handstories

Full days

    "Ruby" for the gem-like feel to it.

    Someday I'm going to find the perfect clear pink glass bowl that lives in my imagination.  Some days it will be empty except for the rosy light glowing inside of it, other times rose petals might float in it, or a few special marbles will roll at the bottom, and once in a while it will be filled with sea water.  Someday.

    What happens when you have five minutes in the bathroom and a pair of scissors...

    It went much better than the last time.  K didn't have to repair any oddly cut angles, and I can roll over in my sleep without getting tangled again.

    Autumn is going full blast this week- wind, rain and dark dark mornings.  I love it, except for the fact that my studio room is cold.  It has the best light, and the worst temperatures- an added on room that holds summer's heat and winter's chills. 

    I've been wrapping myself up in this length of knitting.  A few of you might remember it... Knitted eight to ten years ago from some of my first handspun, over six feet long, and called "Breathing" because of this moment.

    (I do own a shawl pin thingy, but have no idea where it is.)

    And there's been more moon play.  The story changed over and over as I worked on it.  Actually, I guess that the cloth just grew somehow, because all of the stories are still here.  No name yet... still thinking on what words will hold all of the layers.

some bobbing

    Continued from yesterday . . .

    The original pattern had tassels on the corners.  There wasn't enough yarn for that, so the jar of old buttons to the rescue.  Better, I think.

    There wasn't a model available, but you can get the idea.

    I like the weight of them, and they make a clicky-clinky noise now and then.

    bob- "a dangling..., as the weight on a pendulum or a plumb line."

breaths

    It's more than six feet long.  

    The yarn that I spun for it three years ago is all knitted in.  It is done enough.  

    It is wonky and wobbly, and full of beautiful colors.  

    I am allergic to Spring.  The pollen and the meds that attempt to enable breathing have settled in. 

    Between the two, I feel as dull as toast, unable to wrap my mind around many words.

        I will wrap this wrap (that I call "breathing") about myself, and stitch some more.  Holding and breathing.  A little cinnamon sugar upon my toasted self.

water woes

    "It seems that boiling water is all we do around here!", exclaimed Moon yesterday.  This is because we are on day five of life without a water heater.  Hopefully, today we will have a new one.  Unbathed boys smell much better out in the woods camping, than in our small house!  Fortunately friends have shared their showers to fill in the gaps between bucket sponge baths.

    There was the mess of cleaning up the water that leaked all over the basement floor, and all of the laundry, junk, etc.  that covered it.  It did force us to go through it all, and we ended up with a cleaner space and a trunk load of donations- the silver lining, I suppose.

      Meanwhile, I have knit through it all, on this linen stitch shawl started way back when.  Calm mindless breathing.  

    And a bit of spinning, as the yarn for it is running low. 

yarning

    This is a tale of two yarns, bobbins, flyers, and niddy-noddies. 

    Too small of bobbins, filled to bursting.

    Great big new bobbins and jumbo flyer, holding twice as much.    

    Leading to an old niddy-noddy, giving way mid skeining, with a crack, under the pressure of such fullness.

    In the end there are yards and yards of yarn.

    And a shawl from the first yarn.  

     With something to come from the second.

out of the woods

    We went over the river to the grandmothers' houses for Thanksgiving. 

   The yarn for this trip's knitting began in an orderly fashion, all lined up and ready to spin.

    In an effort to relax and let go, the wool was thrown into a bag,

    the colors were spun randomly,

    chain plied,

    and knitted hard, while sitting among family,wondering how starting in the same place can lead to such different paths and thoughts, and remembering why politics should never be discussed.  Fortunately we still share a sense of humor and a love for Mom's gravy.

    Almost done.