Yarn Dyeing Hiatus

Hello everyone, and if you’ve come from my yarn dyeing adventures, welcome to my website that stores old writing. Now that I have had some time and space to think, I wanted to expand on my plans for putting my business on hold.

Firstly, what is my yarn dyeing hiatus going to look like? (If you’re here for the why, scroll down to the next segment)

After my trunk show with Spin Me a Yarn, I will not be dyeing any large lots of yarn. I have a little inventory of bare yarn left, so if you were hoping something might restock, send me a message tout suite via the contact form on my shop website. Unless someone requests it, I won’t be dyeing any of that leftover yarn with any sense of urgency however.

My web shop will remain open. All yarn listed is in stock and will ship promptly, Monday to Friday. If I decide to put some dyed to order listings of remaining inventory up, they will have a turn around of 3-5 business days to allow for adequate drying.

So, WHY am I going on a yarn dyeing hiatus?

Sometimes you reach a point where something has to give.

It was perhaps a bit impulsive, putting my social media posts out there about going on an indefinite hiatus. I certainly did not do so in an organized or professional manner, as I gave a couple of yarn shops I had plans with a bit of a shock I imagine (none of the work with them was going to change, but I was unclear about that).

But I knew in that moment that if I did not make those posts on Facebook and Instagram that I may be afraid to move forward and not make the changes that were desperately needed.

As it is, my brain is trying really hard to put all of this stuff “over there” where it can be ignored, so I have to keep going over to that box and open it, saying “no, we need to deal with this.” These changes are all of a personal nature but they prevent me from being as reliable as a business owner during a global pandemic, and that’s not fair to customers, be they yarn shops or individuals.

When will I be back?

You’ll have to be flexible with me on this answer. Currently my plan is to open up wholesale inquiries for spring bases such as Silky Linen and Bamboo Squish as early as the end of January, but maybe the end of February.

Outside of that, I’m not sure. I don’t expect the pandemic will ease locally where I am until at least June if not Fall 2021, as we don’t anticipate having a vaccine locally available to the general populace until the spring I think. Even then I have absolutely zero faith in our current provincial government to distribute it in a fair and reasonable way. This is really relevant to my business because I simply can no longer operate at a financially sustainable capacity while also providing childcare 40 hours a week to my young children.

Couldn’t I just send my eldest to school and my youngest to daycare? Sure. Schools local to me are currently operational for in-person learning, and there are daycares in operation (although ours had to close due to the pandemic). But they could also close at any time. And quite frankly I just don’t see the risk of being infected with this deadly virus as being acceptable in order to continue my business when financially my family currently has the ability for me to stay home with them. Are my kids hurting being isolated from their peers? You bet. So am I. But that is the tradeoff to not taking our chances with this virus.

(Please know that I recognize that many cannot make this decision. I am furious with all levels of government right now and hope what energy I have left now can be directed at messages to every level that action to protect the vulnerable and oppressed is taken immediately).

In Summary

My web shop is open for in-stock yarn shopping with prompt delivery.
Inquiries for future partnerships for the spring and onwards of 2021 are still welcome, however replies will not be instantaneous by an means.

But I want to be clear that, outside of the above, from now until at least February 1, 2021, I am not dyeing yarn, or otherwise working on the business, be it creating promotional content, running giveaways, or what have you.

Will you see the occasional social media post from me? Sure! I’m still knitting and crocheting and even plan to dye yarn in a more recreational way. I don’t want you to forget about me entirely after all ;).

Thanks for reading folks and knit/crochet/craft-on.

Excerpt – Haven

The setting is Marsha’s humble apartment where she lives with her grandmother who she supports financially. Most surfaces in the apartment are metal, somewhat worn but clean, the furniture fixed to the floor as on a boat. The front door leads almost directly into the main room, best described in its function as a kitchen, off of which are two bedrooms and a bathroom. It’s evening; Marsha was out all day. Marsha’s grandfather, whom she presumed dead, has suddenly appeared at her doorstep. Her grandmother is overjoyed and has just disappeared into her room to grab an overnight bag. (The story is told from Marsha’s point of view).

My hands fell to my sides, one fist swinging gently against my thigh, trying to fill the void grandma had left in the room.

“Um,” I managed after a moment, “Would you care for some tea?”

“Oh,” he replied, his composure never wavering. “Do we have time? That would be lovely.”

I laughed in spite of myself.

