two knits of ivory

13 months later. There will be no post 2 of 2. Oopsie! In 1976 or 1977 Janis Ian introduced me to the very foreign concept of measuring time in coffee spoons: Geesh, it would be 10 or more years before I would even grasp what her words mean. What is time to a 9 year old? Everything. Every day is long and short. Every milestone momentous. 37 years later, time is a meandering journey down a gelatinous waterway. My only anchors, my marriage, my knitting, my job. Only my knitting imparts a sense of time. This spring a random raveller asked if I could spare some yarn from a project I knit in 2011. I found the yarn remants and marvelled at how neatly I had reskeined and stored them. I had forgotten how organized I had kept my craft. It was a stark contrast to the chaos it is in now. My psyche has been overwhelmed for some time, and my knitting, like everything else, has paid a price. When it comes to my knitting one culprit is my stash. Chaos found me when I ran ou