Betsy Phillips's Blog, page 18

The Ghost

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So, as reported, The Butcher is back in town to move his family to Phoenix.

I don’t know if that’s necessary backstory or not.

Last night I let the dog out. As he was coming in, the cat went out. For the night, because I was going to bed.

In the middle of the night, I woke up because the dog was being restless and making weird noises. I listened for a minute to see if it seemed like he needed something, but no, he was just pacing around the house.

I then felt something jump up on the bed and walk around. I could feel the bed depressing. The cat, I thought. And then I was wide awake because I knew the cat was outside. I was like, did I leave the front door open? Is a window open? How is the cat back in the house? And I’m staring into the darkness, trying to get a look at the cat at my feet, but it’s dark and I don’t have my glasses on and I’m using this eye gel at night that makes everything even blurrier.

Basically, I see nothing.

But the house is quiet. It doesn’t sound like a door or window are open. Outside sounds are not louder than they should be.

So, I shut my eyes and try to convince myself that I’m having some kind of weird experience analogous to old hag–where even though I think I’m awake, I’m actually still dreaming–but where instead of sensing another person in the room with me, crawling on top of me, I sense a cat?

Like, even as I type this, I think that seems like the most plausible explanation. It’s some kind of mild form of old hag.

But I’m laying there in the dark and I feel the cat walking up the bed, right at my side, like a cat would do if its about to curl in the warm space of your curved back. And I figure it has to be the cat, got back in the house some way that I will just deal with in the morning.

So, there she is, heavy against the small of my back, and I reach down to pet her, just to let her know I know she’s there and… and this is the really weird part, which I still can’t decide means it was a kind of old hag experience or if it really was a ghost… there’s nothing there. My hand does not find a cat where my hand should find a cat.

But I could still feel the warmth on my back. I could still feel the bed sagging down in that one spot.

Anyway, the Butcher’s back and I suspect the orange cat is, too. At least for a night.

The Move

Everyone arrives today–The Butcher, my parents–to help The Butcher and his family move to Arizona. I feel like a skipping stone out across the water, hoping that, if I just concentrate on the far shore, I’ll make it, trying not to think about sinking.

We lived together, on and off, until I was forty, forty-one? Thirty-two years, if I’m counting correctly.

You just get used to having a person around after that long. To not needing plans or topics of conversation.

I’m going to miss them so much.

The Swatch Grew Again

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I’m trying to be better about not making my afghans giant monsters. I may still want a big border for this one. We’ll see.

Meanwhile, look at my turquoise gradient!

I really love the textures of the different yarns. I mean, sure, it’s because I’m not very consistent as a spinner, but it looks nice all worked up.

Oops, The Swatch Grew

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It’s so much fun to see the colors of the yarn play out. And the things that don’t have a lot of color changes have fun textures.

I don’t think I’m a writer anymore. I said that to some friends this weekend and it was such a relief to just say it outloud.

I mean, I don’t know for how long that will remain true, but it’s true for now.

I am slightly concerned that I fucked up my writing mojo with this antidepressant, but I feel so much better on it that I kind of don’t care.

I more feel like the grief just isn’t worth it.

The Swatch

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Honestly, how am I supposed to be interested in doing anything but working on this afghan? Look at that swatch!

I want to see how all the other yarn does. It’s so beautiful.

Fiber Festival!

The fiber festival in Dickson is a lot different than the one in Murfreesboro. For one, there are a ton more men, both staffing the booths and buying things.

But also, it’s a lot less fancy in ways that are hard to put my finger on, but that I like. And all the fiber people I’ve met are just so wonderful and generous with their time and their knowledge.

I’ve been thinking about the gender dynamic some and I have a couple of theories. One, this is a really hands-on thing. If you’re into woodworking, your wife can put you to work making all kinds of stuff and then, if you want to see if what you’re doing is going to work for the purpose you made it for, you need to be able to do the thing the machine is supposed to help you with. Also, a lot of people at Dickson are farmers who are selling their own animal’s products.

But the other thing is something I hadn’t really given much thought to–true household division of labor sits at the intersection of urbanity and class. This isn’t to say that country folks don’t have gender stereotypes or whatever, but that, even though there’s men’s work and women’s work, all work has to get done and a lot of couple do a lot of “helping.” He “helps” with the dishes. She “helps” feed the animals.

You need either the ability to hire help or the proximity of goods and services to truly sever the domestic and the public spheres. When the household well-being depends on work being completed, everyone has to do the work.

Anyway, look at everything I got!

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If you’re noticing a color theme, it’s because I once again laid out everything I have for The Professor’s afghan and decided I need more neutrals.

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If you want pops of color, you need to have something for them to pop against.

I’m also in the middle of trying to get some more of the llama clean and usable in ways that don’t suck. I’ve been picking through some of the browner stuff, just to give myself another neutral.

