I had an epiphany the other day. Not of the profound sort. I didn’t come up with a solution for world peace or solve the hunger, housing, drought, famine issue.
But what the enlightenment this epiphany brought me did crystallize something in my brain and OMG it defines me.
I discovered I buy wool (read yarn of any expensive sort any time you see the word “wool”) because I like to buy wool. Any kind. Usually in a definable colour range that includes any shade, tone or variation of blue. And usually in a unique composition range. Like silk, yak, mohair, camel, linen. . . . (Remember these words if you are my executor….exotic blends….no cheap wool in my craft room. Ever.)
I made this discovery about myself the other day as I found myself in the parking lot in front of a lovely wool store which I have patronized from time to time. Wool calls out to me “Cheryl, Cheryl” every time I drive by. Usually I resist. But I guess this time the siren song was too strong, and suddenly there I was. Inside. Touching, feeling, drinking in the colours and textures with my eyes and my fingers. I didn’t need wool. I didn’t have a project underway that called for an additional purchase, or a project still in formative stages in my brain. I just found myself in the store. And suddenly, inexplicably, there I was at the till buying a couple of skeins of wool.
I had no purpose for this lovely wool. No project in mind. I just had to possess it. And as I walked out of the store, I felt a sense of pride. I had limited my purchases to only two skeins. I mean, think about it. A store full of wool, several had tantalized and teased me as I passed them by. I left them behind. And I only bought two. Or is that I bought only two?
A few days later, I made a detour on my way home from Curves. I needed a piece of fabric for a blackwork stitching project I had in mind. None of the three drawers of stitching fabric in seven different thread counts in a multitude of colours, some hand-dyed, would work for this particular project, so I of course my car detoured to a stitching store. This particular craft store is relatively new to me. It’s been around a while, but I had only ventured in one other time. The store is physically small so the owner carries a few things in a few different fibre craft lines. So not surprisingly she didn’t carry a fabric suitable for my project. But it was a tantalizing shop and she was lovely. And she did have some beautiful wool. And some very neat “stuff”. I love “stuff”.
Will it surprise you to know that I came out with a couple of skeins of lovely wool? Again no project in mind for this wool. But oh my, the colour is luscious.
Again it will come as no surprise to know that when we were spending months of each year in Scotland with Ken’s aging parents, I regularly came home with suitcases full of wool purchased from the people who raised the sheep, gathered the wool, carded, combed, spun, dyed and skeined it up. I often had to abandon parts of my wardrobe to get my treasures into the suitcase. In fact, once I found myself in a thrift store purchasing an additional suitcase. But don’t tell Ken. Oh wait, he knows, he had to haul the extra suitcase through airports.
The need to possess extends beyond the fibre itself to the accoutrements. Yarn swifts, ball winders, various sizes and shapes of scissors, needles — straight, double pointed, circular, interchangeable, darning — stitch and row counters, and so on. Then there’s the finishing supplies: blocking tools and wires, clips, pins foam mats. And the creative supplies….patterns, magazines, books.
I realize now that I had an inkling of this epiphany several years ago when I gave myself permission to buy craft magazines just to revel in the creativity and deliciousness of colours on the pages and know while still at the magazine purchase stage that the likelihood of actually making anything found within was pretty faint. Same with books whether purchased or borrowed.
And the rabbit holes I have explored. I have several favourite websites I visit just to drool over the wools and colours. Many offer “free” patterns. And this makes me laugh. (Ha! I say, Ha! One free pattern I got would have cost me nearly $1000 to make, had I purchased the suggested wools and crystal beads.) My fingers twitch over the “add to basket” icon and when the click happens, I anticipate the arrival of what the fibre craft world refers to as a “squishy” package. The internet has opened up the world to people like me.
This, what shall I call it? Condition? Syndrome? Whatever it is, has by osmosis worked its way into other parts of my creative world. Stitching. I love to find patterns that I want to do. In cross stitch, these are usually women garbed in long flowing gowns with long flowing hair (Celtic Christmas is my current favourite of my finished pieces), sometimes these beautiful women have wings — fairies for example, pixies, and more than a few angels; sometimes the opposite of angels, witches for example. But they too have long flowing hair and are wearing long flowing gowns. Flowers feature large too. And my latest passion, blackwork is taking over my life. I lean towards Celtic knots although generally I love the geometric precision of blackwork. I have three variations on a theme currently under construction (although one is currently in a time out in another room, following several counting errors, resulting in frogging [see next paragraph]), along with several in various stages of completion and quite a few on deck to borrow a sports metaphor. I think the amount of floss I have in my possession is another clear indicator of this. I think I wrote about my floss in another blog when I was trying to find a storage system for my hundreds, nay, likely thousands, skeins of embroidery floss.
Words take on different meanings in the craft world. For example, if a crafter is frogging, and this crosses a multitude of crafting lines, they are tearing out work. Rip it, rip it, sounding much like ribbit ribbit. One word that describes my situation is Sable..it’s an acronym actually, meaning stash acquired beyond life expectancy. My daughter knows well that my Sable likely extends beyond her life expectancy too.
Oh, the need to possess is overwhelming. So is the need to start something new and fresh. The need to finish isn’t quite as present.
