Fiber-licious

A year ago, I started took a spinning class, and yarn has never been the same. Yarn has short fibers, long fibers, blends. It has varying degrees of processing before it arrives at the doorstep. I've briefly considered owning bunnies (too much work) or sheep (too big to hide) in order to have fleecy goodness in the backyard. The idea of meeting the sheep whose fleece I was knitting became  possibility.

The four November Saturday mornings that I spent with the more seasoned spinners were magical in their own right. I grabbed some coffee and drove to the south part of town to an apartment complex community building. It must have been a very glamorous early 1980s setting with mustard yellow vinyl seats with coasters, a bar, and a wrought-iron fire place. Now it feels very comfortable and unassuming. The amenities are still very enjoyable but don't inspire the grasping feeling that brand-new, highly fashionable items foster. The huge windows cover two walls and overlook trees by the lake.  Geese lurch by the window. The sun feels warm through the windows. The spinning wheels would whir soothingly and we talked. We talked and talked and talked.

It was just four of us. Dawn, our teacher, Rhonda, and Connie. The group was quiet and boisterous by turns. We petted fleece and carded and looked through fiber magazines like teenage girls deciding what dreaming about what make up to wear.

I was very tense and fragile then. The spinning wheel wasn't coordinated with what I wanted to do. Yarn barf seemed to be the best that I could produce and I desperately wanted to be able to spin beautiful yarn. I still haven't relaxed enough to learn how to spin beautifully, but I can now make ropey awkward yarn. The wheel spins with a regular speed, and I enjoy seeing the bobbin taking up the yarn.

My life was tense and fragile too. My Ex and I were skirting the issue of our deteriorating relationship. The denial was huge and the truth threatened to be exposed at every turn. It took so much work to pretend that things were okay. Or, if it were a day when I was willing to admit that things needed work, pretending counseling could help was hurdle. 

Those Saturday mornings allowed me to be a beginner -- a very slow-learning beginner. Everything was a possibility and the other spinners were so encouraging and happy for me. It was a very safe place.  I'm still a beginner but it is less tenuous and halting. 

So yesterday morning Jill, Andie, and I met for breakfast. Then Jill and I took off for this oasis that I hadn't seen for a year. It felt so different. I'd started the day with people who I loved and cared about without the complications of conflict and expectations. I didn't have a husband (still a sad point), and I had my own spinning wheel. 

Frankly, I was worried. What if it weren't the same? Sometimes memories are better. Rhonda wasn't able to attend, and we'd brought friends. What if they didn't like it? As I began to pull my wheel out of the car, Becca arrived in her little yellow car and took out her Victoria. My heart began to lift. Dawn was making tea and cutting pies. Jill heated her soup in a crockpot. Laura and her daughter brought their wheels and rainbow roving. Connie eventually arrived with her usual enthusiasm. 

We spun and spun and spun. Jill knitted. We talked and ate. It felt so right and I had a quiet, contented feeling.