Cat Pause

On the verge of despair over the presently unfolding political catastrophe of the Debt Ceiling games, I'm focusing on my new kitten. I brought him home because of his poly-dactylism (paws with more than the usual number of toes) but have also discovered his charming personality. I knew I'd like him. To play with a kitten doesn't mean I'm no longer a Feminist, Marxist, Cultural Socialist, it just means I'm going to give it a rest.

The little cat was here in the store on Saturday, until I remembered the folly of allowing a  kitten in a weaving workshop.

My new rosepath scarf warp in 16/2 softest Swedish cotton, charcoal gray and the color of a luna moth,  was clawed and tangled even more as I tried to extract him, and the 36 claws he might possess.
(I haven't been able to get a good count of the toes yet, but there may be as many as 9 on each paw).

Meanwhile, customers arrived, children, parents, grandparents, campers from the campground across the street, two of my cat-craziest customer-neighbors (you know who you are).  The air was conditioned (very cool) and the kitten was frisky. No one was in a hurry to leave.

Since he isn't named yet, I soon had a list of kitten name suggestions, and people advocating for their favorite.  Jasper, Chester, Felix, Smoky, Hector, Goober, Tootsie, Thumper, Killer, and Stanley.  Several people strongly favored Tootsie.  I like Iko, not sure why.  But so far it seems to come down to Big Foot, the obvious name.  Kitten enjoyed all the attention, and I felt my ominous black-cloud thoughts lifting, refreshed in the company of good-hearted people.

Blue Bird and other signs

Have you heard that, once again, the world is due to end?  May 21, 2011 is Judgement Day. That's coming right up, but I feel that it's not likely to happen so soon, because, in a barn, in SW Wisconsin there is a small miracle. I've told just a few people about the new kitten I've been waiting for. Sometimes cats around here have noticeably big, fan-shaped feet, due to extra toes. I have acquired a strong desire to have one of these cats. I heard of a cat in the neighborhood that often has kittens with extra toes on their front paws.The cat-daddy is feral, and he's the one with the extra-toe genes. He comes around every spring, and this year he made his visit on schedule.

This must have been the longest gestation in cat history, but at last it's born. It was a 2-kitten litter, and just one kitten has extra toes--on each of its feet!  Four big paws!  It's mauve! I'm the first on the list, maybe the only one on the list, but the farmer's wife said I can have it.   It's just 2 weeks old, and its mother has it and the other kitten, without extraordinary feet, high up in a spidery hay mow. It takes a ladder to get up to find them. Just a few more weeks to wait, unless an owl, or some other mishap (end of the world?) comes along.

My old Mama Kitty hasn't heard  any of this news.  I'm going to call it Smoky. (What color is mauve anyway?)

Below Zero

I've been working on my rug orders during the deep freeze. Jean's New Year's resolution to walk every day (with me, though it is not my resolution) has been disrupted by the biting cold wind,
and our desire to stay in close by our fires. This multicolor striped rug turned out much prettier than I hoped, since I sometimes think this kind of rug can be too chaotic, or conversely, muddy. This one stayed bright, and has been a cheerful piece of work. Now my warp is at an end.

The papery things were some leftovers that survived the old shop fire: a piece of treasured tissue paper from a children's book store where I worked, long before this farm, and weaving, and children ever happened. The pink paper lantern, oh, I never tire of these. The little left behind gift card says, Happy Birthday, Sofie. Love Mom.

I'm feeling sentimental because my good cat, Feltbackie, finally died. It's below zero, and I'm feeling a little numb. Probably it's grief. And that same day, I stepped on, and broke my glasses. My new rug, the old papery things, my good dead cat, and the broken glasses, though unrelated, are now inextricably lumped together in my memory.

Winter Solstice

It's the winter solstice, or very nearly. When I came to the top of the stairs, the light from the sun, at its lowest angle of the year, lit up objects in a way that made the room look unusual. I love to be surprised by seeing something familiar in a new light. That feeling is especially wonderful when I see it in the face of someone I already love.

So here is the next Sassy scarf. The cat paw ends are fun to make, and I like how the felted wool fans the weave out a little, making the whole enterprise a little more irregular. I admit that I am a weaver who prizes irregularity, when I can get it. It's not an easy effect, and it doesn't come from long practice, or maybe it does, but it requires taking the chance that it may look like an unintentional mistake. It may be unintentional, but when I smile at what I see, then I'm satisfied, and if self-satisfaction isn't sassy, then I don't know what is. Happy Solstice!

so what? scarf

These have been good weaving days, sometimes snowing and gray, but today bright, and very cold. My Christmas customers are sparser this season, so it seems like a good time to get some extra work done, and fill up my shelves for better times just ahead.

This series of little twill wool scarfs on a linen and cotolin warp are the weaving equivalent of eating caramel corn, and since they have a little color attitude, I finished them with brown felted wool, cat toes. Just wrapping this little number around my neck has given me a little
burst of attitude. I think I'll make a couple more on this warp. So what?