A good yarn . . .

 

 

One must discover the yarn amidst the thorns.

The Cat and the Hats

              Fresh termination dust, Chinook winds, northern lights and empty trees - these are today’s signs that winter is on its way.  These are outdoor signs.  Indoor signs are the wood pile, thermal curtains, and skis propped in the corner.    Oh yes . . . and hats.  No matter how hard I try I cannot keep them confined to the hat studio.  They have taken over the spare bedroom.  I’ve had to allow that.  Not much choice.  They need room to parade and display themselves. Gradually, they have been sneaking downstairs.  Wannabe hats, in the form of skeins of yarn, have wedged themselves between the arm rest and the seat of my recliner.  They are hiding under the couch. There’s an avocado green skein, even now, laying low in the bottom of my back pack, probably thinking I’ll forget about her if she’s quiet enough. I draw the line at the dining room table.  Hats and cats must obey the house rules and stay off the cupboards and tables.  Buttercup, the cat obeys the rules.  At least while I’m home.  Who knows what she does when I’m gone?  The hats are another story.  The only way I could get them to agree to stay off the dining room table is to provide them with their very own table.  So that’s how the card-table comes to be in the corner of the dining room, where skeins of yarn and hats continue to pile themselves.   Sometimes, the cat joins their happy heap. 10-08-2013 and 52 hats. 

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