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Thursday, November 27, 2014

October 11, 2013

So I thought I’d sort my yarn bin yesterday. You know, rummage through the bits-and-pieces left over from various projects I’ve done through the years. Seriously, I must condense! My daughter creates beautiful lap robes and sofa throws from just this kind of thing—bits-and-pieces, this color and that. She has a way with color. No matter how things might clash on a larger scale, she courageously crochets those little bits-and-pieces together--a splash of clashes, if-you-will, and it all comes together in a thing of beauty. I have one she fashioned just for me… in every shade of pink, rose and purple you can imagine. It is stunning and best of all, it keeps me toasty on a chilly night when I’m sitting there sorting out my yarn bin.
My projects are more cautious and well, bland, I suppose you could say; the colors must blend and match, and of course go perfectly with the room or outfit envisioned. And yes, there are always those mini-balls leftover-- bits-and-pieces that I just don’t know what to do with, so typically, I pass them on to her.
Well, of course you know where this is going. I left the yarn bin uncovered when I toddled off to bed last night, and it seems there is someone else around here that knows exactly what to do with bits-and-pieces! I wouldn’t have known, or missed them at all, had I not been out on the back porch this afternoon, investigating a commotion around the bird feeders—just a benign scuffle between a few sparrows. As I turned to come back in, I noticed a suspicious splash of color—actually several of them, dangling from the eaves near MouseHouse. As I looked closer, I noted a few shorter pieces on the walkway between the porches as well—bits-and-pieces of yarn.
Well now… I muttered to myself, it seems I’m not the only one sorting through my yarn bin. I wonder who that could be! I picked up the little bits-and-pieces on the porch floor, bunched them up, along with the danglers from the eaves, and placed them on the eave edge for better access. As I did so, Fivelina appeared at her doorway.
“Please accept my apologies, Ma’am…” she spoke so softly, shame and embarrassment written all over her sweet blushing face. “My boys have been up to no-good again. They took these from your house last night, and I’m so very sorry. We have spoken to them, and it won’t happen again, I assure you.” As she spoke, she handed me a tiny woven basket full of the tiniest balls of yarn you can imagine. She’d neatly wound each remnant and placed them in the basket to return, all—that is, but the bunched up ones I’d just placed near her door.
“Oh no, no… sweet Fivelina! I would be thrilled if you could use these little bits-and-pieces to make something for your family for winter. They are too small for me to use and I was just going to pass them on to someone who could. Please… you keep these. I hope you can use them.”
She paused, considering. “But Ma’am… I can’t abide my children stealing things… I don’t know…”
“Perhaps you could tell them of our conversation,” I suggested, “… and ask them to do something to help me as payment for taking the yarn?” She smiled. “Yes, thank you, Ma’am. That’s exactly what I’ll do. Thank you so very much. This will make a wonderful warm reading robe for Sir Fivel, and I thank you, Ma’am. You are very kind.” Later there were two very busy mouse-ling boys, sweeping pine needles off the porch walkway with their tiny straw brooms. They didn’t even look up as I peeked out the kitchen doorway.
For years, I’ve tossed yarn pieces, dryer lint and other bits-and-pieces outside for the birds to use in building their spring nests, or for lining their winter hovels. Little did I realize those bits-and-pieces might also be useful to make reading-robes for chilled Mouse Gentlemen! Who knew?

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