My newest Dark Yarn Production. 

This one is light. 

Sometimes there is too much dark. 

My hands yearned to craft the possible. 

A warmth made for hope, for love

with gratitude and longing.

To be given for comfort

without expectation. 

One to protect in coldness.

One to stroke for calm. 

One whose  greatest role

is to be set aside, when

love can do those things

in its place.

For days of light. 

Pre-teen Blanket 

This is my latest Dark Yarn. 

On the surface, it’s not dark. It’s bright and cozy. The idea is adorable. My son’s new step-brother has a nursery filled with Winnie the Pooh and friends. 

I couldn’t quite bring myself to make the baby a new blanket. I started. I tried. His mother and grandmother are beautiful yarn artists, so the young one with have his share of cuddly wrappings. It’s good he didn’t need mine. Because I couldn’t keep going. 

I wanted to make a blanket for my own son. But, one he could share with his new brother. The one who shares his father and his initials and his half-birthday. 

So, we came up with this pre-teen blanket. No too baby-ish. (I was warned. Several times. Someone is not a baby.) But something that could bridge the gap between the boys-the distance spanning their rooms and their ages.

It wasn’t an easy blanket to crochet. Technically, it was simple. Emotionally, it was a tangle of dropped stitches and twisted wool. 

My heart hurt as I wrapped and pulled. I cried a bit. I made an absolute mess of the red yarn. I ripped it apart. I put it back together. And I kept on going. One stitch at a time. 

I hope both of these boys like their blanket. Something to share. Something to remember. 

I’m so glad I made it. 

And I hope I can keep on going. 

Dark Yarn Production

I make things with yarn.

Usually dark yarn.

And I write stories.

Usually dark stories.

(I get jokes.)

I’m working and trying and fighting to do more of both.

This hat was fast to crochet together. And then it wasn’t because it turned out to be enormous. So I tried to heat it and shrink it and then generally beat it into being a lesser hat. It would not.

So I unraveled it. A very zen experience in patience and a reminder of the impermanence of objects. Most unlike me. Then I took a breath and made it again. Also kinda unlike me. Pleasant when a story or a character surprises you.

It’s still a pretty enormous hat.  It’s not my head, which is probably biggish, like all my bits. Except, you know, boobs. So it’s possible the pattern has an issue, not me. Which is nice for a change.

But zen moments and work and trying aside, I have a newly-made-by-me hat. It’s warm and it cuddles my head and it’s a lovely dark red. Gives my brain lovely dark ideas.

I’m ready to start on my new things and eager to see what stitches and words are on my next page.