The other day, DH approached me with a box of yarn in hand, prompting
me to retreat and utter some sailorly language. The attentive
will note that this is not my expected reaction to yarn; certainly, it
was not what DH might have expected.
The problem was that it was a box that had been hiding in the basement
(no difficult feat, given the number of ignored boxes down
there). It was a box full of remnants of yarns from projects gone
by — projects from 2 decades ago, and more. Some of the
labels on these acrylic yarns were from department stores — back when
Zellers & Eaton’s had their own house brand of yarn!
I don’t feel I can throw it out — it is, after all Perfectly Good
Yarn. It’s just not something I want to knit with
anymore. And there isn’t really enough of any given
colour/weight to just give it away. (I also have troubles with
the concept: “I’m done with this crap — I thought you might like
Really, the issue is that my current stash is already seriously
bursting out of its generous storage space (some 14 stacking plastic
filer drawers). I don’t want more space to store yarn: I
want to knit down the beautiful yarns I’ve already got in hand!
So, in some sense, the reaction to the box was that it was like having
a box of “time you don’t have” waved under my nose. Sigh.
Knew that already.
I did go through the box and mostly filed away the bits and ends —
including the letter that accompanied the return of the project in
progress as the Sweater
Curse kicked in. Now, that
was a while ago…