the Village Knittiot

The other day my husband asked me to do some math. He told me to take the number of years since I began my therapy and divide it by my age. I did it quickly in my head and came back with 3%. “You sure about that?” he asked. I did it again. Yep. He again asked if I was sure, so I wrote the problem out on a piece of paper. Turns out I was wrong. It was actually 0.3%. That is the amount of time I have been trying to implement skills that I learned in my magical year of therapy. He said perhaps it shouldn’t be so surprising that I haven’t quite got the hang of everything yet. Um, yeah. Maybe. Nevertheless, practice makes perfect. So, that is what we do.

I am now on day 5 of green tea rather than coffee. For the first few days it was really, really, really hard. Just like quitting smoking, I still can’t think of it as a forever thing — today I am not having coffee. Today I can handle. Because, forever, as his royal purpleness (that would be Prince) once said, is a mighty long time. I’m not there yet.

Also, by way of a little promotion of “the other blog,” my co-blogger extraodinaire, Kaizerin, has posted a great review of one of her latest reads over on The Bookish Dark (our new book discussion blog).

Lately I’ve been struggling a bit, feeling buzzy in my brain, dissatisfied with myself, fighting with old thought patterns. I haven’t been able to find a peaceful mental space in quite a few weeks now and this is wearying. I have been worrying that there is not enough time for me to “make something of myself.” And when I am feeling pressed for time and overwhelmed by the stresses of life, it is very difficult to gain the perspective required to break free from that particular form of chaos. I start saying things like, “I don’t have time for my walk,” and then skip three days in a row. This does little to improve the situation. Though these feelings are not new, the temptation to view them as a sudden and disastrous failure is always strong. I’m nothing if not melodramatic.

Yesterday, I managed to push myself out the door, despite some extreme grumpiness at the prospect, and onto the street for a short jaunt to the post office. Walks are often a good way to clear my head. And while the cobwebs haven’t been completely swept away, it was a good start.

Whenever I find the energy to stop and ask myself how things got so off track, it is fairly easy to identify the signs and build a road map of the derailment. Often times, I can even see what is going on in the midst of the situation, even if it sometimes takes me a little while to figure out how to disentangle myself from the pattern.

There is a Zen saying that I tend to cling to rather tightly, because it is precisely the sort of reminder my little birdy brain needs.

When walking, walk
When sitting, sit

One of the first things I worked on in therapy was learning how to do one thing at a time. This does not come naturally to me. Usually I have a hundred things going at once and keeping track of them all is a constant exercise in paranoia. What will I do if I drop the ball? Who will I let down? What will people think of me? Yeah, I’m not a perfectionist or anything.

This ability to multitask is something I have been praised and rewarded for again and again. I have prided myself on my ability to manage in this way. In work environments I am often tagged as “the reliable one.” The one who can be given any number of tasks and, thanks to a heightened fear of failure, will get it done, even if it kills me. And it is killing me. On top of that, I don’t always get everything done. I have a tendency toward unrealistic expectations and have an inflated sense of what I can accomplish in a given amount of time. This results in a very sad little knittiot who often feels like she has failed at everything (cue swelling violins and sympathetic “awwww”), even if it was only one thing.

Or rather, that is the old pattern. In therapy I worked very hard to instill more realistic expectations in myself. I learned how to focus. I learned that tackling one thing at a time usually resulted in greater productivity. When talking on the phone, I talked on the phone. When composing an e-mail, I composed an e-mail. When writing, I wrote. When editing, I edited. At least, on a good day.

But we all know that old habits die hard. We go away from therapy for a little while and the good habits are often (temporarily) forsaken as you easily fall back into comfortable, long-standing, deeply ingrained behaviors. It doesn’t take long for you to realize things are different. I had a frightening moment on yesterday’s walk in which I thought maybe I would always need therapy in order to keep my life in balance. Which is not to say that gaining additional insight into my life isn’t desirable, it is just that dependency on a therapist is not the goal. The goal is to develop a strong sense of my own resiliency and ability to care for myself. And thanks to therapy, I have an arsenal of skills to do just that. It was simply a matter of recalling those tools and tricks that helped and trying to implement them again.

