step one

in which Sarah and Beryl meander along to nowhere in particular

The lovely thing about meandering is that a human and a dog can be pleasantly curious about whatever appears along the way. A squirrel! An idea! A fragrant blade of grass! Fresh spinach!

The hard thing, at least for the human, is that she can tell neither how far she’s come nor how far she has yet to go. Did I say hard? Well in my case I guess that depends on the day, my mood, the measuring tool, and how much I feel the need to make, or cross things off, a list.

Take this fleece for instance. Looking at it one way I completed Step One—order dark grey Cormo—three years ago. And having just carded up the last few locks I can now put a big checkmark beside an imaginary item on my imaginary long term list: process Cormo fleece.

On the slightly less imaginary what did Sarah do this week list however, Step One— tease fleece—was crossed off three days ago — and noted only because I was super excited to be reacquainted with this fiber.

Step Two—clamp drum carder to countertop—was then a thing I greeted with a wee frisson of delight and promise. And steps Three, Four and Five (or however many their may have been), slipped into the ongoing meander of a yarn-centric life: prepare fiber, add twist, make things.

Looked at from that point of view, Step One of that meander --begin your life's work--took place in 1983 when, on reading an article by Deb Robson,¹ I turned a bowl upside down on a scrap of wood and traced the circle that would become the whorl of my very first spindle.²

It was, after all, that seemingly casual action that led me devote the best part of the following forty years and two months (speaking of counting), to twisting things into yarn. I wasn't counting any of it then of course— only noticing how much I loved it. And since it was unquantifiable in any way that made sense to others, I could fly under the radar, free to enjoy this thing I cannot not do. Amazingly, given all that spinning has brought into my world, it has mostly stayed that way.

Hepty #56

Life, however, also includes myriad things I actively avoid doing (paying bills, house maintenance, travel, making phone calls…), and in those realms breaking things down into doable steps is often the best way for me to get up and do what needs to be done. Step One: make a list.

I think I’m noticing this even more now that Beryl and I are together. Even as she is settling in beautifully and is pretty much a dream dog, much that we do is new for her and tiny steps seem to help her cope.

Sit? Oh. Yes. I can sit. I can lie down too. No? Just sit? Ok. Thanks for the treat. Yum. Shall I sit again?

Go out the door? Gosh. Well. Maybe. Ok. Yay a walk!

Get in the Car. Um. Eek. Do I have to? Will you stay with me? Really? No, I don’t want a treat. I don’t want to do this. Can’t we go back inside? Or turn this into a walk? No? Sit? Oh. Right. I can do that. Thanks. I do like peanut butter. Lie down? Ahh… no. Can I get up front with you? No? Gosh. Really? Darn. I see that my bed is here though. Ok. Well this is kind of boring. So maybe. Sigh.

(Luckily, this day trip — in which Beryl got to meet essential members of her new canine and human family—was a roaring success. Who knew it would be love at first sniff? And she’s a pretty mellow traveler once under way.)

I’m hoping that Beryl will soon trust that most car rides are pretty benign — just another little thing we do once or twice a week. But mostly I hope that she continues to be delighted by the myriad new beginnings and routine pleasures built into our simple, meandering and somewhat predictable days: lots of little steps yet few moments that require measurement or coercion.

Outside? To the back yard? Run in circles and pee and check to see if the Bunny has been around. Oh JOY. And can we go back in now? Cool!!! Oh I love this bed. Are you typing again? Excellent! You can rub my belly first though. Ahhhhhh.

(FYI the dog bed is stuffed with wool…of course)

Step One: Sit quietly with a cup of tea or coffee; notice the moment; open diary and make some lines. (Sorry — that is four steps). And because I never know ahead of time what I’m going to draw or how the moment will manifest on paper, even the seemingly dullest of days can be transformed into a micro adventure. (Indeed, the very active outwardly adventurous days generally get the most cursory of sketches— and they’re often not that interesting to draw except as a series of little steps crossed off the busy day list).

And perhaps that is the point of diaries — a place where there is room for the inner life to expand like a freshly carded fleece.

Who knew, back when I took Step One of this practice, that the same-old-same-new-draw-ink-and-color-my-life routine would become so compelling—day following comic Sarah day until suddenly December snow has turned into May seeds and it is time to make a new one so I can keep going.

Step One: tear paper.

Of course things do change from book to book.³ Size, paper and binding material are mostly determined by what I have on hand and each of those, in turn, influences how I draw.

When the linen thread ran out, I finished off the stitching with a bit of freshly twisted milkweed cordage.

But as with the best of work, what I’m mostly interested in is the focused pleasure of individual moments unfolding as I draw them, and the settling feeling of being in the midst of a long term flow.

Step One: make new diary.

Step Two: draw

Not yet ready to take leash-free walks—but maybe some day

Step Three: meander across the empty page with an adorable dog, just because.

1. Deb Robson, author of the Fleece and Flyer Sourcebook, cannot possibly be summed up in a single footnote so please click on the link to learn more —and if you’re a fan of wool and fleece read everything she’s written or published. She has also twice been a transformational force in my life — first with the article in Country Journal Magazine mentioned above (“A Guide to Hand Spinning: How to Make Yarn with the Simplest of Tools and Techniques.” Country Journal (March 1983): 64–72. Reprinted in a Country Journal anthology), and a second time ten years later when, as the editor of Spin Off Magazine, she published an article I wrote on Tapestry Weaving with hand spun yarn—and put my tapestry on the cover.

2. Lucky for me that first whorl was wide and slow and made from very light wood so perfect for a newbie. Even more luckily, I now get to spin on small super fast spindles designed and built by my son to suit my current yarn-making. The one in the photo above (one of the three Hepty Spindles I own), is made of walnut and eucalyptus and weighs 23 grams. My son no longer has the time, appropriate tools or shop set up to make them for sale, but if you’re in love with spindles, do seek out someone who has all those things and see what you can find. Or, indeed, turn a bowl upside down on a piece of wood and make one yourself. It might wobble a bit, but so what?

3. I talked about this a few weeks ago in Elbow Room