pointysticks.net

Okay first the promised post of the finished toddler blankies:

Between fighting a kidney infection and relentless yard sale weekends I’ve found plenty of time for spinning (there is absolutely nothing better to do during a yard sale than spin-spin-spin while waiting for people.) The weather has been lovely so the I have my version of a tan, my skin doesn’t really tan– the freckles just sort of darken and start merging into each other.

Thanks to the yard sale experience I realized what a pampered world we spinners live due to the internet. I was asked some really silly questions, like if I had to unspin “regular” yarn to make handspun or if I’d brought spinning with me from “the old country” (I was born and reared about 60 miles from where I live now.) One woman sagely told a child “She’s spinning yarn, that’s how yarn was made in the 1800′s.” I –cringe– just smiled sweetly (and thought very loudly that “The decline of handspinning was in the 1800′s because of the industrial revolution, and its not just how yarn was/is made but all spun threads you silly! Mechanically what I’m doing is IDENTICAL to how thread and yarn is spun today. Well, with the exception of things like nylon that are chemically extruded..)

I think in general I behaved myself rather well, although I did give a few silly answers. Q: Where do you get the wool? A: From sheep. Q: How long have you been spinning? A: Today, about 400 yards. Frankly I think I was exceedingly well behaved since I can’t even count how many times I had to explain to people that fiber bearing animals are usually NOT killed for their fleeces, there are many spinners “still around” and that handspinning is not always passed from mother to daughter nor is it exclusively female, that my Ashford wheel is NOT an antique nor is it the neweest version on the market, that my drop-spindle is -yes- homemade but we also make them as occupation, that wool is not the only spinnable fiber, that weaving and knitting are not also dying arts, and no we don’t keep sheep in the back yard (although many many times I’ve suggested it to my husband the answer has remained “No sheep.”)

Back to work for me, laundry beckons.