Lately my knitting has had this same sense of stress and anxiety surrounding it. As have my creative writing pursuits. I flit from project to project, halfheartedly casting on for something and immediately ripping it out. Thinking about a topic for an article and tossing out a few sentences. Stopping. Contemplating something else. Ripping, erasing, deleting, frogging. All the while, there is this constant clock ticking in the back of my head telling me that I don’t have time for this. I need to be knitting for goodness sake. Or writing something “worthwhile.” Jeez, will you just chill out a little.

And I realized something in this. When I am knitting, I knit. That is why I feel so desperate to get a project going. Something engrossing. Something interesting and meditative. Something that will give me a break from all this mental turmoil. I am looking for that sense of peace that is missing when I have too many things going at once. The missing element from that, of course, is that when I am planning, I need to plan. And since I have been viewing that time required to contemplate the next project as stolen knitting time, it is just making everything seem all the more manic and my desperation gets completely blown out of proportion.

So, rather than get all stressed out about what I feel I should be doing, I need to schedule some time to do what I need to be doing. Planning. I don’t know why it is so hard for us to take even 15 minutes to help ourselves get organized…

I think for a lot of people, life is just something that happens to them. And to some degree the lack of control over events is true. Things happen and there is nothing we can do about them (although I do believe that a lot of times what we think or claim to have had no control over is something we most certainly had a hand in). But still, regardless of whether or not the events were outside of our control, the one thing we do have control over is our reaction to them. We get to decide what we are going to do with those events, and all we can do is our best. So, we may not always handle things the way we would ideally like to see ourselves handle them, but if you’ve done your best, there is nothing else to be done.

We are fond of the blame game because if we don’t blame someone else, we have to blame ourselves and that is a hard burden to shoulder. And as self-reliant and stubbornly independent as I am, it still took me almost 30 years to really take full responsibility for my life in an internal way that allowed me to get my power back. I still try to give it to other people on occassion, but not nearly so frequently as I once did.

When I finally recognized that my life was my own to make of it what I will, I discovered in a very real way why I worked so hard for so long to give it away to everyone else, even if subconciously. And why conversations of this nature often include anger, frustration, defensiveness and anxiety. Personal responsibility is not an easy path and I don’t always have the confidence that I am capable of doing anything with my life. If I can put everything in other people’s hands and nothing comes of it, then the blame doesn’t lie on my doorstep. I am not bad. I have not failed. The system failed, or my parents failed or someone else did, but not me. Clearly I’m still on the lookout for a greater sense of validation.

The thing about the search for validation, however, is that it is generally a pursuit conducted completely in the external. And as such, never yields the desired result. You can’t write a book or post a blog or have some great career as a means of feeling okay about who you are. It really needs to be your foundation for every single action you take. Validation precedes, it does not follow. And in the rare cases where it does, it is not a lasting sense of validation, but something you struggle to cling to — a desperation that says, “I’m okay, I did this thing, see?”

When my own search for validation completely crosses the threshold into the external, I start hearing a mental buildup of voices and confusion that ultimately crescendo into a cacophony of mental clutter. Enter yesterday. As far as crisis points go, it was really minor. I am far better at recognizing the pattern and I am capable of instituting some measures of self care — make sure you don’t skip your walk, go to bed early, eat your dinner — and the older I get, the less severe they seem (more perspective? better skills? a combination of different elements? Yes, yes, yes.). I realize I’ve been looking in all the wrong places again and press the reset button.

About a month ago, while watching the Olympics, there was a commercial on television in which a person held up a notepad to the screen with the words, “I am” printed on them. I thought that would make such a great writing exercise. Start with the words “I am” and just go. I had one sentence. I am ready.

Ready for what?

