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spinning wheel

By 6:55 AM ,

spinning wheel by looseid
spinning wheel, a photo by looseid on Flickr.
So yup. It's been about 5 months since my last post. Life has been moving along at maximum speed with the greatest twists and turns; yet I haven't had a lick of time to keep track of any of it. So today I'm hoisting myself back on the saddle. I don't care if it's all out of sequence; I just have to start somewhere...because shit has to be chronicled and this is all very important to me (and honestly, only to me).

Without any fanfare, he goes my comeback post.

Last Sunday, I was forced out of my studio space in Hunter's Point. Boo. While I would have liked a little more time to plan the move thoughtfully, things don't always work out your way. So I hastily vacated the studio (with much help from my friend Orit), and spilled it all into my front yard that night. I swear, I was one toilet bowl away from being trailer trash.
Thankfully, things haven't gotten this bad.
Anyway, this is one of the many fine pieces for which I have to make room back in my house this week. It's a spinning wheel. You ask, what in the hell is a spinning wheel and why do you need it?

Back in the day, I used it daily to complete my senior thesis. I spun wool, silk, cotton, rayon and other fibers to create custom blends of yarn. It all sounds very little-house-on-the-prairie and it is. It's an ultra simple yet beautiful piece of equipment and I depended on it every day for my work.

However, I am not its rightful owner. It is technically the property of the Textile Department at RISD. I have to clarify that I did not steal it. It was accidentally not returned to the school...by my father.

For my graduation, a million years ago, pops drove his van from Michigan and helped me move out of my apartment. He loaded up the van as efficiently as a proud father of a college graduate could. Little did he know, that this spinning wheel was on loan from the school all semester, and I had promised to return it when he grabbed it from my room. Two days later, I was unloading my life back in our garage in Michigan, when I saw the wheel sitting pretty inside the van. We had driven this fine piece of European tradition all the way back home. I was mortified.

There's nothing complicated about a spinning wheel. No motors, just wood, screws and a single function, to spin fiber. Yet it is extremely well-designed and meditative in its grace, much like a potter's wheel. And for an oversized spindle, it's kind of a pricey piece, which, well, escalates the guilt. Several hundred dollars, pricey. Once my dad realized the crime, in true Kyo fashion, he coolly wrote it off as a little return credit issued on the tuition paid over the years. No sense crying (or feeling guilty) over spilled milk.

Seriously, what could he do – drive it back to Providence the next morning? We crossed 6 state lines. This was officially a federal offense and I was an accomplice. Ohio, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island. So, like father like daughter, three months later, I took it further west. And here it is, 2012, in California. It's been a lifetime since I graduated college and only now am I taking a wet sponge and some Murphy's Oil Soap to wipe off the grime of the unwitting abduction.

Don't worry, little spinning wheel, I have plans for you yet. Welcome home, again.
Let's get to work.

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