More soon.

Like #5, I am alive.  You’ve been neglected, I’m afraid, so let me catch you up.  Grab your cuppa, because this promises to be a long one.

January was busy.

There was a quick visit to here . . .

(Stone Mountain, Georgia)

. . . just for the fun of it.

. . . on one of the coldest days of the year.

It was the start of the coldest period in Florida since 1965/66.

Two days later we bought heavy winter coats, mittens, and scarves.

You know, there’s something very very wrong about going from Norway to Florida and having to buy wool coats and insulated jackets.  And it’s not as if we didn’t already have those things; we just didn’t expect to need them.  Normally a heavy jacket or solid coat, a scarf, and light gloves are enough.  But this time, this time we had Norwegian temperatures while Norway was having its own record cold snap.

But, seriously?  Tell that to a friend.  “I went to Florida and bought a wool coat.”  Yeah, riiiight.

On the other hand, much of the month was spent here . . .

This is Strozier library at FSU. 200,000 square feet of space. That means books. Lots and lots of books. Access to digitized and other media  resources, current journals, and while it may not be the Ivy League library some folks crave, it is a Level 1 Research University with a full-service library—and a pleasure to be in.

And yes—I was able to get rather a lot done.

There was a fair amount of time with family in the interval, and yes–it was good time. It was important time, and it was—and is—short time. To say that there are clouds on the horizon would be to indulge in a cliché, but there are few others which are appropriate.

This little fellow has been with me for a long while.

I’ve used him as a shelf-minder, for writing exercises, and as an occasional paperweight or book block, but I keep him in sight because he reminds me of something.

“Here there be dragons.”  The phrase crops up on old maps and in folklore, but generally speaking, the thing which was really there (obviously not dragons) was never as frightening or awful as a dragon would have been.  It may have been a new challenge, an unknown, or even a new danger, but it was something which could be learned about and then handled—or at least avoided.  You see, even dragons can be tamed, trained, or simply understood, and the dark spaces which they are used to represent on the map are generally never as frightening as the imaginative image of the dragon itself.

In other words, there really are very few things in our lives worthy of being called dragons.  Death and loss are, perhaps, competitors for the title, but yet, even they . . .

I’m increasingly convinced that most of the time we just need to get past our own fear and lack of knowledge and figure out what the heck that thing in the mist really is.  Once we’ve named it, we can deal with it, or at least come to terms with it.  And then, it seems to me, that the issue is whether or not we can control it.  If it is not something within our control, then being afraid of it feels very much like a waste of time and energy—and we all have better things to do.  If it is within our control, then it’s time to start working with the beast.

So, here there be dragons.  If I cannot eliminate them, I can at least teach them to sit quietly on the shelf and make themselves useful (or at least not detrimental) in some way.

Here there be dragons.  But I can deal with them.  So can you.

Thus far this year, I’ve finished three projects.

First, if you don’t already know it, Miriam Felton of MimKnits is getting ready to publish a book.  The hard part of the work is already done:  she’s already created the patterns.  Now she just needs to put it all together.  But see, the very very cool part of this is that the book is a book of lace specifically for handspun yarn.  The kind of yarn that you want to be able to knit until you run out of yarn, or until you’re ready to stop.  The kind of patterns which allow you to do that, and which won’t be obscured by the often-shifting colors that handspun tends to be.  That.  That’s the book.  And if you’ve never had the pleasure of working with a MimKnits pattern, you do need to try one.  The patterns are all clear, well written, easy to follow, and the finished product is inevitably beautiful.

Remember this?

1200 yards of it are in one of those patterns. You’ll see it. Complete with all my test-knitter’s mistakes. Poor Miriam had to re-knit one border because I hadn’t twisted a stitch properly, but I know it took her a couple of hours to do what it took me two days to complete! I keep saying this, but I don’t think people believe me: I am the slowest knitter in the world.  So, folks, please:  don’t judge her beautiful pattern based on my wonky knitting.  Trust me; the pattern is perfect, and the stole is beautiful.

And do you remember this?

It’s now this:

and this:

and this:

Don’t you love the dignified blocking method?  It’s 69″ across and it could have gone further.  It’s 47″ tall and wraps over to the back on both the top and the bottom by about 6″ each.

It takes up most of the living room floor.

It’s the Feather & Fan shawl from A Gathering of Lace, and I’m rather pleased with it. Of course, I’m particularly pleased with the fact that it’s done. Let me repeat myself:  I AM the slowest knitter in the world. This shawl was on the needles for 13 months.

