The Prayer Shawl

A few months ago, I finally managed to get to one of my knit group's get-togethers. My attendance this past summer had been sporadic, mostly because I wasn't willing to leave Tom alone for more than a couple hours.

But he was having a good day, and he encouraged me to go. The group was having a going away party for Mary Adrian, who had just taken a great job in another state.

When I arrived, I was quite surprised when all the gals gathered around me and handed me a gift bag. Inside was a beautiful blue prayer shawl. It's tradition in this group to group-knit a prayer shawl for any member having a rough spot in their life, and the ladies each took turns lovingly knitting on my shawl and saying a prayer for me at the same time. I was overcome by their generosity and compassion. Lots and lots of tears. It meant so much.

The photo below shows the members of the group at the going-away party. Several who actually knitted on my shawl weren't able to attend that day. I am thankful for such wonderful, caring friends. That's the party girl Mary Adrian front-left, and me in my beautiful shawl on the right.

I took the shawl home and showed it to Tom. I was in tears again; the emotions that shawl released were overwhelming. He understood - and gave me a huge hug. I wrapped that shawl around both of us, and we just sat there holding on to each other for a long, long time.

These past months I wore the shawl when I was feeling down. Our journey became increasingly rough, and I would wear it even when it was way too hot to wear a shawl. It was very calming to me, mostly because I knew how much love was being shared when it was being made.

When we went to Ann Arbor in early September, I didn't take it with me. After all, we were just going for a quick consultation with a pain specialist - I had no idea that Tom would be admitted to the hospital, and that we wouldn't be returning home that day.

After two weeks in the hospital, I managed to get back home for a few hours of bill-paying, paperwork catch-up and cat checking. I saw the shawl as I was walking out the door to return to Ann Arbor, and threw it over my shoulder. I can't explain why I did that. Somehow it just seemed like it was necessary. At that moment, I had no idea that Tom wouldn't be coming home.

Two weeks later, I was holding Tom's hand when I realized that he needed my prayer shawl. I tucked him in it as he was sleeping. I knew it was going to be his last weekend on this earth, and felt much better sharing my comforting, prayer-loaded shawl with the most important person in my life. He slept, with me holding his hand, surrounded by that beautiful shawl.


That weekend, his sons came up from Florida. He slept some of the time, resting some of the time with his eyes closed, but was awake frequently. He was fully aware that they were there with him, and although he wasn't able to talk much, he was able to communicate with them with hugs and hand motions.

One of his sons brought a new photo of our youngest granddaughter, Shaylen, with her newly-discovered Mona Lisa smile. That last morning, I tucked the photo next to his hand, above the prayer shawl. Even though he was sleeping, he knew what I'd done. He squeezed my hand, showing me that he realized I was sharing with him things which are important to us - friendship, love and family.

I miss him. He's in my heart, every moment. But it's sure not the same as having him sit with me on the sofa. I'm okay with his leaving, but I wish with all my heart that he was still here. That he was able to squeeze my hand so strongly just moments before he died was a special, one-of-a-kind gift - it meant he knew where he was going, and he was saying goodbye.

I love you, Thomas.

Scream Therapy??

Well, I gave it my best shot. I tried scream therapy, thinking that some extreme-loudness while in the shower would make me feel better.

The first scream was less than impressive - since I haven't done much screaming in my life, I'm just not very good at it. It was sort of squeaky, and my volume wasn't anything to be proud of. I still had lots of hot water left, so I gave it another go. Absolutely pathetic. Maybe I'm not doing it right (there's a "right" way to scream???), but I sounded like one of my cats when I accidentally step on her tail. More tries, sounding worse than better, and I suddenly thought about what Tom must be thinking: "The woman's gone completely nuts. Who screams in the shower??" Tom used to sing, badly, in the shower.

That thought brought a big smile. He couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. But it was a good memory. Maybe scream therapy isn't going to work in the traditional sense, but since it brought me a small giggle and smile, I guess it's working backwards. That seems to be my story right now - so much of my life seems backwards since Tom died - so it must be okay to scream and then end up smiling at how stupid I must sound.

I've been staying busy with "stuff." Mostly it's things I have-to-do - paperwork, phone calls, re-arranging our accounts, etc. My brother has been here for several days, and is helping me with chores around the house, plus errands that must be done. I'm still mostly operating on auto-pilot, but I'm sure looking forward to that time when I can do some want-to-do-things instead. Soon. Maybe. Right now, auto-pilot is keeping me going. That's okay.

