moose post and dog snow angels

I’m not sure I know what I am getting myself into here, but it seems I have set up a post box so you can send me bits of handspun to be made into a blanket.

P.O. Box 26
Bolton, ON L7E 5T1
Canada

It’s a small post box, waaayyy back in the far corner of the cute little postal station. I’ve been thinking about getting one for a long time, because one doesn’t always want to give out one’s home address for everything, and I seem to have a lot of Everythings these days. So now I have a post box for Everything PLUS yarn. It’s all good.

I had to be talked into this whole yarn thing, I admit. By several folks. One of them being Nicholas, who just looked at me and said very firmly, “You are NOT going to say no to all those nice people.” (Um. Yes, dear. I mean, No, dear.)

My own handspun (fibre by Spunky Eclectic)

You do realize this will take a while, right? I mean. I have six gadjillion WIPs, and I knit on about two-thirds of them every single week…meaning that each one takes longer to finish. So a knitted blanket is gonna be Long Term.

A long-term project I’d be completely bonkers to say no to. A long-term project I’d be more than honoured to work on and post photos of and share with you all. (I’m going to make my own version of this.)

But something occurs to me here, and really, in the end, this is why I’m agreeing to you folks sending me your handspun: Seems to me that a week or so ago, I asked you to send me your stories so I could get to know you better…and within a couple of days, the offers to send me skeinlets of handspun yarn started flooding in.

There is a reason that “yarn” is another word for “story.” Not everyone is a writer, not everyone wants to sit down and put their lives into a few short paragraphs. But we’re People of the Yarn, we knitters and weavers and spinners, and we tell our stories in merino and silk and fleece and weft and stockinette, in the twists on our spindles and the warps we wind.

In sending me your yarns, of course it really IS your stories you are sending me…in skeinlet form.

Thank you. I’m not completely sure what I’m getting myself into here, but I think that’s true of many of the best things in life.

In other news, the post office workers refer to me as “The Yarn Lady” now, because that’s what I’m always writing on the customs forms.

Rhythms

Living in Canada has taught me so much, not the least of which is the fact that scarves are not, despite whatever Hollywood might think, simply a fashion accessory. (I swear I did not know that they actually served a purpose before I moved to snow country. They always just seemed to be hot and in the way. Now I don’t leave home without one six months out of the year.)

One thing I never really expected to learn was that life has a natural rhythm to it, a rhythm that we in the industrialized world fight against nearly every moment of every day. In San Diego, there really are seasons, despite what folks think; they are just very subtle. In Canada, though, seasons are impossible to ignore. Sitting here at just after 4 PM on a wintery February afternoon, I’m looking out at snow that hasn’t stopped falling for well over twelve hours; two feet (at least) in my front yard; and a dark grey sky that looks like nothing I could have imagined during my San Diego days. This is normal for up here around the 43rd parallel. But the dark cold days make one want to curl up and hibernate, not run around and be busily productive.

In the First World, we’re supposed to push against Nature, to chain her up and defy her wisdom. We’re supposed to try to be just as energetic in winter as in spring; we’re supposed to work 8 to 5 even if we’re not morning people.

Canada has taught me about Extreme Weather Days: Days where the weather is literally so bad that the Powers That Be warn folks to stay off the roads, stay inside, make sure you have emergency food, blankets, and water in your car at all times. Weather here is no joke; there are days when despite heroic efforts, human stuff just has to stop and wait for Nature to finish what she’s doing.

Our wood nymph gets a wig

Chronic pain or illness has seasons as well. Sometimes you feel fabulous; sometimes you have to slow down in order to weather the storms.

Seasons force you to constantly re-evaluate Who The Boss is, and what’s really important in life. Your task list can be chock-full of Important! and High Priority! items…and yet if there’s a big winter storm coming, and the power goes out, and your car’s snowed in, then those Important! things have to take a back seat for a while.

That’s when you learn to admire the way the snow makes wigs for the bare trees. That’s when you discover that the snowflakes on your arm really do look like the ones in the Hallmark cards. And that’s when you discover that dogs can make snow angels, too.

The deep holes you see are where Buddy stuck his muzzle in while he sculpted this snow angel (click to embiggen)

Random Goods and Sillies

Great animals-with-personality pictures: Logan the dog. Emma the cat. Keira the cat. And Logan: The Puppy Pictures. All these furfolk are members of the same family, with captivating photos are by FatOrangeCat Studios.

Clever knitter who does not need to carry her chart around.

The Wool Boat. Selling yarn on the water. In a boat. (No charge if it falls in?)

Tim has good taste.

Tim snuggles on handwoven fabric made from handspun yarns

This is what I’m spinning right now. Spindle is a Bosworth Moosie; fibre is Glitterpigeon by AbbysYarns.

I have stories for next time. Your stories, I mean, not just mine.