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.