Roving

"Spring has sprung
The grass is riz
The 'flu is at the door.
And many folks
Are dying now,
Who never died before. "

Ah yes, that which always accompanies Spring has laid both boys flat. Okay, that might be an overstatement, a bit of an exaggeration. Tilted, maybe. Put off-balance enough to need to stay home from school. At the moment they are enjoying a respite, comfortably ensconced in front of the TV watching Annie (Albert Finney sings! well, sort of).



I am grabbing a moment to indulge in the sanity that blogging can bring.

This post is really for Clare.

In the course of her studies in the UK she has come up with a final project for I don't know what but which deals with textiles and the history of textiles. She snagged a bit of honest-to-God sheep's wool off of a fence, but she would like roving as well.

For some inexplicable reason, roving is thin on the ground in England. With deadlines looming, she'll settle for images, so here they are.

Note the miraculous re-appearance of the quasi-historical artifact which I wanted for this post. The power of daughters, like the flu, is not to be sneezed at.