Oh Claxton!

So, here's my better half with his skate board at the Harvest Festival in Duluth. Not only did Claxton agree to come with me to the handspinning demonstration and meet my long-time spinning compadres but, he also said he might, just might come to one of our studio gatherings and...LEARN TO SPIN YARN! Oh, Claxton! I never loved him so much as when he spoke those words. Little did I realize I'd be really frustrated with him only a few hours later. Why? Here's what keeps happening:

*

Now, firstly you should know that Claxton is OLDER than me he just doesn't look it! This man is a few years shy of 50 and people keep saying crazy things to me like, "Would your son like to have this baseball?"

(True story. We were camping and a woman came over to our site and offered me a baseball for my "son". I thought she meant my then 6 year old son standing right beside her. No. She meant my "other son" and pointed to Claxton fishing down at the shoreline. When I informed her that she was pointing to my husband she looked at me in a way that said, "Oh, you're one of those cradle robbin' ladies that I've read about." I didn't know what to do so I did the dumbest thing possible and pointed my finger accusingly at my spouse shouting, "I am younger than him!" And, I can tell you, I felt pretty dumb marching away with that baseball in my hand.)

*

So, there we were at the Harvest Festival in Bayfront Park. I'm busy with my spinning demonstration and Claxton is wandering about when a young woman manning a volunteer booth approaches him and tells him that he would be the ideal candidate to volunteer as a youth mentor. Why? Because he could use the experience for when he was old enough to one day have children of his own!  What the bloody blazes?!

*

Meanwhile, I'm spinning Mid-life Crisis Yarns! Mid-life crisis yarns are when I take clothes that used to fit me (my old, sexy outfits of the distant past) and rip them into long strips then spin them up with wool to make knitting or weaving skeins.  It is bittersweet work to be sure.

Of Course Claxton still fits into all the old clothes of his youth. (Do you see it - what I'm coping with here?)  Claxton, Claxton, Claxton!  (Marsha, Marsha, Marsha.)

*

THEN there's my Dad who's 82 years old in just a few days (happy birthday DAD, by the way. You're the best!) and who reports to me over the phone, "I'm busy moving railroad ties around the yard building an outdoor staircase up the hill."  So, while Dad is dragging railroad ties all over the place I go jogging, with my new shoes, only two times and my knee swells up. Again, What the bloody blazes...

*

On the bright side, the little silkworms are thriving. There should be much more to report on that front in the days ahead!