Well, a lot of things. But just because I am ready doesn’t mean it is all going to happen tomorrow. I guess mostly what I need to be ready for is work and not results. Because you don’t get the results without the work. The path. The goals. The results. The validation. Everything is preceded by work. “Tend your garden,” says Voltaire. In other words, do your work. Patiently, progressively and with diligence. This is what there is for us. Do your work. It is about the process. Process, process, process. I should have the word tattooed to my forehead.

This morning I woke up and I could hear the heater clicking on. That means it is very cold. Which in turn means I don’t want to get out of bed. Fortunately for me, I have a sweetie who brings me coffee in bed every morning. I never, ever get tired of saying that. Of course, in a week, that is going to turn into green tea in bed as we are slowly, slowly weening ourselves off the caffeine. Wish us luck and if you don’t hear from us in a week, please send out a St. Bernard with a barrel of espresso around his neck.

Fun With Yarn

Yesterday I had the pleasure of taking a class with Annie Modesitt at Loop in which she taught us the techniques to make her circular, reversible, upside down, right side up, inside out wearable sweater (the one from the Fall 2005 cover of Vogue Knitting).

First, let me talk about Loop. Loop is an amazing store. Craig is truly the first yarn shop owner that I have ever met who really, really understands about making you feel relaxed and comfortable and welcome right away. His staff members embody this same understanding — they give you help, they ask you questions. They also give you space. They smile and are pleasant. They are honest. They are also knowledgable and enthusiastic. The spacious, open area allows you to really move around and look at things and this is a wonderful, beautiful thing. Also, he has impeccable taste. I mean impeccable. His yarns are top notch and gorgeous. They also are on the very, very expensive side, and as such, I have to think long and hard and go back to the store a few times before deciding on something. They do also have a few more afforable yarns — a massive selection of Cascade 220 and the Malabrigo, which is like Manos, but with slightly less thick/thin variation and with more yardage for a little less money. Their book selection is out of this world. They have everthing. Always plenty of needles and so forth. It is just a pleasant place to be in general. Taking a class there is even better.

Yesterday was the first actual knitting class I have ever taken and let me tell you this, I will be taking more. It was phenomenal. The amount of information I absorbed — a lot of it from the instructor, but an equally important amount from fellow knitters — was like nothing I have ever gotten working on my own. I am convinced that Annie Modesitt may be a bit of a genius (of the Mad Hatter variety) and the sweater that she taught us the technique for may be just about the most versatile pattern I have ever seen or used. Seriously, you can wear it inside or outside, upside down or right side up. You can substitute any yarn you want and can fit it precisely to your measurements. It is clever, inventive and very fun to work with. We did two swatches in the class — a rectangular one, just to get a feel for the technique, and a circular one to get a feel for how it would be to work the pattern. I turned my rectangle into a cape for my water. As an Aquarius (you know, the water bearer), it seemed only fitting that my water bottle should have a cape.

Despite my attempts, I failed to find the right yarn to begin the pure genius sweater, and since it can truly be made with any yarn, I may just find the right roving and spin my own. And since the postman (who is fast becoming my favorite person in the universe) delivered a package all the way from a certain wonderful blogger in Canada containing this (thank you JoVE!),

Blue Faced Leicester is at the top of my list for potential candidates.

Things I learned in no particular order:
1. How to knit in the round using two circulars (can someone tell me why I thought this would be really complicated or why I thought I needed to buy a book to learn it?)
2. Inox needles are not the unpleasant experience I thought they would be. As Juno pointed out — “They’re pointy!” Yes indeed. How could I not have found these sooner.
3. Random increases and the telephone number technique
4. The way I purl may be slightly inefficient and there is a speedier way if I can master it
5. I can actually learn how to alter a pattern, take my own measurements into account and design my own sweaters — as soon as I take the classes that will teach me some of the things I absolutely need to know
6. This is an expensive hobby
7. Living in a city with decent public transportation is as awesome as I imagined it would be
8. I know more about my adopted city than I thought I did
9. Knitters make the world a better place

Fun With Books

As some of you will remember, my dear, wonderful friend Kaizerin (who tragically lives on the other coast) did some co-blogging with me through the Knitting Olympics. In addition to our shared obsession interest in knitting, we are also quite the rabid bookworms. One of our favorite weekend activities involves five hour conversations mostly about what we are reading, intespersed with our thoughts on life, the universe and everything, with frequent stops in which we marvel at how much we have in common and how come it took us so long to find each other on this planet.

