Sometimes emotion overcomes me and it's easier to tell my story in pictures than in words:
Or to put it another way, Phillip, who usually fails to operate trash receptacles, never mind round up and discard unwanted items around the house, managed to throw away my fleece.
That's right. Beloved Caora Dubh, which I have been chipping away at processing for an entire year, has been donated to the toy drive. I'm not sure which mental image taunts me more painfully: The 5-ply gansey of my dreams which I now will not have enough yarn to make, or the poor kid who opens that plastic bag expecting teddy bears and gets half a smelly sheep.
Either way, I am in mourning. And Phillip is sleeping in the garage until further notice.
I only wish I could express my pain properly. I recognize that in the scope of losses, this one does not qualify as tear-worthy, or even really more than an emotional hiccup. Which may be part of my problem. How can I be so utterly wrenched by the loss of something that effects my loved ones and the rest of the world not at all? It's not as if the roof fell in, for heaven's sake. But I'm just so sad about it.
In an attempt at healing, I have washed all the rest of the locks that I had picked and ready for scouring (fortunately those were in a different bag):
That's all there is, there ain't no more. It looks like a fair amount in the photo, but believe me, it's only half a sheep.
I decided that the only way to work through my grief is to finish processing all the fleece I have left. When I really have yarn, and know how much, then I will be able to alter my goal accordingly. Maybe there will be enough for a vest?
Here are the singles: 4.5 bobbins, plus whatever I get from the locks I have left. No clue what that will be, but something tells me I'll be able to let Phillip back in the house once it's yarn. Probably not before that.
I'm keeping my chin up by promising myself a new fleece. Black Sheep Gathering is in a few weeks, and I wrote to my favorite vendor for samples. This one is a serious contender:
Behold the crimpyness! What's not to love about a Coopworth lamb called Gigi? Perhaps one day I shall love again.