The tale of the talking yarn

Every so often,I end up with a yarn in my stash that mocks me. Sometimes it is because I bought too much of a particular yarn and end up after knitting the project with a few balls left over...not enough yarn to knit another large project, but too much for a scarf.Sometimes the yarn mocks me because it is the wrong weight for the project for which it was purchased. Sometimes a yarn will quietly whisper "I'm here. You bought me with no project in mind and now you are forgetting that I exist."

One yarn in particular was very noisy in it's never ending rant that it had been bought in error.

Before you ask, I bought "Mother-of-the-Bride" purple zephyr because it was on sale. A momentary lack of sanity.

I knit with the yarn and gave the shawl away, but I still had eight ounces left. (Yes, it was a very good sale). I tried giving it away but no-one in their right mind wanted this yarn.
But I was rescued from my shopping folly.This is the result of Annie's dying.It's gorgeous and I love it. The yarn is dancing with gee. It's still talking, but now it is saying "you must find the perfect pattern to showcase my glorious colors".

We interrupt the previously scheduled knitting content to bring you this important message.Our Little Buddy is 1.
He enjoyed his cake...
...and the sugar buzz.
We can't imagine what life would be like with out his giggles, his inquisitiveness, and his hugs.
Happy Birthday.

...and I am dead...

On Friday, I drove up to Olds To Attend Fibre Potpourri which is sponsored by my local guild. I took the SIP to hopefully finish them and mail them off to the next victim. I thought it was a good idea to take a break and phone home to check on the mail.
Bad idea. Instead of being greeted with "Hello", I heard "You're dead!"
"Did you get the mail?" I asked.
"No, but you're dead."
"How do you know that if you haven't picked up the mail yet?"
"Fex Ex. It was delivered to the house and YOU'RE DEAD!"
So, I quickly packed up the socks I was knitting and ran off to the Post office before it closed.


And these are the instruments of my destruction. The weapons of choice. My final demise.