What started out as a discussion about how we could have more frequent, in-depth book discussions even though we live on separate coasts of a rather large continent, turned into a decision to go into the co-blogging business for good. Thus I give you The Bookish Dark, a site devoted to our passion for all things bookish.

Like all new blogs, we are still working out some kinks and getting up to speed, but our first joint discussion is up, covering the book Feed by M.T. Anderson — a title I tend to blather on about quite a lot both here on the blog and in real life.

While we will be doing a lot of joint reviews, we will also be posting individual reviews of what we are devouring in our own private reading lives. We both tend to take our reading very personally, and we want to talk with other people who do too, so come on over and check it out!

The Bookish Dark

I don’t know anybody who doesn’t love to receive mail. Especially when that package has a certain hand drawn sheep on it that could only have been inked by one person in particular.

I don’t remember how or why I stumbled upon Franklin’s blog. I have a vague recollection that I followed a link from a particularly thoughtful comment. Whatever it was, I was hooked from the start. Thoughtful, intelligent, articulate, unapologetically honest and self searching. I was inspired. I created a special category of links — the “Lately Inspired By” section. I intended to update it whenever the fancy struck, but I couldn’t seem to find anybody to replace him, so I finally had to give him his own special spot. Franklin’s Spot.

When I found out we were finally going to have the opportunity to meet in person at Rhinebeck, I was thrilled. And when the drop spindle which I had purchased at the previous year’s Rhinebeck (yes, the same one that talked me into buying my own spinning wheel) insisted that it wanted to live with Franklin (I think it was feeling neglected), I was more than happy to let it tag along. And Franklin, it turns out, was more than happy to let it go home with him — with one condition. I had to allow him to send me one of his photographs. Twist. My. Arm.

It took me a very long time to make a selection, partly because I wanted all of them, but also because my favorite photograph wasn’t on his professional website. So, I e-mailed him with my choice (I do love nuns) and a confession that my absolute favorite photograph was not on his site (it is now) and would he consider possibly letting me have that one instead. To my great joy, he said most certainly.

Yesterday, she arrived:

As they say, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” Being a creative person fond of metaphor and symbols, I tend to be very picky and very personal about the art and decorative elements that populate the house. And I can say with no reservation that this is just a perfect addition to my collection. Thank you, Franklin. You really are an amazingly talented human being.

Now, onto Knitting News

The Kousa Dogwood did see some progress. Then it saw some unprogress. While I did manage to finally graft the third square on, it took me three tries. Yeah, clearly I was doing really well that day. Once I correctly grafted the item on, I progressed to the edging on the left shoulder and made considerable, speedy progress. Only to be faced with my own inattention to detail yet again and had to rip back all my work. Note to self — lace knitting requires concentration. Sometimes I forget that. Nevertheless, as promised, here are a couple of pictures:

Lace knitting always looks so unflattering (and very, very small) before it is blocked. So, to bolster my own sense of accomplishment, here is a better detail picture.

I am really working on a good excuse to buy a better camera. Of course, after spinning on Juno’s Majacraft wheel last weekend, I’m also working on a good excuse to upgrade my wheel. This could be an expensive year…

Yesterday I completed the third square for the Kousa Dogwood Shawl. Being the eager beaver that I am, I decided to graft them together this morning. Have I grafted before? Yes. Am I confident I know what I’m doing? Of course not! So I found a rather helpful article on Knitty with great pictures and easy-to-follow instructions and was merrily knit-purl-purl-knitting along with my tapestry needle (the only one I can find at the moment, since I seem to have misplaced my Chibi, is very, very tiny so the work is simple, but rather labor intensive). I was feeling so proud of myself and nearing the end when I notice that the wrong side is facing out on one of the squares. Arrrrggghhh! Don’t you hate it when you are pleased with yourself and the knitting gods just slap you right down? Check twice, graft once. Right.

