Can I just say now how cranky hand carding makes me without a drum carder? The mere thought of it makes me extremely cranky.

The first week of high school has gone swimmingly for Josey. His school is amazing, and I was informed yesterday that he wants to play bass guitar. Bass. Rhythm is genetic, I’m sure I read that somewhere (or just made it up) so obviously he got all his good genes from me. Of course, general awesomeness is also genetic (citation needed) so that was from my side of the family too– I knew my baby was too smart to be a drummer.

Deb from Come Yarn Over left a message for me asking if I could make my little sheep with tape measures inside as customers were asking for some. I haven’t called her back yet. First because I wanted to get a tape measure and see if it was possible (it is) and second because I wanted to blog about it.

This is the difference between men and women. Women think it’s a super cute idea and want to know if it’s doable, and if it is what kind of variations are possible. I’m going to paint with a broad brush here but in general crafty women get cerebral about design and want to help troubleshoot.

Men on the other hand (crafty or otherwise) overwhelmingly turn into immature little boys that think all things potentially butt-hole  related are fascinating and immediately suggest that the fob for the tape measure should come out of the sheep’s butt. This idea is generally hilarious to the men folk, and they think it awesome and good. I have no idea why but every single man that has heard about (prior to my prototype) or seen (post prototype) the sheep tape measure project has insisted that the tape should come out the sheep’s ass.

Here’s the deal fellows, if you want a tape measure to come out a sheep’s ass then you can order one ($9 + shipping) from me special. Email me. Otherwise they are going to be nice and not have anything come out the ass.

My singles from the dyed roving are coming out a little fuzzier than I’d hoped. I’m  adding a little extra twist for a harder more defined yarn. Sometimes dying does a little to correct the texture, this time that was not the case– I’m sure I’ll live through it. Pretty sure at least.

Today is Josey’s first day of high school. I think I can say with some certainty that he’s taking the transition from home-schooling to high school better than I am. Pretty much any casual observer could say that, since I’m the one freaking out and he was (as usual) all not freaking out.

While dyeing and drying though I spun up a skein of just plain old 2-ply sock yarn, which I now need to finish plying the scraps left on the bobbins so I can get to spinning the colored stuff.

I’m going stir crazy. Resting is easy, unless I’m absolutely supposed to do it because it’s good for me– then it becomes a huge inconvenience. Suddenly all those books I was looking forward to reading become too pedant and dull to actually describe with words. I start resenting everything, I know it’s irrational but it totally makes sense in the moment.

I decided I absolutely hate it when people tell me to “Take it easy.” Really? Can I please have detailed instructions on how to take it easy? I have no idea, I’ve been taking it hard with chocolate sprinkles– is that not the right way? I’m so confused.

Also, I can’t tell if my camera is taking crap pictures, or if I’m just unable to focus my eyes clearly because I’m in pain. I tried putting my reading glasses on but that didn’t help. I can’t tell if their smudged if I just can’t focus my eyes. I’m not even sure what I’m typing right now.

Theresa definitely has talent working with dyes and raw wool, and it was a delight to spin up with this batch.

I didn’t have to go overboard with pre-drafting, for the most part I just unrolled and drafted straight from the top. I could have probably added a bit more twist and gone for a harder better defined yarn– but I didn’t, still I’m pretty happy with the way things turned out.

There it is on the bobbin. And here it is as a finished skein:

I’ve tried to get back into a regular pace with life which given my short attention span, it probably only surprises me that I haven’t quite got a grasp on it yet.

I don’t actually have a problem plying, except when I’m actually plying. I love the magical way it makes uneven bits disappear, I love balanced yarn, I even love the tweedy effect with blends like this one. I just do not love doing it.

For some reason the task is much more tolerable when I have something else I could be, or should be, doing. In this case I probably should clean out my car, do some laundry and plan dinner.

Oh how I love plying!

I pluck it right from the tiny sheep in my living room. Where he got it was from FiberOptic on etsy. He’s a wise little sheep with very good taste.

My other fiber order got lost in the mail.

This is a 50/50 blend of bamboo and merino, handpainted in shades of brown, deep brown and black.

This is exactly how I like my coffee: Rich and full of wool.

I’m spinning it up as a lace weight because I feel the need to do some lace knitting coming on.

I fed him this morning and although he likes the little freeze dried bloodworms he told me (and I quote) “I’m so sick of these motherf*cking flakes in this motherf*cking tank.”

Lots of attitude, movie aficionado, lean mean meme machine. Itchy is my kind of fish.

In addition to Itchy I also put in a fiber order with Little Barn again. This is the first time in practically forever that I’ve been able to buy a significant amount of spinning fiber and I’m pretty antsy because it’s being shipped UPS ground from Alabama to Oregon.

I have plowed through the last of the white BFL making a three ply worsted weight on my wheel.

It’s a frustrating balance, I sold my drum carder on the cheap to a lady taking up felting so that I wouldn’t be tempted to put off purchasing a new better drum carder and to clear out enough space to house a new better drum carder. Of course, things happened and the money for the new better drum carder never magically appeared. (Well, sorta– it did actually but I spent it on bills and food for the children and practical things.) So the things I normally look forward to doing when I get new and unusual (at least to me) fibers are off the table at the moment.

Oh yeah, I could totally blend fibers with my hand cards– except that would require me to actually try to match rolags, and then there’s that whole using hand cards. It’s one of those labor equations that comes down to investing money or suffering, I’m one of those people that prefers to invest the money and skip the suffering.

It’s gorgeous isn’t it?

Those trees are on the neighboring plat, the rock outcropping is to the South-East, which is going to make for some awesome sunrises.

Believe it or not, this is zoned as a residential neighborhood. Rural residential (which means animals are okay) but still residential.

My inner rock hound is delighted, being so close to all the best places to find the best shiny things nature can provide.

I’m so indescribably happy. And worried. Happy because I’ve wanted to get a place where we could keep a few larger animals (not horse large, but a dairy goat would be nice) and some chickens, and because I really still don’t like the way our neighborhood has changed over the last few years (all the cool people got divorced and moved away, leaving room for not so awesome people to move in and start annoying me.)

And worried because we have a whole property to plan and develop.

a finished sock upon my lap.

If I die before I wake;

that second sock I won’t have to make.

the verdict is "orange tree"-- even the alligator confirms it

It’s the leaves. The leaves have grown out and given it away as an actual orange tree of some kind. Since I don’t know which part of the seed it sprouted from there’s no telling if it’s identical to one parent or a cross between the seed bearing parent and the pollen producing parent. I could guess, but it would be just that– a guess.

The weather looked like it was going to clear up so my little citrusy babe has spent his first whole day and night out of doors in anticipation of the great glowing orb’s return. He doesn’t look too distraught at the change in light and temperature, although I can honestly say that my desk looks very sad without a wee orange tree on it.