Straighten Up and Ply Right

True, I am exposed to more yarn fumes than most people (thank you, Universe), but lately I've been thinking that I need to spend more time spinning.  Or it could be the change of seasons inching toward this hemisphere - I made the same proclamation this time last year.  Getting to spend the whole day in class with Kathryn Alexander probably had more to do with it than anything. 

I realized when I sat down to spin that I have been working exclusively on Caora Dubh for so long that I have nearly forgotten how to do anything except spin from the lock.  Roving totally flummoxed me.  I did eventually remember what to do, but not before I thought to myself:  "Gee, you really need more practice".   So, in the interest of becoming a better spinner (and by extension, a better knitter), I did a little fiber diving in the stash basket (can you believe that my fiber stash is still only one basket?  Okay, it might be overflowing a little).  I came up with a gorgeous bit of fluff I was given in class at Black Sheep Gathering last year.  It's double-coated shetland which was hand-painted and then combed into top by Judith McKenzie McCuin.  I liked the two plies I came up with so much that I took it into my head to try for my first "Art" yarn.  I think it turned out more like "Frank" yarn.  As my mother says, Not everything you do can be a great success.  Meet Frank:

I plied it with crochet cotton, and a strand of mylar embroidery thread.  And what have we learned, Dorothy? 

1.  Crochet cotton is kinda cool to ply with because it is plied in the same direction (Z) that my singles were spun.  Plying them all the other direction (S), worked out just fine.

2.  Crochet cotton comes in a limited color range, particularly if you only have time and inclination to hit one national chain fabric store to get it.  But if you get lucky, the sort of flat color can have an interesting and unifying effect on hand-painted roving.

3.  Mylar thread, however tantalizing and sparkly it may seem, is a pain in the ass. 
    3a.    One strand will all but completely disappear between two plies of wool and one of crochet cotton.
    3b.    Plying another strand of mylar thread on top of the other four strands will have four outcomes:
            3b.1    The previous four strands will be over-plied.  DUH.
            3b.2    The second strand of mylar thread will in no way attach itself cohesively to the now over-plied previous four strands, resulting ghastly loops of loose mylar thread.
            3b.3    Too much mylar in your yarn will cross the line between Delicately Glittery and Vegas Showgirl, without ever looking back.  And it feels like sandpaper cat litter.
            3b.4    The Knitter-Wanna-Be Spinner will resolve to stop spinning and start looking for beer.

Once I had removed myself from the situation (good thing we keep the beer in a whole different room), I was able to calmly determine my course of action (and here is where the yarn fumes are obviously at work):

Plan A:    UN-Ply the second strand of mylar thread from 300 yards of finished yarn.

Plan B:    Throw away the whole wretched mess and resolve that "Art" yarn is for pretentious show-off spinners anyway.

I know what you are going to say:  Better to waste yarn than time and sanity.  Better to drink beer than, well, a whole bunch of things.  Better to learn your lessons and move on.  And you will be right. 

So where the hell were you, Gentle Readers, when I resolved that Plan A would be the way to go?  You people know by now that I require constant supervision.  Or Intervention.

Plan A was an absolute nightmare, whose net results were a headache, 300 yards of mediocre "Frank" yarn, and a resolution never to Un-Ply.  Anything.  Again.  Ever.

Class Dismissed. 

Spinning Gods = 1, Wanna-Be Spinner = -1.
 

Caora Dubh (Black Sheep) Update #3

Three full bobbins!  Sometimes I just tickle myself to death.

My journey to Handspun Nirvana finds me at this wide spot in the road:  In only two more bobbins, I will be able to make 5-ply.  For those who (like me) are weak in math, this means that I'm more than halfway there.  I'm doing my best not to quantify my progress, since I fear I do enough of that when I knit, but Dang!  This is really feeling like some tangible momentum.  I have no clue how many yards are on these, rank beginner that I am.  I figure I'll be able to measure the yardage better after it's finished anyway.  Since the fleece weighed 5 1/2 lbs to begin with I feel pretty confident that there's enough to get a sweater.  But even if not, I am really enjoying the delusion.

