Like Unto the Yarn That Doesn't End

It wasn't until I set it on the table next to a stack of Finished Objects that I realized why this yarn seemed so familiar. The colors are almost identical to The Yarn That Doesn't End. But this stuff, instead of being Chenille from H*ll, is a lovely 50-50 silk/wool blend.



A Knit Night friend ordered it online, hoping for Subdued, but got Jeweltones. She had been musing for several weeks that she'd like to try overdyeing just the turquoise part. When she brought it to Knit Night and laid it out on the table, several of us gasped. Apparently I gasped the loudest, because she let me buy it from her at a ridiculously low price.



Comments on this yarn have been (A) outspoken and (B) wildly varied. One of the women I work with said, "That's the ugliest yarn I've ever seen." Another coworker thinks it as drool-worthy as I do. Secondborn, while photographing it, said, "This is absolutely gorgeous." And I'm sure others of my kids will proclaim "hideous". All three of these photos are much darker on my monitor than they are on Secondborn's. We will blame it ~ conveniently ~ on Blogger.



I'm thinking this wants to be a smallish Clapotis when it grows up. Would that make it a Clapot-ette? Cla-petite? Something between a scarf and a shawl, more dashing than most capelets I have seen. Not ready to have an extended conversation with it. Just very happy to have played Rescue Ranger in saving it from a fate worse than frogging.

Some things are just not meant to be overdyed.

On a completely unrelated topic, now I know why I don't want to be a famous author. Kudos to the Harlot for her Iron Woman Tour. I give her a weary but totally impressed sitting ovation from here at my keyboard.

I flew to Houston and back today, for the job that feeds my kid and my yarn habit, and I am *whipped*. Nearly ran out of gas in the parking garage at Love Field, looking for a place to stash Lorelai for the day. (Lorelai is my car, named after one of my two favorite TV characters, because this car just isn't a Rory. Not even a falling-stupidly-into-bed-with-Dean-Rory).

Nearly wept at locking the Elann Crop Cardi and the Sock War Swatch into the trunk. Nearly fell apart with helpless laughter because my seat on the return flight had swallowed up one end of my seatbelt, and it took two big strong men [my seatmates] and one small feisty flight attendant to extract it. Nearly fell asleep in a business meeting in front of the Poohbah to End All Poohbahs because of the carb rush from lunch. [A very nice man; it would have been a shame to have hurt his feelings.]

Happily home, full of leftover tortilla soup -- homemade, no less! -- and barefoot and in my exceedingly modest jammies. This is the part where George Burns would have said, "Say goodnight, Gracie."

Goodnight, Gracie. [And goodbye, Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are...]