After reading Tom's obituary, several of you wrote me asking how you can donate in Tom's memory towards his Masonic Lodge, or how you can help with funeral expenses. Thank you for your kind offers. I'll leave the "Helping Tom" PayPal donate button up for another week for those who wish to help. If you could specify which is your preference - Tom's Masonic Lodge or funeral expenses - I'd appreciate it.

Thanks for all your wonderful support. It's been a rough 18 months. After my stroke, Tom and I decided that God must have a plan. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here. Little did I know that God's plan was to have me take care of Tom while he battled cancer. This past year allowed me to find courage in the face of true adversity, and to love Tom even more than I thought possible. Sometimes, when you think you are dealing with the worse possible situation, you actually find out that good things can come out of bad. It definitely happened for us.

And now, off to bed for me. There's an emergency candy bar waiting on my nightstand. Chocolate has become my new best friend.

A Good Day

We said goodbye to Tom today.

So many good friends showed up at the Masonic hall. Tom's former co-workers, our old friends from law enforcement days, my knitting friends, our antiques dealer friends, Tom's fellow massage therapists, our neighbors, and so many of his Lodge brothers all came to honor him. Even our attorney was there.

A large photo of Tom, centered in a huge wreath of woodland theme, was center stage. I'd love to show you a photo of that wreath - it was very "Tom". It was lovingly designed by one of his former windows clients, a floral shop he'd done business with for more than ten years. They knew him well and captured his woodsy character. I loved it. Masons aren't comfortable with cameras within their Lodge room, so no photo. But that really wasn't important - what was important was the beautiful celebration service the Masons presented their fellow brother. The thoughtful eulogy showed a strong emphasis on Tom's willingness to help others in need, as well as his dedication to the Masons. Through the tears, I couldn't help but smile - Tom did love to help others, and it was so comforting to me that he was recognized for that great trait.

I hold close to my heart the special appearance by a long-time friend who never attends funerals. He just doesn't do funerals. Never. I've know this about him for 30 years, and never ever did I expect to see him walk in the door. That he would honor Tom and me with his presence was like a warm blanket around my soul - it meant so much.

The spaghetti dinner made by the Masons, complete with dessert, was excellent. The portions were huge, leaving hardly any room for dessert. I wasn't very hungry, so I did it backwards - a lovely large piece of chocolate cake for an appetizer, then salad as my main course. Never got to the spaghetti - I just didn't have room. Well, that's what I told everyone. But really, my appetite just hasn't quite yet returned. It will soon. In the meantime, my scale is appreciative - I've lost eight pounds in the past three weeks. Positive things happen in strange ways.

Surrounded by all that Tom-love from our friends was overwhelmingly wonderful. Lots of good tears, and plenty of smiles and laughter too. Only 90 minutes in all, from the beginning of the service until the end of lunch, but it's helping me heal. Sure, it's going to take time to find my place in this world again. But I carry Thomas everywhere with me, and that's my balance point.

One more thing.

Tom is still helping others. His corneas have been donated to two people who desperately need that special gift. Somewhere out there, there's pieces of Tom that will be giving sight for years to come.

It was a good day.

Thomas Duane Pulsipher 1952-2009

Thomas Duane Pulsipher
August 29, 1952 - October 6, 2009

Tom passed away softly, without pain, from esophageal cancer at U of M Hospital on Tuesday, October 6, with his wife Beth holding his hand. He was born August 29, 1952 and raised by parents Ada and Duane Pulsipher in Muskegon, Michigan. He lived a full, happy life – over the years he was a Corrections Officer for the State of Michigan, a Motor Carrier Officer for the Michigan State Police, in grounds maintenance for the Kalamazoo Country Club, and also self-employed as a fulltime partner in his wife Beth's antiques business, as well as his own businesses in commercial window washing and as a Certified Massage Therapist. He was a hard-working man who was always willing to help others. Tom loved to travel, and made friends everywhere he went. His laughter was contagious, and he enjoyed friendships with people from all walks of life. His hard-fought battle with cancer lasted 12 months, and he proudly participated in successful trial studies that will help others in their own cancer fight. Besides his wife Beth, he leaves behind his sons of whom he was so proud - Shawn (Shannon) and Shane (Janette) of Florida, grandchildren James, Skyla and Shaylen, mother Ada and sister Debbie (Bob) of Muskegon, and brother-in-law Andy Chernecki of Detroit. He was preceded in death by his father, Duane.

