I don't know about the rest of you, but I have an internal jukebox that calls up-- unbidden-- songs that suit whatever situation I'm in. Today, I have that old Blood, Sweat & Tears song, Spinning Wheel, spinning through my head. This doesn't surprise me at all. See, I have signed up for private spinning classes which start in a couple of days.
When I mentioned to some friends these "private spinning classes," I got a very surprised look. Then I realized that's because they thought that I-- Queen of Whoopie Pie Consumption and Chair Sitting-- had actually hired a jock to come to my house and get my behind on one of those stationary bikes on which you pedal until your legs fall of. HAHAHA! Can you imagine?
No? Me, either.
Once we cleared up the misunderstanding, I explained to my friends that in my latest move to get off the grid, I am hoping to learn how to spin roving into yarn. (Maybe one day I'll learn how to spin straw into gold.) I don't have huge expectations for this class. If my drop spindle class was any indication of whether or not I'll succeed, let's just say I'll likely be buying my yarn for a long time to come.
And yet... the more years I get into this knitting thing, and the more fiber artists I meet, and the animals that provide the fleece, well the more I want to take it back to the very start. I want to meet the animals, buy their fleece, figure out how to get from hoof to cardigan, you know? I figure that if the spinning lesson does "take," then I will now be forced to add another two years to each sweater project. Maybe four years. That's okay. Because one of my favorite parts of this whole fiber fanaticism is learning new stuff.
As so often is the case, my latest knit-related activities call Monhegan Island to mind. I love how the only vehicles on the island are the handful of trucks owned by lobster-folk and hotels. I love how quiet and barely lit things are at night. I love how you have to stand near the highest tombstone in the cemetery to try to get a single bar of cell phone signal. I'll never be accused of being a Luddite, but I truly enjoy opportunities to at least get a whiff of the way things were. And these whiffs (along with the salty sea breeze) always do my heart such good. Along these lines, I have an appreciation -- one I'm growing-- for ye olde knitting days, and how one couldn't just pop over to the knit shop, one had to raise the sheep and goats, and shear and all the rest of that stuff.
Okay, stay tuned. I might post again right after my lesson to proclaim the wonders of store-bought yarn.