But in the vein of finishing things, do you remember Matteus? The lovely Shetland lamb from Stonehaven Farm?

He now looks like this:

The picture doesn’t do the fiber justice. It’s a lovely dove grey with a golden brown cast, and it’s going to turn into a Sleeves In Your Pi shawl.  It goes to the wheel this weekend, and I can’t wait.

But you see, part of the reason all those 21 batts are finished is because of this arrival:

It’s a Pat Green Supercarder. I know, that doesn’t mean much to many of you, so let me tell you the important bit: It’s an electric carder. No more cranking, you can use both hands to handle the fiber, and that third drum creates a silky smooth batt as long as you have the fiber properly prepared.

It is my new best friend. Its name is George. (Of course, anything that doesn’t talk back is usually named George, but this is George of Disney’s cartoon “and I will hug it and pet it and squeeze it” fame.)

It has also taught me a few things, but you’ll forgive me if I save that for an upcoming post. Instead, there’s one other thing I want to share with you . . .

This.

I’ve smudged out the last name for personal reasons, but that’s the label on my office door. MY office door. The “førsteamanuensis”? Associate professor.

I got the job.

272 e-mails to go . . .

Things have been rather chaotic, but they are at least improving. The folks (and yes, pop was in the hospital as well) are both now home and stable and I’m off standby.

Progress!

I’m mostly caught up with everything but the blog, and there’s daylight ahead. Keep the faith; I’ll be back with a proper post over the weekend.

Seriously, someone needs to invent a transporter.

And if I’m not, I’ll have DH post a note with the address of the mental asylum where you can send cards and chocolate.

That’s where I’m at; that’s what I want.

What I have is a bit different.  I received confirmation that a job I applied for but which I most certainly did not expect to get because of the way the advertisement was phrased will most certainly go to someone else.  While I earnestly believe I’d have enjoyed it, would truly have been perfect for it, and would have done it extraordinarily well, I really can’t be disappointed.  I never believed I had much of a chance, and I’ve thought of the process more as a learning experience than anything else—and it has been educational.  But, a couple of very good things have come out of it as well.  One of those is DH’s understanding that in order to write, I need to go to where my material is in order to have something to write from.  So, I’ll be stateside for the first three weeks of the new year for a research trip.  Have I decided precisely where I’ll be and what I’ll do?  Heck no!  The only thing I’m certain about is that I need to go talk to a man in Kentucky . . .  I can make a flying visit to family, then go back for family in the summer.

The other good thing which has come out of the situation is a bit of a double-sided coin.  Because of the job issue, the work available to me as an adjunct is liable to be nearly non-existent next term (that’s the negative) but I’ll actually have time to write (which is the positive).  Writing.  Writing. My own work.  Academic and creative.  Writing.

I cannot say how much I’m looking forward to it; it’s been a long time since I’ve felt I could, for a variety of reasons.  One of those is practical:  when you’re carrying 50-100% as an adjunct, you find you actually carry closer to 150+% percent—which means you’re lucky if you have two functioning grey cells to rub together at the end if the day, even if you had time to actually do anything about it.

On another front, Trenchwork is now a registered business in Norway.  While that will mostly consist of translation, writing, editing, and mentoring English, it gives me room to sell some of the extra handspun I seem to be stashing, and fibers I want to create.

The winds of change, they are a-blowin’.

In the meantime, the next month is going to be a load.  Next week has online group presentations for one distance class of 50 while another of 20 starts.  On Friday, 220 essays come in, of which I need to mark half over the weekend.  Fortunately, a colleague is doing the other half.  The following two weeks will be full of student conferences and teaching, with one student roughly every 20 minutes during the non-teaching periods.  There are 3 more 2-hour lectures over the coming month, and 8 groups which meet four (?) more times over the coming month.  And of course there are 3 distance courses I’m providing tech support for, and 2 I’m developing which will run in the spring.

I’m not saying all that to complain.  It’s enough to keep me running flat out, but it’s not horrific, and it’s not anything I haven’t done before.  I can do this.

But I’d like to do more.

I think that when we begin to take stock of our lives, we also need to consider whether what we’re doing is enough.  It’s certainly enough as far as time is concerned, and we have precious little of that which we can call our own.  But is it enough?  We do what we need to do to keep body and soul together, but I wonder if we have a tendency to neglect the soul just making certain that the body can survive.

