so yeah, it’s supposed to be a snowy weekend.

I’m just a bit baffled by one of the local weather reports:

“To get snow in April is not unusual,” said WCCO-TV Meteorologist Chris Shaffer. “In fact,B it’s our sixth snowiest month.”

that’s reassuring. I’d be worried if it wasn’t the sixth snowiest month. (figuring that the snow starts to fly in November, if it were ranked lower, I’d have to wonder…)

I’m thinking this isn’t the worst thing - I’m sure it’ll make the Harlot feel quite at home. I’m just hoping the snow stays light enough for travel this weekend, since I’m also heading to Yarnover on Saturday.

Quick and dirty style:

The Yarn Containment zone, with some yarn spilling over onto the neighboring book shelves. The shelves on the right: 90% of the books & mags you see are knitting (and now spinning) related. the few on the bottom are mostly sewing related.

the temporary home of the spinning fiber

The top three drawers are yarn (and fiber), the bottom two are fabric for the sewing I delude myself into thinking I’ll get to someday.

Not pictured: the basket of felting wools. because I’ve found moth evidence. that yarn is in the freezer right now. we’re hoping it hasn’t hit any of the other stash. (I will be poking through the rest of it after work throughout the week. and buying cedar and lavender and I don’t know what else.)

sorry for the lack of updates last week. I had to make a last-minute trip to Virginia (and can I just say, what the heck? that is not how I’m used to them being written here. is it a regional thing?), during which I did escape to a couple of lovely LYS - Fibersmyth (where I resisted the sock yarn that’s hand-dyed for them that has a bit of sterling silver in it) and Frog Eye (where an 8 oz ball of Interlacements dyed superwash fiber insisted it come home with me). Both shops (and their owners) were very nice and if you’re in the area (hopefully for more pleasant reasons than my trip), I’d highly recommend a visit.

In spinning news, I started spinning some Brown Sheep Mill Ends before I left, and spun a bit more on it as soon as I returned Sunday. (You have no idea how upset I was at the thought of the wheel not fitting into the suitcase.)

and in knitting news, I’ve been rather monogamous to Nagini (though I did take my Fair Isle Mitts along for the trip as ‘insurance’ knitting. you know, just in case I managed to whip through the socks*). I am a few rows shy of finishing the heel on sock the first. oh, and since you’re dieing to know, I chose the darker green (on the left) for the toe. for now. I haven’t kitchenered it yet (which may be a good thing if the sock isn’t quite long enough, I can add a few rows to the toe end instead of ripping out all of the heel. although that is tempting since it’s a plain stockinette heel, and I haven’t knit socks with a plain heel yet, and am unsure if I’m a fan or not.)

* I probably could have whipped through the socks (or at least the first one) if I hadn’t discovered a bit of a problem on the flight into Virginia. knitting happily away, I come to the end of the sole stitches, and somehow manage to notice a little run away stitch a good 8 or so rows down. mild panic. then I remember that I did manage to pack the tiny crochet hook (no small feat - I booked the flight the night before I left. so frazzled during packing). I attempted to ladder it up as is, though I knew from reading many knitting blogs and forums that it would probably be too tight. so I fished around for the safety pins and anchored that stitch and it’s neighbors and dropped down and did some surgery. got all three stitches hooked back up and looking good except at the start. pulling and poking the stitches wouldn’t make them play nice. then I look at the inside - I missed a strand/row all the way back at the beginning. at that point we were close to landing, so I just packed it up.

the next morning I worked it out at my grandmother’s table after breakfast. she (a knitter back in the day) commented that she rarely fixed her mistakes. If it hadn’t been on the inside of sole of the foot, I probably would have left it, but I knew it’d feel awful, so I fixed it again.

and it is Kashka.

I came home from my spinning class, bypassed my office and headed for the tv (where dh was watching House). Went to go stalk my spinning wheel on ebay, turned on the light and thankfully stopped before getting too far, since a glass jar holding knitting needles was no longer in one piece. Chaos (no, not the cat Chaotic) had visited my room.

behold:

which used to be more-or-less neatly located in/on here:

when I opened the door, the shelf was covering the mess, knitting needles were strewn, and there was broken glass in the path. we vacuumed/cleaned that up and removed the shelf.

as punishment for her actions, I will be moving the shelf to a different wall (where it will hopefully be less prone to tipping. for that matter, Kashka will probably be less likely to make it her perch), rendering it useless as a kitty perch for looking out the window.

in knitting news, there is potential disaster brewing there as well - I am dangerously close to running out of yarn before I finish this hat. thankfully, I’m decreasing every other round, so there is a smidgen of hope that I will not. (the yarn, should you have some in your stash, is Southwest Trading Company’s Karaoke, color 286 -Copper-, dye lot 2.)

I’ll update you on the roving I dyed and my adventures in spinning tomorrow.

I’m joining in the poetry reading this year.

Since I am an Irish dancer, and Brigid is an Irish Goddess/Saint (depending who you talk to), I give you a poem by an Irish poet.

THE FIDDLER OF DOONEY
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
William Butler Yeats

When I play on my fiddle in Dooney.
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Mocharabuiee.

I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.

When we come at the end of time
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;

For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle,
And the merry love to dance:

And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With ‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!’
And dance like a wave of the sea.