Saturday, August 26, 2006

The first step to a cure . . .

Hi, my name is Lorraine and I'm a fiberaholic. It all started when I was an innocent kid. I was born into a family of a fiber artist. My mom was a seamstress and master crafter in her own right. I wore hand-sewn clothing, crocheted vests, hand-knit sweaters and slept under a quilt she made. I learned to sew on her machine and was taught to knit and crochet by her. Always being somewhat strapped for cash, she also taught me the value of a dollar and the wisdom of shopping the sale. But, for me, alas, I fear it's become a sickness.

Rewind to yesterday. Picture me in my car outside a LYS. I flip down my visor, look myself squarely in the eye in my vanity mirror and say, "You are going in to get needles. You don't need any yarn. You have enough yarn to last for the next 3 years. Don't look away! Look at my eyes. All that's in those 50% off sale bins is novelty yarn and YOU DON'T NEED IT! Keep your eyes on the prize. Needles!" Mirror flips up and out of the way, I take a deep breath, step out of my car and calmly walk to the front door of the store. The salesperson offers her help (they have great customer service there - darn them) and I politely say, "I'm looking for needles," and head for the wall of notions in the back of the store. Blast them! The sales bins are right by the notion wall. So I give myself a pep talk, "Head up, don't look, just get your needles and breathe."

They don't have all the sizes of needles I want or need, so I check other hooks, just to make sure they're not in the wrong place. That's where I make my fatal error. As I'm turning, I see something out of the corner of my eye. Could it be . . . is that . . . it is, it's Debbie Bliss Cashmerino Aran in black. That's not novelty yarn. That's a staple. But is it an orphan. I mean, what would you do with just one skein? Could there be more? So I dive in like a frenzied drug addict looking for his first fix of the day. Score! I found four skeins and one little skein of Kid Merino in pale pink. An orphan but I'm sure I can figure out something to do with that one skein. After all, I have three girls in this house.

I get to my car and sheepishly flip down my vanity mirror. I look at myself but I'm not on speaking terms with myself. I only shake my head sadly at my reflection. I need help.

In the meantime, I have plans for the Cashmerino Aran. In the back of my mind was another pattern. My son's hockey team's colors include black, so these fingerless mitts and a matching hat will be ideal for hockey games this winter, so I can continue to knit and use up some of this superfluous stash that continues to accumulate, despite the stern lectures, yarn diets, self-imposed exile from the LYS except for emergencies and all the other measures that don't seem to stem the influx of new yarn into the house. I reiterate, I need help.

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