Cremation has taken place. Services will be Friday, October 9, at 11 am at Kalamazoo County Masonic Center, 4371 West U Avenue, Schoolcraft (1/8 mile west of US 131). Please join us in celebrating Tom's life, and for a light lunch after the service. Arrangements provided by Avink Funeral Home Cremation Society (www.avinkcremation.com), Schoolcraft, and the Kalamazoo Anchor Lodge #22.

Memorial contributions can be made to the Kalamazoo Anchor Lodge #22 at KCMC. He loved his Masonic brothers and all their good works; his family requests that you honor his memory by helping them help others.

Tom's Final Days

We're still at U of M hospital. It's been 24 days.

Our plans of using hospice didn't work out. He needs more physical care than I can manage, meaning that at-home hospice wouldn't work. Both of the Kalamazoo area in-patient hospices were unable to take him. We will remain at U-M until the end.

The hospital was finally able to find him a private room, which has made both of us much more comfortable. The staff even ordered him a special air bed from a local medical supply company - it's big and thick and soft, and he's enjoying it very much. They even arranged for meals to be brought for me, so much appreciated since the hospital patient food is so much better than the cafeteria.

Tom's now on his final journey, and is resting comfortably with plenty of morphine to quell his body's disagreements. He sleeps a lot now, but occasionally wakes up to find me holding his hand and talking about whatever is on my mind at the moment. He hears me talk about family, friends, our cats, knitting, the great nurses we've been blessed with, the now-changing Fall colors outside our window, the U-M hospital helicopters that we see frequently through our big picture window. Most of the time he just rests with his eyes closed, sharing an occasional smile.

Once in a while he still talks, though usually it doesn't make much sense to anyone but him. The other night he talked all night long, but most of it wasn't understandable. The morphine has clouded his words. I agreed with everything he said, just in case.

He sees people in the corner of the room, and when he tells me who, it's someone I don't know. But I'm glad he has company visiting him. He told me he saw snow on the ceiling. He told me there were "little Emilies were all over the floor - lots of them!!" Turns out he was seeing little baby Emilies, dozens of them. We don't know any Emilies, adults or babies. But it gave me a smile.

His humor is still strong. His night nurse - one of our favorites, a man who has truly connected with Tom these past weeks - came in the other night at the end of his shift:

Bill, the night nurse: "Well, Tommy, I'm about done with this shift and just wanted to know if there's anything you need before I leave?"

Tom: "Yeah . . . "

Bill (patiently waiting, since it was taking Tom a few moments to get it out): "What can I get you, buddy?"

Tom (with a huge grin): "A hooker!"

I laughed so hard I was crying. Leave it to Tom to come up with such an unexpected, hilarious answer. After a moment of re-grouping, hysterically-laughing Bill the nurse said: "Tommy, you are one in a million!"

That exchange made my day. And there's been other funny moments, as he meanders though his life's final path. The other day he was picking something imaginary off his blanket, then motioned that he wanted to place it in my hand. Holding my hand out, I watched him carefully place it in the center of my palm. I asked him what it was that I was holding for him, and with a look of digust (what was wrong with me - couldn't I SEE it??!!) he then loudly said "Butter knife!!!!!"

Well, heck, I didn't know he was collecting imaginary butter knives . . .

This all from a man who is completely comfortable with the concept of dying. He told me the other day that he's not afraid, and that he's looking forward to seeing loved ones who have gone before. We've talked about serious subjects, and laughed about silly ones too. We are okay.

Even when he's sleeping, he hears me. He squeezes my hand sometimes. It's comforting to me, and I appreciate his attempts to connect even though lately he's not been able to say much.

I've been staying at the hospital most of the time now, sleeping when I can in the big LazyBoy recliner the staff set up for me. Time is getting shorter for us, and I'm trying to be there with him as much as possible.

His sons Shawn and Shane have flown up from Florida for the weekend, and have been here most of the time. Sometimes he's awake enough to recognize them. He's not talking much, but I can tell he really appreciates that they are here. Me too.

Tom's in the Hospital, but it's okay . . .

It's been so long since I posted here. I've really missed writing. But life is giving us lots of ups and downs, and I've not been able to write.

