I got up really early this morning to do some work and was surprised at two things. Firstly, how much I got done. I worked on the introduction to the new book. (This one. I'm almost sorry to be linking to it, considering my hair and the thousand other terrors that picture of me my unleashes in my soul. That's apparently a temporary cover, which is good, since that photo of me gives me the screaming heebie-jeebies. I can scarcely speak to you of how much I dislike it. Still, authors aren't in charge of things like titles and covers, so cross your fingers that on the next one I get hair that looks like my hair. Actually...on second thought? I wouldn't mind if I had someone else's hair...but it needs to be hair better than mine. Upgrades only.) The new book is another useless book about knitting (no patterns or technique) about the idea of knitting as a destination...a place. I like it, but I didn't like the introduction. It's better now. After I worked on that I bashed out another 400 words for something else, worked on revisions for half an hour, ate a very nutritious breakfast, booked my flight to Madrona Fibre Arts Retreat, arranged a news thing with the CBC for tomorrow (I'll be on the noon news talking about you guys and your incredible powers of fundraising.) tossed a load of laundry in and payed the bills while outlining a new essay. It's been so long since I had a little time to myself that I forgot how effective you can be if nobody speaks to you for four hours.
Secondly, I've been having a vaguely panicky feeling for a few days now that I can't seem to kick. I'd attributed it to falling behind on work during the holidays, but it wasn't until I had some time to myself this morning that I realized that it's not from being behind on my work, it's from a lack of quiet time and privacy and the space to think things out. As Joe is still "between opportunities" and has all of this time at home and the girls have been on vacation for two weeks I think I hadn't really had time to acknowledge that the lack of time in which to work and think is really making me wild with anxiety. I learned a good lesson about myself this morning, and one that I thought I had figured out. Time alone = sanity. People speaking to me through the crack in the bathroom door while I try to hide in the bathtub = nervous twitch over right eye.
The Egg Harlot
Franklin said yesterday in a comment that he hopes I'm not turning into the Egg Harlot, and I assure you, I'm not. The egg thing is temporary, and I hope to finish today or tomorrow. I could never be the Egg harlot. I travel too much to have a fragile and slimy hobby.
For right this moment though, it's all about the eggs.
Once I had penciled the plan onto the eggs, I needed to apply the wax. I'm using the same technique that pysanky does, although I break a lot of the rules. (I know that's such a shocker. Me being me and all.) The tool that you use is a kistka (or stylus) and it's like a little bowl with a hole in the bottom. You heat up the bowl in a candle flame, fill the bowl with beeswax and touch the tip to the egg. The wax flows through the hole and you cover all the areas you want to have stay white.
See? (Please note: the over-consumption of caffeine is not recommended during this phase. You don't want shaky hands.)
The next step is to dye the eggs yellow (traditionally, you move from lightest to darkest in a dye progression) and cover the parts you want to have stay yellow.
There are 12 colours in my palette, and by the time I'm done the eggs will be almost entirely covered in wax. (Then you take the wax off.) It's fiddly, but not difficult. I'll take some more pictures as I go, and it'll be clear what these are for by the time I'm done. The astute among you will notice that yesterday there were 6 eggs I was working on...and today there are only 4.
Another good reason not to be the Egg Harlot. Yarn doesn't break.