Big Box on the Front Porch

The Corriedale/CVM blend. Thank you, Jesus!

I **love** a big box on the front porch. I need to order in my paper towels, toilet paper, cat food, furnace filters and what not, just so I can get more big boxes on my font porch. Recently, this arrived:

A Large Box!!

And I recognized the box! This is the box from the cheap roaster oven I bought at Wal-Mart -- excellent for steam setting acid dyed yarn and roving.

I had put my Bond and CVM fleeces in this box 2 weeks ago, and sent them to Spinderella Fiber Mills in Utah. And now . . . Spinderella was using the same box to send the roving back to me! (Recycle! Reuse! Renegotiate! Or something . . .)

So I opened said box and found:

I was apoplectic with roving joy. Here we have almost 4 lbs. of a Corriedale/CVM blend (for some reason Spinderella thought it was a Corriedale/Finn blend), and almost 3 lbs of grey Bond. My Taos wool! Come back home to roost! Can I have a whoop, whoop?!

Oh, it is ** so-ooo** pretty, I am almost swooning. This is light, attenuated roving like I've never seen before. We're talking NO pre-drafting, just sit your butt down on the ottoman and go!
Um . . . I may not have time to blog for a while. I have almost 7 **pounds** of roving to spin! And lovely roving is:

* addictive

* non-fattening

* legal.

Therefore, I must leave you ladies (and Krystofer), to the business of life. For now, I must spin.

Cats Negotiate Truce. Tech Boy Nearly Smiles.

If you've ever added an additional cat to your household, you know the drill. For an unknowable (but hopefully brief) time cat A circles cat B, they make failing-car-transmission noises at each other, then stalk about on stiff legs, swishing tails as broad as feather dusters. They howl and hiss and stomp their little kitty feet. If either of the cats is Siamese, encounters tend to sound like two tone-deaf coloraturas screaming the Best of AC/DC. Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap . . .

After a week-and-a-half, I sat "the boys" down and told them: Enough already. We can't sleep because of the racket, and the husband has taken to calling our upstairs hallway "The de-militarized zone" because of the number and volume of feline attacks. Bailey gave me his usual "huh?" look, but Herbert has an uncanny way of tilting his head when I speak that makes me feel like he's translating. This afternoon, I found this:

All quiet on the Western Front. Shalom, wee kitty cats.

Also, just when I was considering putting Tech Boy out on the curb with a pork chop tied around his neck, I caught him being sweet to his cat.

"Surly Teenager" . . . redundant??

The savage beast soothes the Adolescent Golem of Doom

Closest he's been to a bona fide smile in 2 weeks (thanks, Bailey).