Tom is holding his own. After suffering from intense back pain, he went in last week for a pain consult. That's where we learned that his spine cancer has moved into five vertebrae, causing him agony. Walking more than a dozen steps was impossible. We knew he had some cancer in his spine, but it's grown considerably.

During the pain consult the surgeon, realizing that Tom was in such dire need for pain relief, switched his next day's surgery schedule around, making Tom his first surgical patient of the day. U of M docs are so wonderful! He felt he could help Tom; late that same night he was reviewing Tom's MRIs, and called us around 9 pm at the hotel to confirm that Tom was scheduled the very next morning.

Unfortunately, when Tom arrived at 6 am they discovered that his breathing was so impaired that they couldn't do the surgery. Instead they tapped his lung to allow his lung to expand, and then scheduled him for the pain surgery the next day. That required that the surgeon again re-arrange his schedule, but he did and Tom received the surgery.

This special pain surgery is so really cool it's almost unbelievable. Cancer had eaten away at the interior of four of his vertebrae (the fifth showed only the very slightest signs of cancer), so what the surgeon did was inject four of them with cement. It's the same cement used for hip and knee replacements, and it fills in the void where the cancer is, thereby strengthing the vertebrae. It's not a fusion - his spine is as flexible as ever, and he bends and moves much better now, with little or no pain. But this cement also has an element of heat to it, and apparently kills off the painful nerve endings that were so debilitating. It's four days after surgery, and he can walk again.

Except for the breathing issues . . .

Tom isn't out of the hospital yet. We've been here eight days while they try to help him with his lung problems. The sac around his lung keeps filling with fluid, and he's been tapped three times to lessened his discomfort. He says it's like having a tie-down strap cranked as tightly as possible on his chest. He's been on oxygen since he was admitted. He can't walk to the bathroom without being out of breath.

Right now we're waiting for the options the thoracic surgery team can offer. They've evaluated him, late last night (U of M doctors work around the clock, apparently), and we're soon to find out the results. In the meantime, he's resting comfortably, and I'm knitting constantly . . .

Thank you for all your prayers. God does listen, and all your prayers count. May you receive back all the wonderful good wishes you have sent our way.

Good Times in Florida

After Tom's doctor suggested that he take a break from chemo again, we decided to take advantage of the time and go to Florida to see his sons and their families. It's been more than two years, and we now have three grandbabies to catch up with.

We rented a lovely house on a lake near New Port Richey, and arranged for plane tickets and a rental car. The trip down was tough on Tom, but we expected that and planned for a nice, relaxing two week trip just to allow for fatigue. By the second day, he was raring to go - and every day after that we spent with family.

Tom holding his granddaughters Skyla, age 28 months, and Shaylen, 8 months, with son Shawn and daughter-in-law Shannon and a very damp, overheated me. (Why is it that I'm the only one that doesn't look cool???)

What we didn't do was spend much time outside. Typically, Florida in July and August means the temps are brutal - every day was consistently in the 100 degree heat index range. At night, it only got down to around a very humid 80 degrees - that's really hell for Michiganders like us, who are used to summer nights in the low sixties or even the fifties. Thankfully, the house was air conditioned, and we were comfortable.

Seeing Tom's sons, our daughters-in-laws and our two granddaughters and grandson was heaven. Babies grow so quickly, and our grandkids are now nearly three, 2 1/2 and 8 months. I met two of them for the very first time. Here I am with Skyla, who had stolen her baby sister's pink hat I'd knitted.


I'd taken plenty of knitting along to Florida. Not only did I have charity socks to finish, but I brought along enough yarn to make a baby blanket and a white baby hat with ears. I'd already packed the pink hat I'd made for Shaylen, but also a purple bunny that I'd knit for Skyla.

Guess I went on knit-overload, but it surely made me feel good. During the two weeks, I finished the socks, the baby blanket and the white ears hat. Skyla loves her bunny, but Shaylen isn't quite so sure about the hat with the ears.



Here's Tom with his son Shawn and baby Shaylen.



Tom was exhausted but happy every night. The two weeks went way too fast. We just got back two days ago, and we're both slowly getting back to the routine of life. Very slowly. Two weeks from now we go back to the doctor to evaluate what the next step is. In the meantime, we're making the best of every day we have. Above all, Love prevails.

Taking a break from chemo has been good for Tom. His brain fog has lessened considerably, and he hasn't fallen in several weeks.

Thank you all for your positive thoughts, your prayers, and your support. We've had a difficult road, and you have made it so much better for us. God bless.

