mojo – word of the week

I watched next door’s cat scuttle down our drive, in the week, with a mouse dangling from his mouth. He’s a golden, long haired kind of cat, who must be a nightmare to keep brushed and wouldn’t look out of place on a chocolate box. Not your average countryside moggy. Up to that point, I thought he was a keen but ineffective mouser. I often find him in our garden hunting, watching and pouncing with no reward. This week, he’d found his mojo and part of me slightly admired him for it.

Half way down the drive, he spotted me. He stopped. Gave me a side look as if to say “What are you going to do about it, human?” before heading home with his prize.

He had a point. I could have challenged him. Demanded our wildlife was returned, nursed back to health and the cat returned immediately to his unsuccessful mouser status, but I didn’t. Who was I kidding? I let him go.

It was probably too late anyway. I suspect opening your mousey eyes and finding you’re inside a cat’s mouth, with half your body dangling like a pendulum on the other side of the feline’s wall of teeth, would be enough to cut the heart beats short.

He could keep the mouse. I wasn’t up to the fight.

This week

This week has been a bit like that. My mojo has been missing. I think after last week’s excitement, I’ve plateaued. I’ve only run twice this week.

We’ve moved forward. University preparations are in full flow. A long list is promising to take over the kitchen table as we kit out Eldest Teen for University life. She’s going to be three hours away, so we won’t be able to pop over easily. As a signed up member of always-have-a-plan-B club, I’ve run through a few what if scenarios with her and it’s all good.

Not forgetting the other two teens, we had a trip into Bath to Hobbycraft, as promised. Both are taking art next year, so they stocked up on paper and paint. I limited myself to replacing the bamboo needles I broke a couple of weeks ago and one sewing pattern from the reduced bin. Pretty good for me. I even ignored the papier mache pumpkins and other Halloween crafting materials, which they were putting out.

My crafting mojo barely had a pulse, as we walked round the aisles.

Change

Then something happened, which resuscitated my crafting heart beat. I know not everyone will understand my excitement and it wouldn’t get everyone’s hearts racing. My husband is still trying to figure out my obsession, but I like to think he has made peace with it over the years and hopes it doesn’t take over the house or increase our livestock.

Yesterday, I had two deliveries. First up was a delivery from Liberty of London, my very favourite fabric source. Best fabric. I’ve avoided buying craft supplies, this year. I have a room full of supplies, so I really don’t need it, but I did have a £20 voucher from Liberty to use up this month. How could I let it go? I bought a metre of fabric, which arrived yesterday.

{little dance of joy}

At the same time, a farming friend popped round with enormous sheep fleeces tucked under each arm. Yesterday was all my Christmases and birthdays rolled into one. Liberty fabric and smelly fleeces.

I told you not everyone would understand my excitement.

Hero understands. I honestly believe he thought that there was still a sheep wrapped up in at least one of the fleeces. As the house filled with the fragrance of lanolin and sheep, he was in doggy heaven. He followed me around all day as I processed the fleeces. Involved in every stage. Hoping to greet the sheep, I think. Middle Teen came out to help me as I washed and hung the fleece to dry in the greenhouses. I think she gets it too.

Geeky details

The fleece is from a coloured Ryeland ram. Not one I’ve spun before, so it should be interesting. Hats off to the shearer as they did a fabulous job. It’s springy, soft and smells surprisingly divine. I’ve washed and put it to dry, but it will take a while to be dry enough to spin. Wool can hold 30% of its own weight in water before it even feels damp. It holds it inside the fibre, while excess water is shed quickly by the outside fibre structure. No wonder sheep are happy out in most weathers. Anyway, this is slow crafting and I need to dry it properly.

Added bonus: A wet fleece is heavy so it builds up arm muscles too and counts as exercise. That’s official.

Mojo

My farmer friend and I chatted for a while. Discussing sheep and how there were less people using the countryside for recreation than this time last year, when we were restricted. The inappropriate ambitions of some walkers and cyclists. As she made to leave, I asked her if the fleece’s sheep had a name. I was expecting a number, as they have a big flock or two. She looked slightly abashed, which surprised me. Farmers don’t tend to be sentimental. I couldn’t help smiling when she replied and I’m tickled pink by the poetic justice in the name. You won’t believe it. Apparently the sheep, whose fleece did a splendid job of putting a skip back in my step this week, is called none other than “Mojo”.

{drops mic and exits left}

 

Joining in Anne’s lovely word of the week linky. I’m looking forward to seeing what everyone else has been up to. Please go and check out the linky.