Monday, July 16, 2007

Stash Speaks Up

When was the first time you realised that your stash was cognizant? That somewhere along the way, you have developed an inner voice that represents your well loved fibers. You've given it a personality, and that was cute an all, but then, possibly when things got quiet and dark......something shifted. You started holding conversations with some of it while practically ignoring other skiens. Some of the stash was genteel, while others grew feral.

Yesterday we started packing for the Big Move.
Princess's room was the logical first choice in my mind, as the classroom books are kept in there as well. We went first to her dresser, sorted, sifted, packed and bagged for Goodwill. Moved to toys, released several hundred thousand back into in wilds of the toy bin lottery at the Salvation Army, and kept a modest 6 billion for personal enjoyment. Moved next into the bookshelf region where the literary giants of our classroom reside. DAGGUM that's a lot of books! Out of all boxes packed so far, about 20, more than half are nothing but books. I even relinquished a few to greener pastures....of course "a few" being a relative term considering the quantity we are working with here.
If you have 10 apples and give away 3, that would be 'giving a few away'. If you have 40 llamas and give 6 to your neighbor, that's 'a few'. If you have 3 tonnes of a bibliophiles daydream sitting on your shelf, and you give half a ton away, well that counts as 'a few' right? Moving on.

We ate pizza and pop for a late lunch and moved into our bedroom. Now, our bedroom has somehow become the office and the catch all for any and every little thing that goes no where else. Ever since we cleaned out the attic space, I've been too protective about letting anyone but me put stuff in there. So I say to just 'put it in my room'. Well you know how that goes, and this is the chaos we started on.
First the easy room then the most difficult room. That leaves the rest as mediocre, and we can all say that at least it's not the bedroom again. Heh.
This is where the stash comes in.

El Hubbo sacrifices himself and goes straight for the jugular of the clutter problem: the clothes. But first, he needs a basket. Well what is in the giant wicker basket? Video tapes of course! Sheesh.
After a good 45 minutes all of the video tapes are properly boxed and labeled for archaeology. *This is where I go to the store for caffeine, milk and more boxes so am unclear as to what really went down* I return from the box hunt to a good deal of the clothes in the hamper, and my beloved husband sorting through clothes and actually tossing ones he hasn't worn in a million years! What is even more astounding is that he is putting HIS clothes in a separate box from mine, and LABELING them according to season and whether they will go to storage or the bay house. Unsure about this behaviour, I tread lightly and move to the other side of the room so I don't break his concentration.
The stash calls me at this point.

Now, if you are a knitter, I really do not need to explain anything about string and it's ways of getting attention. If you are a non-knitter, you have likely just written me off as a lunatic.
The stash called Cotton saw that I was near her home in the basket under the bed. I was separating my bedside reading into 3 groups: makes me happy book, knitting goodness book and time to move on book. Cotton started asking when I was going to come and properly air her out and make sure she was stored in a manner which was befitting of her stature. Cotton has a very southern belle kind of high maintenance attitude. Think Gone with the Wind, Scarlett O'Hara, tough as nails but wants everyone to think she is delicate, kind of personality (disorder). I started giggling and replied if she did not watch her tone, she'd become accustomed to a dishrag stature.
I talked out loud to the stash when another human being was in the room. What is worse, it was a non-knitting human being. Even worse than that, a non-knitting human who just discovered that the silver vinyl suit bag in his hands was not in fact holding clothes, but instead was filled with yarn.
He looked at me. Looked hard. Like he wanted to laugh, run or call someone to get help for his wife. It was the kind of look that tests the resiliency of your spouse and whether or not he thinks this is cute, funny, a joke or whether he should inquire if sheep will be allowed to visit his wife on the funny farm.
With a dry tone he simply stated: You know hon, your yarn just lunged at me from the closet. I think it meant to hurt me, but it could have been after a hug. What do I do?

I love that man.

Naturally I told him to just put it right back in the closet and I'd have a stern talk with it when I got over there. Seeing just a hint of fear remaining in his eyes, I assured him that I was going to be gifting a good deal of that particular group to Marquita for the log cabin blanket she was making. He relaxed considerably. By bed time he found my quirks quite charming again and was laughing at the way The Stash has grown under my sneaky ways and how he never knew.

Perhaps he believes I started talking to it just to make a joke. We were working hard and it's good to be silly at times. Perhaps he even thinks he misheard and caught just half of the joke?...And you know what? Perhaps it is best we let him continue thinking whatever it is that he wants to think as long as it lets him remain happy with his brides string habit.


Jess said...

But I still love you. After all, it is my fault you talk to your yarn.

the girl with pointy sticks said...

Amen it's your fault sister. Heh.
Love you