I was shopping for skirts a few days ago. One well-meaning sales clerk told me that pencil skirts were in this fall. I shuttered a little, raised both hands in stop gesture and said, “Please, no pencil skirts!” She looked a bit confused and a little concerned, and uttered something like, “Huh?” I said, “I worked in Dallas in the ’80s. Pencil skirts, panty hose and pumps. Never again.” I went home and put on sweat pants and flip flops.
When I drove up to Dallas for a spinning workshop with Jacey Boggs, I started thinking about those skirts again. I was driving on that tunnel-like section of Central Expressway and felt hemmed in, like my little VW Bug was too wide for the lane. I was squeezed into a space between the brick median and the Suburban next to me. I realized I was holding my breath — sucking in.
Dallas does that to me — makes me tug at my clothes and twist my hair and examine my footwear. But this weekend was different. Jacey’s workshop was calm and organized. I was surrounded by colorful fiber and lofty, glittering batts and spinning wheels and spinners. I learned new techniques and made new friends.
And I made crazy yarn. Little bits of crazy yarn! Maybe Dallas isn’t so bad after all.