“I’m sure grandma will be a little while at least,” I conceded, thinking of the amount of time she took in the bathroom every morning and evening. I hid a small yawn as I filled the kettle with fresh water and put it on to boil. Having something to do with my hands helped. Sheepishly, I fetched out the nice tea set, hoping to all things that it wasn’t coated in dust. When had we used it last?

“You’ll have to excuse me,” I admitted as a thought crossed my mind. I turned a little to look over my shoulder at him. “I’m afraid I don’t know how to serve tea in the formal Japanese style. I don’t even know — is there a name for that?”

I blushed as I continued to rustle about for things in the kitchen. I hated sounding naive. But there it was.

“There are names.” I could hear him smile. Hopefully that meant I had not managed to offend my new-found grandfather. “But I would hardly expect someone to provide a tea ceremony to an unexpected guest.”

Not good, I thought, cringing inside. Oh well. I turned to face him, having run out of things to do while I waited for the kettle to boil.

“Grandma says she learned to cook and eat in the Japanese style for you,” I finally blurted out, looking for something to fill the silence.

He shrugged. He had taken a seat in the kitchen table booth, just next to grandma’s pile of pillows.

“Many people have learned to do so, and adapted it to suit their tastes accordingly,” he replied, folding his hands coolly in front of him.

I realized I was holding my breath waiting for him to continue, but apparently that was all he had to say on the matter. The kettle began to whistle, so I pulled it up and poured the hot water into the tea pot’s mesh metal tea strainer, balancing the lid on top while I brought it over to the table with the tumblers.

“Will Elena be having some too?” he said, nodding at the third tumbler.

“Who?” I replied before realizing he was talking about grandma. “Oh, well, if I’m going to make tea, I better leave some for grandma.” I looked away again, instead focussing on the tiny hourglass we normally never used to make sure our tea was steeped perfectly. The little granules seemed to take forever to drop from the top to the bottom; I was glad I had not trusted my judgement of time. What hour was it, anyway?

There. The final granule dropped and I began to lift the tea strainer but recalled Chiyo performing the tea ceremony for us, and couldn’t remember her doing so. So instead I held the lid of the little pot in place as I poured tea between the three tumblers.

“Relax,” Jurou said suddenly, making me jump and hit my knees. Secured to the floor, the table was unmoved, so the china did little more than stir. He smiled uncertainly. “Please, I know we’ve never met before, but we are family so—,”

“I’m ready!” grandma burst out of her bedroom, using her carpet bag to push open the door. She blushed and tucked a stray strand of grey hair behind her ear. Blush? Or was that makeup she had applied to her cheeks?

“You don’t need to dress up for me,” Jurou read my thoughts exactly as he stood up. He tutted, offering an arm nonetheless, which she took with a smile, allowing herself to be led her to the door.

“The tea…” I said meekly, still at the table. I didn’t really want to keep being a third wheel to their happy reunion, but tea wasn’t exactly cheap.

“Oh,” murmured grandma, turning to look at me. “Weren’t you wanting to get to sleep, dear?”

“It’s a Ones, grandma,” I reminded her. “It’s not like I work in the morning.”

Jurou patted her arm.

“Do not worry about the tea,” he said to me. I glanced sideways before opening my mouth to find the best way to protest such a waste, he stopped me with a gently raised hand. “I promise, I will make sure your tea jar never turns up empty in the coming months. It’s the least I can do for being away for so long.” He smiled at me, then at his blushing bride who returned the smile, cuddling up to him.

I blushed profusely this time, feeling my cheeks warm with shame that he had pegged precisely what it was I was concerned about. Neither took notice however, letting the door lock behind them without even a goodbye.

And so, I sat there stunned, still in the kitchen booth with the tray of tea for three.

“Your tea jar never turns up empty,” I muttered to myself grumpily, touching my still-warm cheek. We were doing fine. Just. Fine. I took the tray of tea fixings to the counter, abandoning all but one tumbler rebelliously before going to my room. We didn’t need his help. What did he know of moving up in the world? Clearly he had money.

The tea went on my nightstand as I changed into my nightgown and piled all the pillows in the corner so that I could prop myself up. I recklessly threw my time capsule next to them before crawling into bed, balancing the tea in my hand. Settled, I looked at the tea’s pale yellow hue ruefully, knowing it would deprive me of sleep for the next hour or more. I put it back down on the nightstand. Such a waste.

