My friend Jay is a very accomplished fibre worker. He spins, weaves, knits, and sews. He owns three or four spinning wheels (and about 10+ drop spindles), and offered to help me learn how to spin on my spinning wheel. I haven't touched it since I brought it home over a year ago, and I would like to learn how to spin.
So I got my wheel, an Ashford Traditional, and carried it to the green line, transferred to the red line, enduring stares and odd looks from other people on the subway. While I was waiting for the red line, I started singing to myself.
"And spindle, bobbin, and. . . spool. . . away."
I had left the fly wheel at home, along with the bobbin and spindle. The wheel was as useless as a fur on a fish. I was carrying my spinning wheel for nothing.
I can be so clueless sometimes.
Luckily, Jay had a wheel I could use. I tried, and came up with a hot mess of spun yarn. I can't coordinate my hands to pull the roving and to squeeze the fibre and to treadle at an even pace. Even though I can dance at a 140 bpm with rapper swords, I am not coordinated enough to spin.
Oh, the humanity.
Jay suggested I try a drop spindle, to learn how to pull the roving. He loaned me a couple to try from his vast collection of spindles, and I'll give it a try this week. I will learn how to do this. I will become a proficient spinner.