There is—there has to be—a balance.  Since the soul inspires everything else, somewhere along the line we must find a way to include activity which nourishes it. It doesn’t matter what that activity is.  The big ones, though, they take time, planning, and sometimes intervention of the fates.

The little ones?  Those are the oases.  They’re the things which refresh you during the dry spells and keep you going until you can find a path to the springs.

Thomas had to be rewashed.  Bond is fascinating stuff, and I love this fleece.  But it really caught me off guard; the sucker was harder to wash than the pure Merino I’d dealt with over the summer.  It held the grease deep within the very compact locks in a way the Merino didn’t: the Merino opened in the wash while the Bond locks stayed firm, stubbornly holding onto their secret stash of lanolin.  The second wash had less soap but kept the very hot water, and I still see locks which are not entirely grease free.  Since I’m combing the fleece, that’s ok—I just make certain I warm the fleece and combs. But the fleece itself is beautiful. The color is a rich brown with a hint of lavender undertone, firm and rather fat slightly oval locks, and clear but slightly relaxed crimp which comes from the Lincoln heritage. Bond is softer than Corriedale (average 25 microns versus 27), with longer lock staple and handles beautifully. It spins up to a slightly lustrous and very cushy woolen yarn, and this particular half fleece is destined to be a sweater. Of course, given the speed at which I do not knit, it may be next winter before I can wear it . . .

Matteus is making his own slow progress. There is now a large box of flick-brushed locks:

and six heavy batts:

(Two aren’t shown here.)

There is roughly half as much again to card:

But this big box of fluffy, ready-to-card Matteus is courtesy of this big box . . .

Meet Ron Anderson’s cradle style wool picker. Ron is the mind—and hands—behind Fancy Kitty, and is a pleasure to work with. This is a piece of equipment I’d been debating for a year, but given the coming year’s prospects, now seemed a good time to invest. Having used it to pick the rest of Matteus, I can honestly say that it was worth the import and sales tax fees.

So, what IS a wool picker? Other than a medieval looking device which is full of frighteningly long spikes? It’s an ingenious gizmo which can do serious damage. Its sole purpose in life is to tease open the locks of a fleece so that they can then be carded, something which you otherwise have to do by hand, a few locks at a time. The process also allows most of the remaining VM to fall out (depending on the type and assuming it’s not burrs). It can be adjusted (up or down) to handle different types of wools, and it did a beautiful job opening up the locks for Matteus. It IS possible to be too aggressive with a fine fleece, and I found very quickly that I needed to shift the swing portion up a bit and move it more slowly in order to avoid causing breaks in the fiber. But—and here’s the clincher—it took all of 30 minutes to pick through the fleece, and that was a job which would have taken me a couple of days otherwise.

I’ve carded two batts with the new picked fibers, and other than keeping the layer thin, I’ve decided to not pay too much attention to how the fibers are fed into the carder. The resulting batts are incredibly lofty, and I can feel a real difference between the previous four and the most recent two.

The picker is not a miracle worker, and as long as one keeps realistic expectations of what it can and cannot do, then I can’t imagine being disappointed. It will help remove a lot of VM and remaining dirt kernels by allowing the stuff to simply fall out. It will not remove all of it, nor can it remove VM which is firmly embedded in the hairs of the fiber, such as with burrs and certain grass seeds. It will open the locks for you in record time, but it will not organize those locks, and may well have trouble with certain types of fibers as opposed to others.

Not everything has been fiber prep, though. I’m in the usual semester work schedule, which means I’m back to comfort spinning. Here’s the latest:

This is from Enchanted Knoll Farm’s Happy Hooves club batts, “Barred Owl.” It’s a superwash sock fiber, spun a bit thick-thin and slightly slubby for a worsted weight (10-18wpi), very smooshy true 3-ply yarn. There are 293 warm, rich yards with lots of golden glitter which, unfortunately, doesn’t show here!

Anyone who thinks brown can’t be sexy hasn’t met the Farm Witch’s browns. The fiber had such depth and warmth that it’s the fibery equivalent warm chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven on a chilly Saturday morning. It comforts. It’s the lover who holds you close during the night, and still holds your hand in the morning.

Finally, remember this?

It’s on a secret mission and has become a surprising oasis. Ask me about it in about a month or so.

As background, the Co-Op is a collaboration of spinners and fiber growers organized with a view to enabling both, and is organized and sponsored by Jackie and Curt of Fibers at Down-in-the-Country.