I was determined to get to MD Sheep and Wool this year, now that I actually live in Maryland (and considering that I'm not sure how long that will last). So although I was on the fence about going as late as 9am this morning, I finally did get in gear and with a great burst of motivation get myself and M.M. as well as my cousin Laura and her mom Bernadette in the car and out to Howard County Fairgrounds.
The weather could not have been more perfect: chilly in the shade or when the breeze kicked up, perfectly warm in the sun, sunny and dry. First was FOOD. Lamb kebabs and burgers all around, and then straight to the sheepdog demo. M.M. loved watching the dogs control the sheep and watched the full half hour demonstration in rapt attention – and wanted more. I'll definitely have to seek out some local sheepdog trials and take her to see them. I was even a little choked up at the perfection of the dogs for the work and their intensity and obvious joy in their jobs.
The wander around the exhibition halls and vendors was eye-popping and a bit overwhelming, and frustrating because paying attention to M.M.'s whereabouts and safety didn't allow for much yarn shopping. It was still fun to stroll around and gaze at colors and textures and fleeces and wool paraphernalia. We did stop and watch some spinning for a while, and M.M. would actually have been happy to watch longer, but I was impatient. I am not allowed to get interested in spinning because I already don't have enough time to pursue my knitting
jones habit hobby. Although I am going to start dyeing yarn this spring. (What slope? I see nothing slippery anywhere near me.)
I had vague but grand notions of shopping before I got there, but two things interfered: 1) it is impossible to shop in such an overstimulating environment while in charge of a 3 year old; 2) it is nearly impossible for me to shop in such an overstimulating environment, period. Three year old or no, I get overwhelmed and fall prey to Squashy Head Syndrome when faced with such an array of goods, not knowing what even better delight might be around the next corner, with all the people and excitement and noise everywhere. I sometimes wonder where on the autism spectrum I might be were I a child nowadays.
Despite these handicaps I was able to purchase a nice Lantern Moon needle roll, with pockets for both straights and circs and a nice zippered pocket and a big flap that folds over to keep everything from falling out. I also got some sock yarn. I had gone with the express desire for some solid sock yarn to use in some lacy sock patterns. All I've been using is beautiful variegated yarns, and I'm in the mood for something that shows the stitches a bit more. So I got some, Gems Opal, in a nice French Blue and another kind of seafoam-aquaey color. They're nice.
But I have this problem. Every time I buy sock yarn I get into some kind of weird fugue state and I forget to buy enough. I always buy one skein. I get so focused on the color (or something) and I think of it like software (or something): If I buy it, it's like I'm buying the color and I can make as many socks as I want. After all, once you buy the license to Word you can make as many documents as you want. It makes no sense and shows you, really, why I am such a sucky yarn shopper. So that's what I did. One skein each of blue and aqua. Enough to make probably one and a half socks of each color. Or three striped socks, but the whole point was to make solid colored socks.
I'm debating between ordering another skein of each color and taking my chances with the dye lots, and saving these for kid socks and ordering some entirely other solid sock yarn in the proper quantities for grown up socks (online I am a perfectly fine yarn shopper, thankyouverymuch). We'll see.
I have no batteries for my camera, so I have no photos of my purchases or of actual knitting. But what the heck, I'll throw this in:
M.M.'s ballet recital is coming up in a few weeks. They're doing Alice In Wonderland, and her class is playing oysters. Cute and somewhat baffling to us non-Disney-ites.