U of Michigan Hospital - Our Temporary Home Last Week

We had a difficult week last week, but we are adjusting.

After Tom's un-stroke on Sunday, we went for his scheduled chemo on Tuesday. After learning about his trip to the ER, his oncologist felt she wanted to know why he has had brain problems, physical weakness and walking instability, so she postponed chemo in favor of a referral to one of U-Michigan's neurologists.

She's good at getting appointments - inside of two hours, we were sitting in the neurologist's exam room. After a battery of physical tests and questions, the neurologist recommended that Tom have further testing. If we wanted to do it on an out-patient basis, it would probably take a couple of weeks to schedule.

Or . . . she offered to admit Tom immediately to the hospital, guaranteeing him all the tests he needed within the next day or so. Well, heck, we were already there, and Tom wanted to get it over with, so he was admitted and scheduled for tests.

By Tuesday noon, he was in his hospital room, and within two hours he was off to get an EEG (I think that's what it's called - anyways, a brain scan). The next test was an MRI, which came at 5:30 am Wednesday. Tom hates MRIs. But he managed to get through it, all that pounding noise giving him a headache, and was fairly chipper by the time I showed up Wednesday morning.

By early Wednesday afternoon, they performed a spinal tap. In his room. And I was allowed to stay with him. Actually, I should describe it as spinal taps - because the first one they attempted didn't take. More neurologists and nurses were called in, plus more morphine, until they were able to make the second spinal tap work. What is supposed to be a less-than-one-hour procedure took more than 2 1/2 hours, and a whole lot of morphine and local anesthetic. Tom needed to be awake during the tap, which is difficult since this procedure is so terribly painful. He toughed it out, and when it was done, was even able to laugh a bit with his comedian-neurologist.

Afterwards, he didn't remember the pain. The brain definitely knows how to block bad situations, and he'd completely forgotten the intense pain he'd endured.

By Thursday, he was released. None of the possible problems they were searching for were found. That's the very good news. Prayer works.

However, that means we are back to Square One. No one can explain why he's stumbling and falling, nor why his brain is sometimes - but not always - so foggy he can't talk more than one word at a time, comprehend questions, add simple numbers, and why he shows Parkinson's-like symptoms. The only possible explanation they've offered is that he possibly has "chemo brain", which may or may not clear up on it's own. There apparently is no treatment for chemo brain.

Tom's oncologist has suggested that he take a few weeks off from chemo, hoping that he will strengthen physically, and that his brain will return to normal. Since last week's hospitalization, he's only been noticeably wobbly once, but hasn't fallen. His brain is still foggy off and on, and we're not seeing any major improvement yet.

We are staying strong. Time will be our friend. He's had eight grueling chemo treatments; his brain needs a vacation.

Thank you all for your prayers. God does listen.

Tom, the Ambulance Guy

Lately, Tom's been struggling with brain fog. It comes and goes, sometimes severe and sometimes just minimal. Then there's times when all is working, and our life seems normal. Well, Tom-Pulsipher-normal. It doesn't seem like anything we do these days is normal compared to most other people.

Around 4 am yesterday morning, Tom returned from trip to the bathroom, but didn't quite make it to bed. He became dizzy (not an unusual occurrence), and before he had a chance to steady himself his legs buckled and he fell.

He landed on his back, and was in quite a bit of pain, so I gave him a couple of pain pills. He told me he didn't hit his head, and just his back hurt. Eventually, he was able to get up on his own power, and then into bed.

I hadn't gone to sleep yet that night - can't really explain why. Just wasn't sleepy, I guess. But an hour later, in the dark I heard noise from Tom, not really words but sounds that I couldn't interpret. Turning on the light, I found him dazed and confused. He didn't know who I was. When I asked him questions, he couldn't answer - he was unable to speak anything other than one-syllable sounds.

Fearing that he'd had a stroke, I spent a few minutes determining what the next step was. Because of my own experience stroking just a year ago, all of it came back to me. It was surreal, all those not-so-fond memories of that day rushing back, but since decisions had to be made quickly, it was something I just had to deal with.

Asking him to squeeze my hands produced only mild strength from him, not the usual strong grip he has. He didn't understand my questions asking him to smile, or tell me what today's date was. Nothing was processing in his brain, yet he kept trying to get out of bed and I was having a difficult time convincing him he needed to stay there. Try getting dressed, finding the phone, and keeping a determined man in bed when he didn't want to be - guess I should take a course in juggling.

