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I fell in love with a spindle. It has an ebony shaft, very thin, and a rubber bead a few inches from the hook. Black and white stones on thin strong metal bars stick out, three points that spin beautifully. I probably spent about fifteen minutes with it in my hand, staring at it, talking myself out of buying it.

I have some trouble talking myself out of buying things. Recently I have felt not entitled, exactly, but a little more willing to indulge myself. In some cases the not-buying worked out well. I made a beautiful leather mask because I didn't get the one I'd seen at a renaissance faire. In other cases, there just isn't a substitute. Like this spindle. I don't think I could make one, and it was THIS ONE that attracted me. And somehow it seems so appropriate to acquire yet another thing made to spin. I asked to be talked out of this one, but unfortunately the woman who kindly obliged did not understand what was attractive about the spindle. See, the whole point of fiber arts is that you are working with beautiful fibers and beautiful tools, which are a joy to have in your hands and preferably will make anyone else with a trace of curiosity go "What's that? It's pretty."

I failed to recognize the rationale at the time, but I may be able to order this spindle (or at least one very like it) online. I talked with the maker-of-said-nifty-spindle, and he indicated that he could make another one, but I'll have to wait, oh, a while, before he can acquire the exact type of stone again.

June 2014

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