No, I haven’t been arrested (although I did get caught by one of those &%$#^ red-light-no-yellow things the other day…). This is instead a tale about greed. The sort of greed that stems from the desire to spin lots and lots of yarn on a drop spindle in one go.
It all began when I had dyed some really beautiful roving (see blog header and this post) and thought longingly about how I wanted to use it. My hope, or rather, my desire was to spin enough to make something with it, perhaps a scarf or a pair of mittens.
I spun as finely as I could, given the spindle weight and wool. Thinly made singles laying one on top of the other. Carefully wound onto the spindle so that they could easily be unwound for plying. As my rapacity for twisted fiber kept growing, so did the cop on my little spindle, with each turn, ever fatter and heavier. (Much like the cliched human ‘cop’ gets from eating donuts…) Little did I know that I had over 260 yards of singles waiting to be plyed.
Once I started to ply, I realized where my avarice had taken me. I knew that Andean-plying wouldn’t work, for nothing, even the lure of freshly spun wool, is worth losing my circulation. But, despite this, my impulsiveness took hold of me and I began winding the singles unto my hand. Winding, coiling, wrapping. On and on it continued, my hand turning a slight shade of blue. I thought it would never end until…
My beautiful singles, so lovingly spun with such passion and desire decided to rebell. No longer aligned neatly next to each other, despite my carefully and consciously constructed order. Instead they were crowded, vying for space, clinging to one another, like commuters on the Tokyo subway. Becoming a tangled inseparable mound.
The desire to spin so much yarn so quickly had slowly turned into a lesson. One in patience. One in which I had to realize that getting so much done all at once leads not to triumph, but often, instead to a snarled mass of confusion. The gains I thought I had made were quickly lost. In untangling my cop, I had to divide it into two. Carefully coaxing the knotted singles out, freeing then from their constricting, limited space. Hoping that in time their liberation would allow me to try plying once again.
Although I was eventually able to ply, it took a long time. It was ultimately, however, a lesson well learned.