The photographs from the capsule seemed to hold less magic than they had only moments before. A real piece of my family history was walking around with my grandma right now. Questions swam in my head. He had not seen the descent, I reminded myself. But still, I had questions, like who was he really? Who did he work for? How did he meet grandma? Where had he been all these years (and did grandma know)? Was he back for good? And for the love of all things, why hadn’t I asked him these things while he had been sitting in my kitchen??

I smacked my thigh in frustration as I drew my knees up into the same insolent pose Chiyo had taken while pouting earlier. Firmly I closed my eyes as she had done, hoping it would make it all go away somehow. It did not, but it did stop my eyes from bouncing around the room with each new question I thought of. It was calming. Opening my eyes as little as possible, I returned the capsule to its hiding place, un-heaped the pillows, and tapped the day-lamp so it dimmed to almost nothing until it brightened again when it was morning. Cocooning into the comforter the way I had when I was a small child, I pushed my thoughts to the edges of my mind and reached instead for sleep.

Excerpt – Bottled Fish

An excerpt from Bottled Fish, a short story inspired by “A Fish for Eve”, “Spawning Wall”, and “Root Faucet” by Ursula Vernon

He wore a hooded robe of deep charcoal; his hands smeared with the same. As he slouched over a stone slab, knees scraping the ground, the glass bottles hung behind him twinkled in the dimmest light. They sung as they scraped the stone wall.

And their contents

screamed.

*****

If you grew up in a world like this one, all you knew was dirt. Dirt and darkness. The trees all hung low, bows kissing the ground. Breezes sometimes fluttered through them, but never threw them up any higher than the arm could reach. They stayed weighed down, keeping the earth underneath as cool as could be.

And they grew so close together! Space between them was only wide enough for one, maybe two not-so-broad persons. Paths were marked with tinted cloth; mulberry, grass, root vegetable. But they didn’t always last: so many were cruel enough to switch their colours, or tear away the marker completely.

You couldn’t rely on anyone you didn’t know.

Families stayed close. Twins, closer.

Thus Tift and Toft grew up.

*****

“Eat,” grunted Ma, her dirty fingernails scraping the bottom of her own bowl of muck.

“To-oft,” she hissed at her brother.

“But I’m tired of this stuff, Tift,” he hissed back.

“EAT.”

His hand flew to the bowl, but slugged its way to his mouth. Scoop, swallow. Scoop, swallow. Scoop… swallow.

“Good,” Ma grunted some more as she got up from the stone slab at the centre of their burrow. The back of her hand wiped her mouth, her skirt, then her brow underneath its hood. If dirt was everywhere, why bother trying to stay clean? “Now, I’ve got to go peel some bark for dinner. You two stick together, and make sure you get your chores done before Pa gets back.”

“If he ever does,” muttered Tift.

“Hm?”

Toft added “Sure thing, Ma.”

With a rumble and a bump Ma was crawling up and out. The tail of her brown burlap robe was the last thing to disappear.

“How do you know, Tift?” asked the brother.

“I—” she stuttered back. “I don’t. He’s just been gone so long. Why does she think he’s coming back?”

“She’s just weird that way.”

“We should humour her…”

Tift closed her eyes and shuffled on the ground, squishing her toenails into the dirt floor while Toft looked anxiously from side to side.

“Out,” he said through gritted teeth. “I need out”

Tift opened her eyes just in time to see her brother’s burlap tail now leaving the burrow.

“To-oft,”

The smells changed so drastically from inside to out. The smell of earth was ever present, but beyond the burrow, the musky-stale-root smell of the underground morphed itself bit by bit into a rain-wet-leaves smell. Tift took her time as she crawled.

“Toft?” she said, exiting and pulling herself upright. “You can’t have gone far. You heard what Ma said—” She looked left and right. “Toft! Toft? You know better, come out from where you’re hiding.” She turned around.

“Blergh!”

Tift stood staring wryly at the peach and brown mud-covered being, dangling from the tree boughs, limbs in every direction possible.

“How many times will you try that before you realize that I will never be scared by you?”

Shrug. Jump. Thud. Toft immediately took off to the right of the burrow entrance, following pale blue scraps.

Shaking her head, Tift followed. Her feet beat the ground, sending pleasing gyrations up to her knees, through her pelvis, all the way to her head. It felt good to move. Shuffle turned to jog–or the closest to it that her short legs could manage.

