sacrifice

I observed 9/11 by going to yoga class, much in the way I did in 2001. It's good to be present. At the end of the class, the instructor, an amazing yogini, gave us a "Namaste for your hard work and sacrifice, tonight." It has me wondering about the nature of sacrifice. During the inversions part of the class (before the mention of sacrifice) I found myself doing the "hanged man thing" with my legs:

Then later, considering the meaning of that card, among other things; sacrifice. Mine, that of others' and the notion that it need not be huge, to be counted.

Work has been odd lately. I've had to cancel a lot of my groups, due to special classroom visitors, field trips, etc, leaving me enough downtime to de-stress, catch up on paperwork, and generally lay low at school. I am, after yesterday's awful depression and teariness (which I am attributing to the waning moon) calm and happy. The elusive phantom of sanity seems, for a moment, closer.

Clapotis continues. I am now dropping stitches on the straight rows, and alternating between 2 differently colored dyelots of the same colorway, to keep the colors reasonably uniform.

On Saturday, my friend from CA, Hawkheart called me. She's been summering in Costa Rica, and was calling to announce her return and to check in. We had a 4 hour phone conversation, catching up on everything under the sun. Hawkheart is a teacher, dog trainer, brainiac, pagan and all-around sister to me, and we have a lot to talk about, in the words of our other friend Clary, we had ourselves the "long jaw." In the course of this extended exchange, I mentioned to her about my nascent handspinning pursuits, and asked her if she still had her spinning wheel. It has occupied her living room, as long as I've known her, and she used to bring it to school, I think, for demos, many a long year past. She responded with "K-brow, if you want my spinning wheel it's yours." After repeated attempts to convince her she was crazy and that she'd wake up regretting it, we agreed that I'd take it off her hands when I could, and she'd hold it for me til I could do so. It's a Louet, maybe 20 years old? In good condition, though maybe in need of a tune-up. Thing is, I'm in no hurry to get it, though a spinning wheel is one of my dreams, for the future. I will try to visit her next year and pick it up, when I can. Meanwhile, I'll continue to spin away on my little drop spindle. I'm amassing a number of lumpy little balls of Corriedale yarn.