Sunday, April 25, 2010

Where I prove once again that my willpower is an illusion...

madtosh dk

I think the serenity prayer is one of handiest affirmations out there.

God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
The courage to change the things that I can;
And the wisdom to know the difference.

I am a woman of many compulsions. By the grace of fate, or god, whichever your inclination, substance abuse is not one of these many.

True to my promise I did not buy yarn last weekend. Wednesday, though? I didn't fall off the wagon, I fell off a cliff. Sideways. With leaden boots.

The first of my two transgressions are four different colorways of my newest love, Madtosh DK. (I haven't received the bounty of my second transgression, yet.) The colorway above is Burnished and is a reflection of my fascination with blue paired with myriad brown hues. My favorite in this family is the following, Terrarium:




madtosh dk

madtosh dk

madtosh dk


Funny story. Yesterday afternoon I was out on my bridge taking photos when one of the skeins fell in the crick. I nearly lost it. Once I had ascertained that the water was clear and that the black peat of the shoreline where the skein lay wasn't that moist, my senses returned. The skein was most likey unharmed.

With my heart nestled back in my chest, I hastened to fish out the skein. A very dodgy undertaking which I took with the foolish abandon one succumbs to when just having escaped nuclear doom. So of course, as I was climbing out of the embankment I lost my footing, and with both feet on terra notso firma, I slid quickly into the crick.   The crick is only a few inches deep currently, but my crocs were slushy with mud and my bum was as black as tar.

Intrinsically knowing the faster I got the skein washed, the more likely it would be safe as houses, I beckoned the hubster for help. His response was to nearly lose his cookies.

You see, the poor thing was enraged; I had kind of gotten him to underwrite the entire Madtosh purchase and all he saw was a laughing, blackened woman holding a dark mossy brown-green skein of yarn. He thought the crick made it that color, because who in their right mind would buy yarn that color?  And he was sure the yarn was ruined.

But more salient to me was that I could plainly see he was in the throws of the voice of doom.  I saw in him a part of myself and my heart lurched, a little in sadness and a little in relief.   More than my good fortune of having a job, brand new yarn, and a marriage that is presently fantastic, I am lucky to be free from that voice of doom.  The facet of my mind that had been certain for so very, very long that any and all errors are the product of a lazy, stupid, unworthy person has been integrated into my personality.  She who believes in Perfection or Death is now just a part of me, not the only me I experience.

The yarn is dry and looks absolutely perfect.
 

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