No, it's not an infestation of the dreaded moths or any other creepy crawly insect with a taste for yarn. No, it seems that my stash is under siege from The Family!
It started on Saturday when DD2 (SusieLusie) caught sight of that Harmony sitting in a ziploc bag on my rocker. If I'd been sensible, I'd have stuffed it into the depths of my hoard as soon as it had had its rock star moment in front of the camera, but no, I was still dreamily contemplating its future as a top notch lace product, so there it still was, on show for all to see.
It was love at first sight.
She took it out of the ziploc, fondled it and admired its colour and yardage, well, like a fully fledged yarnie really. How quickly these things catch on. It was only last summer that she was asking me, "Mum, how do I purl?" and now here she is caressing Jojoland as if she was, well, 'born to it!'
I guess this is what happens when a yarnaholic begets another yarnaholic. You think it's oh, so wonderful to have someone in your immediately family who truly understands your fiber fascination, who totally gets it. Oh the joy of a shared mother/daughter bond as you take a trip to the local LYS to check out their latest aquisitions; the pleasure of having someone else who also 'feels the love' as they fondle Filatura. If only it were that simple. No there are those dark moments that creep into all relationships when someone else covets your stash and, fearing for its survival, you have to find a new hiding place for it.
She spent the day trying to bribe me with Kid Mohair. She knew I'd liked the two skeins she'd scored at the spinner's sale last month and was keen to use that leverage. So far I've held out, but I'm not sure how much longer I'll last. The deep lilacs of that lace weight have been winking at me from across the room and begging to be swapped. I'd close my eyes, but my fingers are the problem!
I took her to our LYS in the hope she'd find something else and my Harmony would be saved. We snuck out of the house leaving a hastily scribbled note on P.A.'s workbench. It read, "Gone to the yarn store" and in brackets "(sorry)." Staring temptation in the face by deliberately walking into Aladdin's cave was likely to result in Oscar Mayer Weiners for dinner instead of barbequed chicken. I felt a touch of remorse.
DD2 was flush with cash from a recent babysitting gig and keen to increase her stash of lace yarn. I tried to find a balance between knitterly interest and self-preservation as we perused the Kid Seta and rifled through the Rowan. After a while I sort sanctuary at the large wooden work table in the middle of the shop where the owner was working on a summer top.
Big mistake. She's good at her job. The top was lace and as she passed me a skein of the yarn she was using, I found myself touching an 80% silk, 20% cotton combo. It was to die for! It took all of my rapidly fading will power to resist the urge to pop a few skeins up to the cash register to enhance my stash a little more. Thankfully the prospect of Oscar Mayer Weiners in my immediate future was enough to frighten me into sobriety. I sat on my hands.
Feeling immensely proud of myself for actually walking into a yarn store and leaving empty handed, we headed back home for a spot of lemonade and a discussion about DD2's purchases. The shared interest thing was a true pleasure once again. As she left to store her new yarn somewhere where I wouldn't find it, P.A. came out with a suggestion that left me reeling in shock:
Could some of the yarn budget be used to buy wine!
"Yarn budget? What yarn budget?" I countered.
"Well, I just thought....." he started, realising that he was perhaps on shaky ground.
"I just walked into a yarn store and didn't buy a thing!" I replied, utterly incredulous that this man could not understand how much fortitude it had taken to do that. Did he really not undertsand just how close he'd come to grilling Oscar Mayer Weiners on Memorial weekend?
"I don't believe you," he said, with a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Shitake mushrooms! He was enjoying this.
"Honestly," I replied, trying to convince him that he should actually be very proud of me. "I didn't buy a thing!"
"Well, I just thought....a few bottles on the rack......."
A few bottles on the rack, I thought. That leads to cases and that leads to cruising wineries. I know how these things are. Wine, yarn, wine, yarn - I was weighing it up in my head. The idea of a cold Chablis on a warm sunny day was pretty compelling, but so was a skein of prized quiviut or a ball or two of alpaca. What do you get at the end of it too; an empty bottle and a hangover or an heirloom lace shawl? In my mind there was no contest. It would be nice to have both, but I didn't hold out much hope for the heirloom lace shawl if I'd already consumed the bottle of Chablis. Frankly this was a no-brainer.
"Sorry, mate," I replied.
Shaking my head and smiling sweetly, I handed him a bottle of beer.