Archive for May, 2008

Daughter of Judith

judith

When I grow older, I want to be just like Judith McKenzie-McCuin.

She is a wealth of knowledge, a walking fibre encyclopedia. I feel smarter just sitting next to her at a meal. Spinning in the same room as her I feel like a rock star. Give me a batt she’s blended and I am a rock star.

batt

That is superfine merino top and dyed flax top. The merino is from Ashland Bay, the flax from Louet. Judith and her husband Nick build the most awesome drum carders ever, before they’re shipped out Judith blends about five pounds (yes, pounds) of fibre to break them in. The results are “happy accident” batts like the one above, the odds and ends from previous classes or colours she has multiple pounds of.

bobbin

My little one ounce piece of batt gave me about 30 yards of two-ply sport weight yarn. My inability to finish a sample in a class in legendary, I am still working on samples I took in classes over a year ago. To say I was warm and fuzzy after wacking the shit out of the skein would be an understatement. However I was downright giddy to hear Judith planned on blending more of her “happy accident.” I can’t way to see what she produces with it and lay my hands on more of it.

The Problem With Spinning

I spent the day in class with Judith McKenzie-McCuin, spinning to my hearts content. So now, three hours since I stopped I can still feel my feet and legs treadling. With another seven hours of class tomorrow my legs will be spinning for the next week, even though I physically stopped around 5pm.

Thanks Mum

I spent six hours cleaning Misterpants’ bedroom yesterday. To say that it was an unholy pit is a bit of an understatement. His floor was a covering of books, old clothes, and paper instead of the wool carpet I know is in there. Even the fish tank got a cleaning, good because the fish that was in it got flushed so long ago I don’t want to admit when it happened. Even now I still have a box of assorted toys and crap that need to find their rightful homes. As I sit here writing I can hear him in there tearing through the trundle of wood train parts and I want to cry.

In the middle of it all I had a sudden appreciation for my Mum, the woman who would wait till we were at school and then tear our rooms apart. I’d arrive home and everything would be in its proper place. Then I’d spend the next week bitching about the invasion of privacy and how I couldn’t find anything (yes, even at six years old). But now I know why she did it. Thanks Mum, for all the hard work. I may not of understood your need to do it when but I do now.