Up the path, Toft was so far ahead that he had long-since lost sight of the orange peels that marked their home from others. The smell of the burrow was far behind him and the smell of the wind was fresh and cool. Speed. He just wanted speed. Faster and faster. Until he ran out of breath and tumbled down into a heap, face down right between two markers.

A jaunty jog brought Tift up to the same place. She bounced on the spot.

“Aw, all tired out?” she asked. “I’m just getting warmed up!”

“Dghsugh.”

“What?”

“Shush,” said Toft, pulling his head out of the muck. Rolling over, he grinned, a crack splitting his lip into lopsided halves.

“Feel better?”

“A little,” he replied, tucking his lip to give it moisture again, folding his arms behind his head. “You?” He experimented with his toes, trying to wiggle each one separately.

Tift looked up from her heap of a brother and stopped jogging on the spot, her bare feet coming to rest on the cool earth. She noted the yellow markers…

“Wait,” she muttered.

“What?” said Toft, sitting up. His sister pointed to the markers and stared at him, unimpressed.

“Ugh,” he said. “Not again. Who bothers to take the time to mess with these? Dyes are so time consuming.” He knew from making the orange ones for home.

“They must take them from one area and switch them with ones in another,” Tift muttered. She sniffed the misleading markers. “Ew! Or not.”

Toft laughed gleefully.

His breath stopped short. A sliver of light had caught his eye to his left. He rolled to his hands and knees and held his breath, watching. He didn’t move for the longest moment.

“Toft!”

The trance broke with a shove and a rumble like none he’d ever felt before.

“What? What? What?” he Toft as he and his sister went tumbling.

Earth, tree bough, dirt, grass, more dirt, water. Tree stump.

“Owwww,” groaned one.

“Owwww,” from the other.

Toft opened his eyes to see a vague collection of the colour blue coming down, more gracefully, the same way he and his sister had made their way to where they were now. Toft was mesmerized.

The blue became a figure, lit brightly from behind, who looked like a druid, only clothed in the deepest pigment Toft had ever seen. He was shaped differently than the potato-sack-twins they were; where they were round and bumpy, he was long and smooth. And the hooded robe! Shade of blue deeper and brighter than the most colourful of night skies, if Toft had known what that looked like. In his grey and brown world, the only colours Toft knew were those of the flags that marked ways to and from various landmarks. This person’s robe was something else entirely; foreign. It hurt his eyes.

Toft squinted and blinked, disentangling himself from his sister.

“Tift…” he said absent-mindedly. He saw her chest heave with breath and so forgot about her instantly once more.

Hello young one… Your skin deceives the outside eye of your youth…

Toft shook his head.

“Excuse me?” he said. “Did you say something?”

The light began to dissipate, and the man in the blue robe bent forward, stretching his hand to Toft.

“So sorry, young thing,” the figure said. Toft shivered and blinked again. The voice now came from below a hood of darkest charcoal; the blue having disappeared with the light. Only the speaker’s mouth and chin were visible, and the sound which originated there struck Toft to the bone. Tift stirred from where she lay unnoticed.

“Afraid I startled you. Were you harmed by the fall?”

“Er…”

“Let me help you up.”

The tone was persistent, so Toft finally offered up his own filthy hand from his seat on the hard earth. Before he could blink again, the twin was standing upright. But his neck still bent at the funniest angle in order to see into the stranger’s face.

Toft squinted upwards, but the face of his aggravator and rescuer seemed to disappear up into oblivion. Shivering again, Toft remembered his sister.

Immediately, he dropped back to the ground causing Toft’s new friend—if he was to be called that—to flinch.

“Tift! Tift!” he said, shaking her with fervour.

Spaces – 1.2 House

drip.

drip.

der Hahn,              

drip.drip.drip…

…das macht nichts…           

~

A house.

Standing alone,
even though surrounded by other homes.

But they are homes.
This is just
a house.

Inside is just as bare (as out’)
devoid of any-
thing

any-
life

any-
joy.

no children
no photos
no quilts (and)
no grammaphone

just an air,
an air of emptiness.

      so leer…

There are things,
plenty of things.

an empty hearth
an empty book.shelf
an empty

   life?

There’s

a ghost in the corner

a chair 

and a mourner…

     Ach,

     Veilleicht…
Veilleicht…

A crumpled thing,
in a creaky thing,
without anything,
in an empty house…

Wenn …nur…