Random Acts of Spindling

This time last year I had picked up my 8 year old spindle at about midnight and with the help of You Tube finally figured out how to use it. For months I was happy making the ugliest yarn on the planet. It was lumpy. It was bumpy. I carded as many colors of roving I could get off ebay into tangled little rolags that sat lined up in a bread basket waiting for me to mangle. I managed to knit most of it up into crazy hats and socks and still have many little cones (aka toilet paper rolls) lined up on a shelf to admire. Soon the little spindle gave way to the big wheel. My Ashford is magnificent. She spins like a dream. I hardly do anything but hold my hands out to her and she works the magic while I daydream or get lost in some TV show. But now as my spinning anniversary draws near it is time to get back to basics and really learn how this all works. Unlike the wheel, the spindle only works when I am doing my part. I have to be totally in tune with what is going on or it falls to the floor and I am left with a ragged, twisted piece of wool that is near impossible to rejoin. This red merino is so soft and slippery that it is really testing my ability. It has a million fuzzy joins already but I am sure it will make some lovely socks one day if I can just get in tune with my @#$! spindle.