Spinning is such a great discovery that I can't believe how late in my life I came to it.  It's a little like finding out at 39 years of age that there is such a thing as chocolate, or sex, or motorcycles.  Who Knew?  Man, I can't believe I made it this long not knowing about this.  I love spindles.  I love their portability, their beauty, their simplicity.  But there is something so very magical about the wheel...The rhythm, the feel of the treadles under my bare feet, and of course, the incredible hand of the fiber.  And if all that dreamy goodness weren't enough, the final bonus: Yarn!  I made Yarn!  No wonder spinners are such lovely and giving people.  They must wander around in a barely-contained fog of fiber-induced ecstasy.

I moved the steaming pile of horror that is one of my current work (day job) projects to one side in an effort to see my desk calendar today.  What do you think I spied?  Hidden under the refuse of file folders, unintelligible reminder notes and the detritus of my cubicle-dwelling half-life was the date "10-15" circled in red (Crayon? Lipstick?), and the following note: "Rhinebeck". 

A ray of spiritual hope, right there in the soul-sucking intellectual squalor of my office job:  In only one more week, I'm going to meet knitters, and see sheep, and autograph books. 

Fiber Ecstasy, indeed.  Even spinning's got nothing on that.
 

Caora Dubh (Black Sheep) Update #2

Say hello to my fleecy friend.  When we last visited her, she was getting a bit smaller, and I showed you some sad-looking little scoured locks.  Here are the rest of the steps I do when I go on a spinning jag:

I grab a lock, and snip off the tip with my dressmakers shears.  I elected to do this only to preserve the deep black color - the tips are not felted or weak, just sun-bleached.  Then I get my dog's trusty $4.97 brush (Paisley doesn't mind loaning it to me for this - she's not a regular fan of the brush), and use it to untangle the lock.  I hold the cut end and work on the tip half of the lock first, then swap ends and do the cut end half.  Then I swap ends again and brush from as close as possible to the cut end, all the way out to the tips.  Any shorter fibers, vegetable matter, and second cuts (of which there are very few) come right out in the process, leaving this:

luffy, no? Listen closely and you can hear it whispering "sssssspiiiiiiiiiinnnnn meeeeeeee.."

As each lock is trimmed and brushed, I line them up in rows so the ends and tips are all still in the same direction, in this somewhat larger mesh bag. There are about 30-40 locks in there, if you're wondering.  That's all there is to it.  I just snag a few locks and spin them up whenever I want.  Sometimes I head straight for the wheel at this point, and sometimes I zip the bag shut and call it good.  Depends on my whim, energy level, and the proximity of frosty beverages.  I've noticed that I approach spinning differently than knitting:  Knitting is all business for me, with clearly defined goals, deadlines and project landmarks.  Spinning is the opposite - I treat it like vacation, playtime, or dessert.  No hurry, enjoy it as long as I can, only in it for the fun of it.  Both approaches feel really good to me, so I guess I must need both activities.

Aren't these just the cutest little locks, waiting to be spun?  The look like little fiber creatures.  I shall call them Wooly-Blobs.  And they shall be my friends.

Once I do make it over to the wheel (usually after the appropriate beverage interlude - we aren't savages, after all), I make some of this:

Who's your daddy?

Which, if you are closer to it, looks like this:

I haven't decided yet what I want this to be when it grows up.  I'm thinking of a 5-ply, just to see if I can do it.  Never have made a Guernsey before...

Of course, there is the issue of how much yarn I will actually get (notwithstanding the issue of whether I will live long enough to spin all 5.5 lbs).  And the fact that as a rank beginner, I have no reason to think I will automatically get the yarn I think I am spinning for.  It's a magical surprise journey! 

Not unlike knitting, actually: Raw Materials + Big Fat Idea + Tenacity + Irrational Optimism = Anybody's Guess!