The cell phone was closest, and I called 911. They sent both the local fire department and an ambulance. Before long, there were six burly guys standing in our bedroom, trying to help Tom. Eight people in our bedroom was a whole lot of people. But around here, when you call for help, the best people in the world come running - and I am so thankful they came.

His condition hadn't changed any - still confused, unable to speak, not responding to questions. A quick check of his blood sugar proved to be normal. He couldn't comprehend why all those strangers were in his bedroom at 5:30 in the morning, and I had the feeling that he didn't want to have anything to do with them.

Quickly it was determined that Tom needed a trip to the hospital, and that he would have to be carried downstairs in a special chair paramedics use when the regular gurney won't work. It took nearly 20 minutes for us to convince him that he needed to sit in that darned chair; he didn't want to go anywhere, and definitely didn't want to go to some unknown place with strangers. But eventually he did, and off we went.

We were all convinced that Tom had suffered a stroke. The ER doctors immediately ordered a CT scan. Tom was still not able to speak, until the nurses tried to take blood samples and hook up an IV. Suddenly, the language skills kicked in, but unfortunately, the wrong language - he told off those poor nurses in no uncertain terms with words he never uses. He was so angry I thought for a moment he might take a swing at the nurse inserting the IV, but I was able to distract him enough that he calmed down.

He definitely did not want blood drawn, and he most certainly did not want to be hooked up to an IV. It was sort of a good news/bad news kind of moment - good that he was talking again, but bad news because sudden change and drastic of demeanor can indicate bleeding in the frontal portion of the brain.

But more good news (thank you, Lord!): the CT scan showed no bleeding, and no signs of stroke.
Alas, it gave no clue as to what was going on with Tom's brain.

But as the hours ticked by - and when you are sitting in an ER exam room, they tick by very, very slowwwwly - Tom began talking again, could answer some but not all questions, and his anger disappeared. After consulting both the ER doctor and the ER chief, we mutually decided that Tom could go home. Initially, they believed that he should be admitted, but after seeing him improve, they decided there wasn't much they could do for him other than to observe him, and I'm already pretty good at doing that . . .

So today we are saying prayers for the positive results, and thanking God that it wasn't a stroke. Today, he doesn't remember anything about yesterday other than the ambulance ride. (That figures - he used be a volunteer driver for the local ambulance service.) But he's home, a bit brain-foggy today, but not bad. And he's stroke-less. Good news comes in strange ways.

Chocolatea - Knitting with Chocolate is Good, Spinning is Better

After a very successful Knit-in-Public event a couple weeks ago at the local chocolate/tea cafe "Chocolatea" (hence their name) - we had more than 40 knitters/crocheters attend, beyond my wildest dreams - we decided to do it again.

Chocolatea is a specialty shop from heaven if you happen to like tea - they have more than 140 choices. Or if you like chocolate, or coffee, or fancy desserts. It's fairly new in town, so the curiosity factor brought out many of the K-i-P knitters. There aren't a whole lot of non-yarn shop knit-in-publics during evening hours, and since evening hours tend to be slow in many cafes, it's a perfect place to plunk down and enjoy a few hours of gabby knitting.

Or, in my case, spinning.

What's spinning, you ask? It's not the bicycle kind of spinning. This kind of spinning is what you do when you want to turn fleece into yarn. Some people do it with a spinning wheel, but some like to use a drop spindle - it's much more portable.

Shannon, of SpinSanity on Etsy, had joined us at Chocolatea, and brought some of her drop spindles. After watching her for a few moments, I asked if she would show me how. She had me spinning in under five minutes!

>>> I'm sorta getting it . . . but have a long, long way to go before this stuff looks like yarn! (photo by Karen Lason) >>>

Ummmm . . . well, maybe I should describe it as "attempted" spinning. But I had fun learning, so Shannon loaned me a spindle and gave me some wool to play with. I'm still messing with it, but now I have my very own customized spindle from Shannon. Shannon makes them to order, and also has ready-to-go spindles that can be ordered from her Etsy shop. They're all finely painted, signed and dated, and she carefully hand finishes each one. She'll even toss in a bit of fiber with your order to get you started.

She loves to make special spindles, and you can see some of them on her shop blog - spinsanityspindles.blogspot.com. Or, you can describe in an email to her what you'd like, and she'll give it a whirl (okay, so pun intended . . .)