Talk To Me Yarn

I really really wish I was a yarn-whisperer.
My mother sends me these scrumptious bundles of homespun, hand-painted, soft as butta'. One at a time, I spend a week or so looking at them. Taking them out of the cabinet and placing them on a counter. I walk by them, stop a dozen times to pick them up and put them down.
Then I break out my old knitting magazines and go through them all, trying to find a match.
Then I spend a day or two on Ravelry. Same story.
Then I finally wind it into a ball. Place on a surface closer to my pillow.
Pick up, flip through my drawer of knitting needles.
Replace it, and in a day or two, repeat.
You're looking at an example of this. A ball of raspberry that finally whispered to me "hat!" Really? All this ordeal and all you want to be is a hat? I really wish we had better communication, yarn and me. Its frustrating to carry on this way for weeks for a hat. Maybe the yarn is mad at me for ignoring it whenever it says "shawl."
If we are to get along, Yarn, you need to stop saying that.


mom said...

the blue says" mittens "