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Ha ha. you can see the big sticks and stuff I need to get out of there, but I really love how it looks like a sandstorm or something. It’s outside drying as we speak, then I’ll hopefully have some time today to pick those big chunks out and comb it a bit.

I’m having such fun with this, but I’m kind of at the point where I’m wondering if I have enough yarn or too much yarn or what.

I need to do a swatch, but I am somewhat concerned that, if I start crocheting on this, I’ll lose interest in the shit I have on the hook now.

Take Care

I’ve slowly been working myself toward a new philosophy of taking care of myself. That phrase “taking care of yourself” sucks, as it seems solely to mean “exercise.”

What I mean by it is something different. I mean it in the sense of easing one’s way. Like, when the old hymn says “God will take care of you. Through every day, o’er all the way.” God’s not making you jog. He’s not your personal trainer. He’s easing your burden. He’s doing loving things for you.

So, I’ve started asking myself this question: What can I do today to make Tomorrow Betsy’s life a little easier? Sometimes this means taking the time to notice when I’m low on something and putting it on my grocery list rather than going to the grocery store and trying to remember what I need when I’m there. Sometimes it means I sweep today instead of putting it off until tomorrow. Or making sure I get gas before the light comes on.

Trying to make sure my needs are met before it becomes annoying that they’re not.

And, y’all, it’s really pleasant.

Luxury

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I turned 45 yesterday. I did exactly what I wanted to do with a day off in the middle of the week. I got my hair cut. I had lunch with my sister-in-law and my nephew. I picked more llama fiber and spun up more llama yarn.

I feel really lucky.

Some days, I get to do exactly what I want to do.

A Little More Llama in My Life

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Tomorrow I turn 45. I have been wondering if I’ve done what I wanted with my life, like, am I wasting this one brief gift? And I’m kind of of the opinion that I don’t know. I think the things I wanted for my life were small and safe and that I have accidentally stumbled into something better, something that I couldn’t have imagined for myself.

I also feel like this all is a waste of time, to be honest. So, I’m not going to feel bad if the ways I burn time are less socially acceptable than the ways others burn time.

I’m content. I’m often delighted.

Anyway, these are the two llama yarns I’ve made so far. Once I accepted that it’s not a white, but actually a very light, sandy brown, I felt more like I knew what to do with it when adding other colors.

Also, I’m embarrassed to say that I figured out why it felt so weird to spin it. The staple length is really long. I needed to separate my hands further than usual so that I wasn’t tugging with one hand on a piece of fiber that I was holding in my other hand. That made things a lot easier. Ha ha ha.

It is nicely grabby, though, which I really like. But I also feel like the individual fibers are really distinct, which is a visual element I really like.

I pulled out all of the yarn I have done so far to take a look at where I am in terms of spinning.

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I’m really happy with my blues. I’m also very happy, it turns out, with my greens. I think I’d like a little more brown. I’d also like some more light gray.

That’s probably all the yellow I need. There’s not really any gold in the inspiration piece, but I think The Professor will forgive me for putting some in.

I think my reds are fine, but I want a little more of that salmon.

And then it just needs to be me and the llama, making some really light sandy colors. I think I want my yarn ratio to be about half and half. So, I have my pops of color about done and I need to set to work on my light background colors.

I Hate Cleaning. My Beloved Hobby is Cleaning.

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First of all, llama smells really good. Kind of like if a pine tree and a black jellybean had a baby. Second, that may have been too much fiber to try to process at once, but what the fuck. I’m learning.

Even after all the rinses, it was still dirty as fuck. I floundered around on the internet for hints and decided on hand picking it. This basically is where you take a little bit of fiber and pull and shake it apart until all the dirt falls out. It’s time consuming, but my fiber ended up as clean as anything I’ve bought. Even when I set the twist, which is a great time for the sin of failing to wash your fiber well beforehand to show itself, the water a little foggy, but not muddy.

The llama is weird to spin because it’s so soft. I was having a kind of sensory dissonance with it because my brain kept insisting the fiber was “muddy.” I think that’s because it feels so soft and slippery and cool?

It’s very grabby, so it drafts strangely. You have to pull firmly to get everything moving, but not so hard things pop loose. Imagine if you had two pieces of Velcro stuck together and you wanted the top piece to slide a centimeter to the right without coming off the bottom piece. You need firm, steady pressure, but not too much.

And I had all different kinds of fiber lengths, ranging from two to six inches, which was fun but also weird.

And it has a lot more of a halo (the bits of fiber that kind of stick out from the main thread) than I’m used to and I don’t know if that’s because of the picking or just a trait of the fiber or both. I’m going to have to crochet it up before I decide if the halo is scratchy or not, but at least when you touch the yarn, it’s very soft.

So, I’m hoping it’s more of an angora feel than a “the sweater you hated growing up” feel.