When poor health kept me off my feet for a time, I was fortunate enough to find some great knitting and crochet groups near my home.
Working with yarn was a great outlet for me while I was recuperating. The yarns available were gorgeous. The skeins were the most colorful little coils and made the crochet projects that much more enticing.
Plus, I met some good people. It all seems pretty safe. Right? But, I developed a bit of a problem. It is called SABLE. The acronym stands for Stash Acquired Beyond Life Expectancy.
I would never live long enough to use all the yarn I purchased. I did not realize it until the group president stared me right in the eye and declared, "Face it, girlfriend, you are at that SABLE stage.
I had to be honest. I had been spending much time walking up and down craft store aisles just squeezing the oblong, billowy coils, taking in the colors and imagining how I would transform the merchandise into blankets, scarves, shawls, hats and anything useful. I did not realized the mountain of fiber that was stuffed in my closet.
I discovered that each Monday, I could use a discount coupon for my favorite fiber. My stash had indeed grown.
I justified my purchases by counting how many blankets I made for Project Linus, a worthwhile activity. Plus, the family members loved my hats at holidays. At least, they said they did.
I prided myself on being a person of balance and limited indulgences, except for the dark chocolate snacking I did.
But my friend caught me red-handed as she walked through my house. It was embarrassing. I had yarn everywhere. Colorful, tempting coils dropped from all of my closet shelves.
My friend, Val, consoled me and said excess can happen to the best of us. She helped me make a pile of what I would realistically use and what I needed to pass on. It pained me to make the giveaway pile of radiant thread.
The resolution came much more easily than I would have expected. We took the dumpster of yarn to the senior center, and a grateful director put her arms out and accepted the contents.
She comforted me. "Don't worry, my dear girl. It is because of you SABLE girls that we get yarn here for our residents."
But, I still needed some guidance. The plan was that my 17-year-old niece would accompany me to the store, and I would buy the pattern first, and then stick to only what the pattern required.
I caught on fast and rehabbed myself pretty well.
My niece said, " I am so proud of you, Aunt Sunny. I think you can go on your own now."
She was right. I have myself under control.
Sunny Cook lives in Summerville. She is a retired teacher from the Pennsylvania Public School System. When Sunny is not writing, she is crafting .
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