Sometimes I wonder if describing myself as a "fiber addict" is really the way to go. Certainly it isn't a new concept. A great many arts and crafts enthusiasts have referred to their intense enthusiasm as "addiction". If you know what I'm talking about then you are no stranger to the all-consuming hold that a special project can take as it overpowers your every thought and free moment.
You might speak lovingly of that hypnotic click of needles as you knit and purl your way into the wee hours of the night. Perhaps you know too well the feel of rushing wind produced by your spinning wheel when it is treadled at full throttle. If you have more than one weaving loom you certainly could be labelled as having "issues" by those who do not understand, those that have trouble navigating through the wonder that is your woven world.
I say we quit defining our habits in negative terms. We are not addicts. We are super heroes. I AM THE TREADLER. Tarrum, Tarrah!
When those who knew me back in high school inquire, "Whatever happened to that Teresa girl who crocheted over 300 granny squares during Spring Break?" Let no one reply, "Oh, didn't you hear? She lives in a padded room now. Last I knew she had cocooned herself in four thick walls of wool."
NAY! Let them instead be heard to say, "Do you mean mild-mannered Teresa Clayton? Are you referring to that fantastic individual who has her own woolen Fortress of Solitude? I understand that she has fine-tuned her tremendous powers over fiber. And, isn't it interesting that she and the elusive super hero, THE TREADLER have never been seen together. Could she be that legendary hero? Wow, what a spinster! She's so cool."
When I was young I never once said, "When I grow up I want to be addicted to wool. I want to spend all of my free time spinning my own yarn and creating my own patterns and making dolls of wool, wool wool!"
No. When I was a child my brother and I were each other's trusty side-kicks. The basement was our bat cave and the laundry chute our secret passageway. I was the oldest of 5 children so there were enough of us for an entire super-squad. We were very close in age and Mom rarely left us home alone together but for brief periods say, just long enough to get my brother good and stuck in the "secret passageway".
There he was, surrounded by siblings, his head protruding out of the top of the chute while his feet dangled from the opening somewhere down in the basement as Mom (for the moment thrust into the role of our evil nemesis) returned from a quick errand.
Before I continue you might ask why my brother, the second oldest child, was the one stuck in the chute? Well, he had 4 sisters. He was pretty much out-numbered and out-voted during each and every dramatic episode. As a general rule he was unanimously nominated to go first and last. After all, once a mission had been accomplished there really was no need for the rest of us to repeat it.
So, Mom was home and our heroes found themselves, and their trusty side-kick, in another tricky pickle. Acting with lightening efficiency we quickly covered our brother up with all the available dirty laundry we could muster. My brother agreed that quietly surviving under a pile of soiled socks and assorted damp towels was far preferable to the dastardly doom of discovery.
My sisters and I then nonchalantly helped mom into the house with the groceries before we meandered on downstairs to the bat cave. There, above a hearty heap of laundry were my brother's dangling feet. (Those feet hung perfectly still in what I knew to be pensive anticipation of how this episode might resolve itself.) I began to leap into the air attempting to latch on to the brother who was just out of my reach. After only a few efforts I was able to jump high enough to grab hold of his right ankle where I too, now dangled over the family laundry pile. Soon my sister had hold of the other ankle and then well, it all happened so quickly.
That's how it goes sometimes when you're saving the day. Before you know it the danger has passed, you're tangled up with your siblings in dirty laundry and a new evil nemesis, in the form of a very put-out and frustrated brother, must be dealt with.
So, fellow fiber enthusiasts are you with me? Are we mere mortals in desperate need of an intervention or do we aspire to be Super Heroes of the arts and crafts world?
Do I take the above assorted novelty yarn samples and weave myself a super cape? Or, are they simply destined for the yarn jar labelled, "Strings too short to save".