So, instead of getting all three squares grafted, I only managed to just barely get two done. It is at moments like these that one of the prime temptations of working at home rears its ugly head — the temptation to just keep knitting (or spinning). Of course, that is the most expedient way to ensure that I no longer have any work to do from home, so I must force myself to put down the needles and get going. It helps that I can get going in my pajamas, but I digress.

Anyway, pictures (hopefully) tomorrow of the Kousa Dogwood progress.

I posted awhile back about my discovery that living in a large city on the East Coast where it is warmer than the tundra I was raised in meant contending on some level with cockroaches. And I told you all about my very irrational conclusion that the presence of 2 or 3 bugs most certainly meant we had an infestation. Well, there have been a few more sightings in the last several days. Yes, I know, the weather was almost 80 degrees yesterday and this has a tendency to draw them out. Still, not pleasant. Especially not if you are phobic to the point that these tiny little creatures reduce you to a hysterical pool of tears and hyperventilation.

I think a lot of times people are afraid to admit that they have cockroaches, because they are associated with filth and poor cleaning habits. Filth, however, is something that I cannot abide. My house is very clean, though I must admit that prior to meeting my first cockroach, I was known to leave the dishes in the sink overnight and just deal with them in the morning. I was more relaxed about how often I scrubbed the kitchen floor. I also probably vacuumed a little less frequently and didn’t always use the crevice attachment on the edges of the wall. This has all changed. And for that I’m glad, grateful even (but don’t tell them that, they might get ideas). I have always wanted to be the kind of diligent person who kept a tidy and neat house and now I have the proper motivation. For me, it was a choice of learning to be vigilantly clean, moving to a tundra-like climate where the vast majority of the bugs die every year or just dealing with them from time to time. Last two items? Not even a remote possibility.

To be fair, we’ve been here in the apartment for nearly 5 months now and I’ve seen a grand total of 6 bugs. Not exactly an infestation *knocks on wood* but certainly a little more than I’d like. It is an old building. We have quite a few neighbors whose cleaning habits I cannot control. And did I mention it is an old building?

Anyway, since I am such a big believer that knowledge is power, I decided that after having a total meltdown some mild anxiety after killing my first cockroach ever (and requiring a good 15 minutes and lots of “you can do it” coaching from my husband to get up enough nerve to use a tissue to pick up the dead thing and put it in the toilet) the best way to confront my fears was to do some research. Get to know what I was dealing with. And even more importantly, find out how to get rid of them.

I can tell you that after perusing a vast number of sites that there is pretty much a universal hatred and revulsion of the creatures. And that if you are looking to alleviate your fears, most of the information out there will be of little help. A lot of the sources were actually pest management places that wanted to scare the beejesus out of you in order to “entice” you into rushing out and hiring them to infiltrate your home with frighteningly toxic chemicals that it turns out have little actual effect on cockroach populations. (Yes, I do realize that 6 critters in 5 months isn’t exactly a huge problem). Still, I stuck with it, fighting off the cold sweats and panic inducing images and just trying to gather the facts.

A little later in the search process, I finally came across a few academic articles, websites and other assorted information from entomologists — you know, people who actually study bugs and understand them. This is when I realized when it comes to bugs, you should never ask a layperson questions that can be answered by an entomologist. The entomologist by and large has a respect for their subject matter. They understand how they fit in on the food chain and in our various environments and therefore have a much greater appreciation for the roles they serve. And, it turns out, are the people who are most likely to help me think rationally about my “problem.”

