Yarn instead of candy

I began dating my husband after making a solemn vow to stay single, and maybe only spend time with people I already knew. Bam, just like the universe was listening and perhaps chuckling a bit, spouse and I went out on Valentine's Day, on not-a-date-thankyouverymuch, during which he casually informed me I should marry him because, and I quote, he was "the perfect guy for [me]."

Some people find that story horrifying, like he was a secret control freak, and some people seem to understand why I find it so funny. As far as there is a "perfect" person for people, we probably are to each other, and as far as not-dates go, that one was okay.

All this to point out that when I got very comfortable with not doing things, my three-course class session ended, I got some creative urges, and Thing 1 asked for some wristwarmers knit out of "her" yarn. "Yarn," that is, after I spun up the roving she'd dyed with Kool-Aid.


Pattern, dead easy. Either knit ribbing in the round or flat, and switch to back-and-forth if you're doing in the round for the size of a thumb hole, or seam it up with the same omission. One could, presumably, pick up and knit a thumb, but these aren't meant for Real Winter, just our chilly days -- and without heat in the house, we have them indoors! Now Thing 3 is asking for something else out of his "yarn." I have no idea what it will be.

So inspired, I thought about spinning some more yarn to put in my friends' yarn store. I may overdye this stuff -- it was my first dyeing with sunflowers experiment -- or not.


In the middle of spinning, I realized that I had to purchase candy for tonight (I do not keep it in the house for reasons of willpower, lack of, my own) and figured I'd pick up some Kool-Aid while I was out. I hope this stuff doesn't spin up into what looks like a hippie acid trip, but you never know until you try.

I may end up ordering more leftovers from the Sheep Shed if this spinning thing keeps up. What fun.

Oh, and while you're enjoying tonight's festivities if you do tonight, please spare a thought for Zipper, Thing 2's snake. He escaped his cage and the house is quite cold. We know he's here somewhere, but I'd like to get him back where it's nice and warm.

Fallow

Autumn has always, always been my favorite season. Even when I was growing up in a state where "Fall" meant "tear another page off of the calendar, you can't tell any other way," I knew when it really happened. Maybe it's day length sensitivity or something.

Later, living somewhere with a cliched greeting-card version of the season, I almost got hit by cars walking along looking up at trees (changing!) and clouds (scudding!) just sort of humming happily to myself. Probably equinox-drunk.

And it's happening again now, only I'm a little confused because there wasn't much "summer" to indicate that "fall" would be the coming attraction, and anyone who has ever watched a movie with me knows that I'm all about the previews. And I still love it.

But lately, it's become clear that not only am I not going to make twelve sweaters this year, I may not knit again this year. Combinations of stress have just driven any knitting sort of underground. Lots of work, which is a blessing; my dad has been doing the hospital/rehab place roller coaster, which is also a blessing, in many ways; watching those around me deal with their own troubles in graceful, attractive ways has taught me so much -- hey look! another blessing; and the kids are terrific and very very busy. Blessings all (easier to say now that they're asleep).

Instead of fighting it, which I do sometimes, the concept of letting this lay fallow is growing in me. Spinning has become my evening activity of choice, when I'm not ferreting out blatant plagiarism, and the soothing pull of the yarn and the sliding of the fiber heal whatever is jagged from the day. I even spun in public the other day, horrifying Thing 1, but fascinating everyone from little kids to old people.

While I'd rather be finishing the sweaters begun earlier, and I'd love to be casting on for new projects, it's probably better not to fight the inevitable. In the garden, for example, it's time to plant lettuce and kale, to rake over the old beds and put in the carrots. To plant tomatoes and melons now would be to doom them to misery. Likewise, if I rushed my still-healing body into the gym and pumped weights as though there had been no hiatus, I'd become seriously laid up. Waiting and listening have their own wisdom, and I'm lucky to get to be still in the middle of doing a lot and receive them.