Secret Lives of Weavers

Weavers share a loving, secret, almost guilty relationship with our stash. Just thinking about it fills us with love, happiness, excitement, and, from time to time, dread. We loose ourselves in a room full of cooler, texture and sheep and dye smells, and caress each skein, cone or ball, remembering the last scarf, or dreaming of the next shawl. This is the ultimate alone time, soaking in the tingly sensation of being with our yarns. We don't even tell our husbands what goes on in there.

We touch our yarns for the sheer pleasure of it, or look longingly for inspiration, or with a loving project in mind. Sometimes we rearrange the shelves so we can see the familiar yarns in a different light, and rediscover yesterday's favorites. Sometimes we move them around to make room for more. But these yarns eventually turn into beautiful textile, so, you see, it's a nurturing, productive relationship.

Some weavers are overcome by a life of pretence and resort to drastic measures; car boot sale, stash exchange, and donation to the Hospice shop. Virtuous ones, like Rose, detox with a week of "rapid-stash-reduction" regime. Ah, but most of us return to our stash to become better weavers.