What we’ve got are commonly called “water bugs” — they generally live outside and only come in to find food and/or water. Deny them both (which I have to the best of my ability) and prevent them from entering and they will go away for the most part.

There are more than 3,000 different types of cockroaches worldwide and only a handful of them are actually classified as pests. The ones who aren’t pests serve useful and less creepy functions, the most important of which are the breaking down of organic matter and supplying birds and other animals with a source of food. The pest kind can be a big problem and are often linked to childhood asthma and allergies. So, you don’t want pests around, but there are things to be done that don’t involve nasty chemicals — a fact which my sensitive lungs and skin are grateful for.

I joke about how panicked I get at the site of these, but you must remember that I grew up watching horror movies that ascribed a collective sense of malice to groups of bugs including ants, cockroaches, bees and spiders. I watched these movies at far, far too young and impressionable an age. Not to mention the fact that I was raised by a woman who told me that the reason we moved away from California was because of cockroaches. This is the same woman who, when she walks into a room, always scans the corners of the ceilings for potential spiders. Over the course of the last several years, I managed to completely overcome my fear of spiders (and now am actually quite fond of them). I doubt I will ever like cockroaches, but I can at least find a place of understanding and become less paralyzed by it.

This whole knit-blogging thing never ceases to amaze me. You know how it is, you find someone who should be a complete stranger, but who somehow seems more familiar than people you’ve known for years? Yeah, knitting and fiber are powerful unifiers.

Not long ago, I set up a spinning playdate with just such a blogger, having discovered that we lived not even an hour from each other. So, on Saturday I securely belted my trusty wheel into the back seat of Wesley (my trusty Saturn Ion) and found myself, not even 50 minutes later, standing on Enchanting Juno’s doorstep.

It was one of those perfect days. Just beautiful. Not a cloud in the sky — not too hot, not too cold. A short road trip. My car loaded with fibery goodness. I was having on of those “Yes, life is wonderful!” moments. I arrived at around 1:30 and after a little spinning and some chit chat, I got the wool tour. Folks, it was a sight to behold, truly inspiring. I met her most favored Fleece. I had an in-depth yarn-by-yarn analysis of her stash. I got to fondle more rovings than I think I fondled at Rhinebeck last year. I took notes (damn that girl is knowledgable). And in the midst of all of it, got to know a really remarkable person a little bit better. Juno is truly one of those people that makes you feel better about the world, like maybe everything isn’t going to just fall apart. I think it was nearly ten o’clock by the time I left and I really had to make myself leave, because I could have just sat and talked with her until, you know, forever.

For quite some time now, I have been contemplating what a profoundly positive impact blogging has had on me, and from all accounts, countless others as well. I have learned and discovered more than I can tell you over the past year and a half thanks to the willingness of others to give of themselves, share their experiences, provide some new perspective and offer their thoughts on everything from a favorite tea or new spinning technique to how I can better deal with difficult relationships or overcome an emotional hurdle. In short, bloggers make the world a better place.

I am continuing to work on the Kousa Dogwood Shawl. Last night I completed the second of three squares that make up the bulk of the shawl’s center. They are much smaller than I imagined they would be and I suspect the shawl itself won’t be very substantial. Still, it is enjoyable to knit, I have finally found something to use my own handspun on and lace always looks much smaller than it is until you block it. I guess we’ll see.

I have, for some time, been intending to sign up at the YMCA near our house, but each week comes and goes and I have yet to do so. This has been bothering me because one of my personal goals with this move was to commit to some form of physical activity. I am by no means old, but I am getting older and I can feel it in my body. My back aches, my muscles feel stiff and I struggle with a little sadness and anxiety from time to time. I know things would be immensely improved with just a little bit of exertion. I have made so many healthy decisions for myself in the last several years that this is really the last hurdle for me. So, I figured it was time to examine what is going on and why the reluctance.

