We had a pet raccoon when I was a kid. Dad would bring it in the house every once in awhile and let it run around the living room. You never wanted to leave things lying around when the little bugger was in the house. A raccoon simply can’t resist shiny things. They love them, take them, and stash them where no one else can see them.
I’ve been stashing a few things myself lately. Like the matching scarf I made to go with the first hat I made.
And then I made a hat for my daughter and forgot to show you that, too.
My mom likes to make pottery. She made me a yarn bowl.
And even put a sheep on it. I think it looks like Rose.
When I went to The Fiber Event at Greencastle, I made myself promise not to buy any fiber. I already have plenty to keep me busy. So instead, I focused on other things. I found this fridge magnet that reminded me of the bowl Mom made. It was made by a local artist.
I like supporting local artists. So I bought this wool drying basket from a lady who, come to find out, just lives a few miles down the road from me. Then I bought a quilt batting which happened to fit nicely into the basket.
Speaking of art, I was taken aback by the amazing work of Joan Arnold. Her display at the festival was made up entirely of sheep paintings, with only one exception, some amazing portraits of Great Pyrenees. I could have spent a small fortune on her work; I loved it all. Instead I bought a print and made a note of her website for future reference.
By that point I was still proud of myself for not buying any fiber. But then I walked by the Frontier Fiber Mill booth. She had the most beautiful selection of colors. I rationalized in my head that fiber and yarn were really two entirely different things and this alpaca/merino blend ended up in my shopping bag.
Then my hand touched this superfine alpaca tweed yarn at the WeaversLoft booth and my knees went weak. It’s almost as soft as the angora bunny I considered bringing home with me.
Luckily I rationalized that a bunny really qualified as fiber and therefore was off limits. Otherwise I would have had some splainin’ to do when I got home. And I probably would have been caged just like we used to do when that raccoon got out of control.