Yes, I know it's Friday, but life (and the lure of a deep clawfoot bathtub full of really hot water) got in the way, and I didn't get a chance to write a post on Wednesday, so I would like to tell you that Wednesday I attended my weekly spinning group. I always enjoy our getting together. It is an interesting group of supportive women, and I enjoy not only the lively discussion, but the sharing of projects as well. We're an equal opportunity group, and welcome knitters as well as spinners. I was one of those knitters who was lured by the gentle sound of the spinning wheel, and the sight of the awesomeness that was emerging on the bobbin, to become a spinning convert. What person who loves wool and all it's goodness wouldn't want to learn how to spin so they could play with a cloud of fiber such as this?
When I was at Rhinebeck this year I bought two fleeces, one is white and one is pale gray pale tan. I had them processed, and they arrived at my house on Christmas Eve. What a fantastic Christmas gift to myself. I waited to open them until Christmas Day and began spinning the tan roving on Boxing Day. My plan is to spin enough undyed fleece to make a Fair Isle sweater. I am working very hard at trying to spin worsted weight yarn. I have a tendency to spin thin, and as soon as I am distracted, the yarn can quickly go from worsted to fingering weight.
I am enjoying spinning this roving. While spinning I was thinking how spinning involves all of the senses but taste. There is the smell of the wool and the oil that is used in processing which combines to a very pleasant aroma. There is the feel of the softness of the wool and the lanolin that is left on my hands as I spin. There is the sight of the singles being wound onto the bobbin and the mesmerizing turning of the wheel. And finally, there is the sound of the wheel as it turns making what can be a hypnotizing sound, which, on occasion, has almost lulled me into sleep.
On another note, if I thought it was cold the other day, I didn't know what cold was. On Tuesday when I drove Conor to school it was -22. I discovered my downstairs shower pipes were frozen this morning. I have spent the afternoon trying to thaw them out without having to enter the crawl space through which they run. This is one of those time when being a widow really stinks. I don't mind trying to figure this kind of situation out by myself, but it would be a lovely thing to have some help (for instance, if it is required that the crawl space be crawled in), and some moral support.
I have two electric heaters aimed into the space from two different openings and I'm hoping that will be enough to thaw the pipes. I am praying that they are just frozen, and not split. Llooking at the forecast I don't see much warming up on the way. But I count my blessings and am grateful that we are dry and safe inside a warm house. And all this coldness just makes me want to knit more. I think mittens are in my future.