I have often said that it is not exercise that I dislike, it is exercise for the sake of exercise. It seems so pointless. Even from the time that I was very yong, I have never been a very physical person. I tended more toward cerebral activities (which are far more sedentary) such as reading, writing, knitting, spending time on the computer, watching movies, lounging about and chatting with friends. At least spinning is a little more active.

When I was in college, I met and became very good friends with a runner and the way she talked about it excited me. At times it was like she was describing a drug-induced euphoria. So I decided that for my mental well-being, it was time for me to start caring for my body. I started by joining a Jazzercise class. It sounds so silly, but it was really fun. I was learning to be coordinated. There was loud, adrenaline-pumping music. Everyone was sweating. It felt so good to push myself. When I finally worked my way up to a decent level, I decided it was time to start running. I did — slowly at first and with great effort. Then, I got better, a little faster. I started not wanting my run to end. I was obsessed. Who cares if my knees hurt a little and my shins are aching? I didn’t. I just wanted to run. Until it started hurting too much and then, well, I gave it up for a little while to give things a rest. I tried a couple of times to give it another go, but it wasn’t working for me and my knees and shins were quite unhappy.

I went to a variety of running stores, trying to find the right shoes. I went to the doctor who sent me to a podiatrist and that is where I learned that I had flat feet and a weird thing that happens with my joints, I can’t remember what it is called. When I told my husband about it, I said I thought it might be called “general ligamentitis” which he found very amusing, and he now refers to it as my Four Star General Ligamentitis. I told my mother and she said my cousin has the same thing. The solution: orthotics. They all said they could help me run again, but so far, it hasn’t happened. Partly this is because I haven’t worked very hard to make it happen. But also, I am afraid of hurting myself beyond repair.

Running was the one thing that really changed my understanding of physical activity. It wasn’t exercise for the sake of exercise, it was exercise that transformed me for the 30 or 40 minutes I was pounding down the pavement. I felt invincible. I felt that if anyone tried to attack me or hurt me I would outrun them. I felt empowered. It was awesome. My lungs were so happy. My body sang everytime I collapsed onto my living room floor after a good run and I loved the calm relaxation that followed with my ritual stretching and drinking of water. I had clarity, focus and energy. It was awesome.

When I didn’t have running anymore I felt at a loss for how to go about finding that same sense of joy in physical activity. I decided to join a gym. I had to force myself to go, even after several months it was still hard to get going and get there. I convinced myself that it would get easier as I went. It didn’t. Eventually I stopped going at all. I didn’t want to cancel, however. I mean, surely I would go next week or next week or next week. So I just kept paying those monthly dues and for no reason. Belonging to a gym is expensive. And everytime I think about writing a check for $70 a month (Didn’t the Y used to be affordable?), I think about all the yarn and rovings and classes I could be buying with that money. So I haven’t signed up.

This past week things around here took a turn toward Spring. The weather is just beautiful and I decided it was time to do something about this exercise thing. Mr. Knittiot and I talked about it and we both feel that realistically speaking, the gym is not for us. I just don’t think we are gym people. So, what do we do? I decided to start simple. A walk — at least 30 minutes everyday — preferably closer to an hour. I get one day off per week. If I do this for 3 weeks, I am going to treat myself to a Yoga class. These are small, measurable goals. I am accountable for them to my sweetie and they aren’t going to cost me money that, frankly, we need to be diverting to other places at the moment.

My greatest hope and wish is that eventually I will be running again. Even if it is slowly and with great care. I’m not sure yet what the Mr. is going to do. He’s mentioned archery and fencing. We need to look into that. At any rate, the first steps are being taken, so to speak, and it doesn’t feel like some insurmountable task that I will never be able to keep up with. These are all good things. And after only a couple days of walking I already feel better.

I mentioned a couple of posts ago that I had recently spun up the last of my fiber, hence the contest looking for source recommendations (more on that later). I may also have mentioned that I did know of one place in the area — a woolen mill that didn’t seem to have a website or offer their products to the general public. Well, a more carefully constructed google search did indeed reveal a website and a link to their e-bay store. But, since I live so close, I decided to call them and see if they would allow me to order some fiber and pick it up at their facilities. The conversation went something like this:

Ring, ring, ring

Them: “Wilde Yarns Woolen Mill can I help you?”

