Fool For Yarn

Right now, I am sitting in my basement and writing to the world.  I am in an environment rich in spun fiber:  wool, nylon, cotton, acrylic, glitz, and more.  The colors bounce out of the plastic cartons or bags:  peacock, teal, blood red, kelly green, tangerine, acid pink, heathered purple, robin’s egg blue.

Sounds a bit like textile heaven, but it’s become a sort of hell, albeit gentle and lovely, but hell, nevertheless.

For years, yarn was my obsession and I never saw a yarn shop that I didn’t enter and upon entering, rarely left without buying.  I was especially attracted to the sale bins.  The gem skeins, never great in number, rose to the top as if they were fuzzy cream.  Usually not having the funds to buy a sufficient amount of yarn for a complete project, buying this stuff allowed me to feel that I was part of the buying game, that I was not left out, that I had something gorgeous in my freshly opened shopping bag.

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