Spin

Elsa, our svelte labradoodle who is shaped like Grover from Sesame Street, had surgery on Monday to remove a large cyst from her tail. She is healing nicely, but is managing to get to the stitches — even with one of those cone collars on her giraffe-like neck.

So I am staying home, watching her, keeping her close, checking on her every minute. Meanwhile, I am doing all of the myriad household things and studio things and other things… and checking on Elsa every minute. Later today, a larger cone collar will — hopefully — solve the problem. But for now, my day is like a quilt with tiny remnants stitched together and I am pathetically distracted. As I type, Elsa snoozes at my feet. It’s a stormy day, I’m grateful for the sanctuary of home. And in between doing other things, I’ve been spinning yarn.

I always return to the therapy of yarn spinning, so portable an activity on my little drop spindle. I can follow Elsa from room to room, position myself where I can spy on her and her pathetic-looking shaved tail with the feathery poof at the end, and spin. And in this activity, I feel kinship with untold numbers of other women who carried drop spindles in their pockets and aprons, and in the minutes between other tasks, and while watching animals and children and pots and pans, spun. For them, this was an act of survival: making clothing for their families. For me, it’s an expression, a professional pursuit, a pleasure. In the studio with Elsa yesterday I drum carded several batts from which to spin yarn, the colors reflecting end-of-summer colors. Now I have an abundance of fiber ready to spin.

For those of you who love to use fiber, to knit/weave/crochet/felt, I encourage you to get a drop spindle and learn how to make yarn. There are free tutorials online to learn the basics and more, and wonderful books to help you become more masterful at spinning. You don’t need a wheel, you don’t need a sheep or a room full of fiber…