Me: “Yes, I see that you sell some spinning and felting fiber on e-bay. I am located very near your facilities and I was wondering if it would be possible for me to place an order that I could pick up rather than having you ship it to me.”

Person #1: “Yes, let me get you someone else.” Abruptly puts me on hold.

Person #2: “Hello?”

Me: “Yes, I would like to order some rovings to pick up at your facility.”

Person #2: “You want to buy them here?”

Me: “Yes, if that is possible.”

Person #2: “Well, you have to make an appointment for that.”

Me: “Okay, who can I do that with?”

Person #2: “I thought you just wanted to place an order?”

Me: “I do, but I want to pick it up at your mill.”

Person #2 “Well you have to make an appointment for that.”

Me: “Okay, who can I do that with?”

Person #2 “Well, you have to talk to the person you just spoke with.”

Me: “Okay.”

Person #2 “What did you want to order?”

Me: “A sample pack of different colors.”

Person #2 “Okay, just a second.” (silence)

Person #1 comes back on the line: “I thought you just wanted to place an order?”

Me: “I do. I just would like to pick it up at your mill since I live so close.”

Person #1: “Okay, well you have to make an appointment for that.”

Me: “Can I do that with you?”

Person #1: “Yes.”

Me: “Okay, when can I do that?”

Person #1: “Well, it has to be on Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday.”

Me: “How about Tuesday.”

Person #1: “Tomorrow?”

Me: “Yes, is that okay?”

Person #1: “Well, what time?”

Me: “What time are you available?”

Person #1: “Anytime after 11:00.”

Me: “Okay, do you need any specific time?”

Person #1: (impatient) “Well, yes.”

Me: “I work at home, so my schedule is very open. Why don’t you tell me what will work best for you.”

Person #1: “How about 1 o’clock.”

Me: “Excellent. Thank you very much.”

Person #1: hangs up phone

Wow.

So, yesterday I made the trek down to the end of Main Street to visit the mill and buy some fiber. Apparantly they have a small room which they refer to as the “retail shop.” Someone used to regularly staff it, but things have changed and now you need to make an appointment and whoever is able to take a minute will come and let you in. A charming older gentleman who said he was the mill’s accountant let me in and hung out with me in the retail shop while I made my selections.

For $23.90 I walked away with this:

The wool is Romney. Not the softest or most luxurious, but it has a decent staple length and it is spinning up pretty quickly. That is probably a little more than a pound and a half. They had this ancient scale that didn’t seem to work very well, so I’m not sure our measurements were very accurate. Whether they got the better end of the deal or I did, who knows. I’m just happy to be spinning again. I’m thinking about making a shawl with it, but we’ll see how much it softens up upon washing.

What I really wanted was some Blue Faced Leicester, but that may have to wait. I don’t know why I am so resistant to ordering it online. I guess I am just waiting for all the fiber festivals because I like picking through and touching and smelling it. Perhaps I ought to open up a store here in Philly, since there seems to be a real hole in the market…

Anyway, onto the contest. Our winner is the lovely Lee Ann, which, given her zeal for spinning, seems highly appropriate. I spent all morning trying to take a decent picture of the available prize options, but I have a cheap camera and nothing was working. So, Lee Ann, I offer you written descriptions in lieu of photos. Choice #1 — 1 skein of Sockotta yarn in springy green, blue and yellow (enough for one pair of socks). 3 balls of Crystal Palace Micado Ribbon in a rich, chocolate brown/black. 2 hand wound, center-pull balls of handspun merino — one in a steel grey/blue and one a steel grey/blue plied with a dark purple. Drop me a quick note and claim your prize.

Okay, if you’ll excuse me now, there is some wool softly calling my name from the corner of my living room.