I Can’t Be the Only One..
So I mentioned that I was blocking stuff. One of those things was some handspun Blue-Faced Leicester wool that will eventually be a cowl for my mom. It’s beautiful, soft and smooshy and gorgeous, but when I dunked it in some warm water last night to set the twist, the aroma of wet sheep immediately filled the air. I felt like the yarn was talking to me, trying to get my attention.
“Hey, did you know that I used to be a sheep?”
“I used to be a coat for a sheep. Isn’t it strange that I’m going to dress a human now?”
“I lived outside and I smelled like this, but now I’m going to smell like it even more, just to remind you!”
I pressed our most of the water, and carried it into the bathroom to hang dry, trying to ignore the pervasive odors. The stupid yarn would NOT STOP with the smells. I was lying in bed, and still that slight scent was wafting into my room from the bathroom, and it was like a really annoying little kid.
“Hey guess what! I was part of a sheep until I was clipped off and then I went to a mill and I became a ball of fluff and then you spun me into yarn, but I was a sheep! Did you know that?”
I actually wanted to tell it “Yes I know you were a $&@%ing sheep! I get it! Now stop smelling up my house!”
I then realized that it’s not telling me anything. It is yarn, and yarn does not communicate. That’s part of the definition of an inanimate object. Right.
(I’ll show you pictures once it’s dry.)