Oddest Wool Shop Yet
By fluke of Dg’s work schedule, I have the weekend to myself and my long list of next actions. Instead of using the time to plough through things like “Get under bed storage boxes”, “Weed garden”, or “Clean grungy bathroom tiles”, I played hooky and hopped on the bus to the oddest wool shop yet.
I knew the shop was off one of the older commercial drags and on the second floor which made sense for a small, new business. I took the slow bus because I’ve become fond of its route (yes, yes, I know, bus geekery) through my gentrified neighbourhood, to the working class neighbourhood, to Chinatown and Little Italy, to the downtown core. I trekked over the gum-dotted sidewalks, past the cheap clothing stores, the art supplies store, the feminist sex toy shop, and houses marooned by parking lots and small office towers. The shop was indeed upstairs along with a beauty shop of some sort. Up I went, expecting to get to the the head of the stairs and have to choose Door A (Stash Augmentation) or Door B (Nail Augmentation).
Instead I found one, t-shaped room with interesting yarn, one woman knitting, another woman spinning, and another woman fiddling with an appointment book. And as I made my way to back, I found an aesthetician and a client coming out of the back room deep in discussion of pedicures and the next available time slot.
Not deterred by the odd situation and weird smell (wool and acetone), I found what I came for–Himalyan recycled silk–and something extra–cotton chenille. As I waited to pay for the yarn, I had a chat with the woman using a drop spindle and I think I’ll go back to learn how to use a drop spindle in a couple of weeks. No idea what the yarn purchase will turn into
