Another Hobby I Don’t Need

Hey ladies...

I’m delighted that a few of you are actually paying attention to my ramblings.  Here’s some more for you.

Dating a man who makes the most exquisite spindles, bowls, etc., I took a look at his Russian spindles.  For those of you who don’t know what they are, they’re a supported spindle (meaning you spin with the tip in a small bowl), and spin very fine yarn.  Fine yarn?  My interest was piqued.  In true Pam fashion, I didn’t get just one to try to see if I liked it.  I bought five... yes, count them, five.

So today, I decide I’m going to spin using one of these delightful little sticks.  I get my fiber out, tease it a bit, get the spindle of the day and the bowl, plop it down in front of me, attach the fiber to the spindle, and give it a spin.

It flew across the room and dented the wall.

Okay, I think, this is going to take a bit of practice.  I come from the spinning wheel world, and I rapidly realize that this is an entirely different beast.  So I attach the fiber again, wind a bit on, draft out some, and give it another twirl.

I got nailed in the forehead.

Third time is a charm, think I, so I go through the entire ritual again.  This time, the spindle stays in the bowl, it spins, and I think I’ve got it.

It sucked up the entire length of roving, unspun, onto itself.

So now I’ve put the entire package away to try again tomorrow.  I’ve found it not prudent to try and do something when I’ve got a bandaid on my forehead, I’m pissed off and frustrated, and would like to break the spindles in half.

Think I’ll watch “My 600-Pound Life”, flop on the bed with a cup of joe, and eat Cheetos for the rest of the night.