who knows how to lobby with the best of them.

Laurie placed two gold beads in her talisman:
one for my heart and one for Cate's.

I personally think there ought to be an enormous gold bead for Laurie's heart in there.

Thus endeth the Tale of Twitchy Booty. (Take that, googlemeisters.) Time to read another story...the story of Teaching Seven-Year-Old to Knit. If I can find her, that is....

October 3, 2005 4:59 PM  | Permalink  | Comments (25)  | Print