Tabled

So there I was, feeling so fabulous for having revamped and decluttered my living room.  I was downright smug.  Which (I should have known) would be a loud invitation for the Household Gods of Chaos to descend.  They Smite.  O, They Smite.

While I was on a swell yarn crawl with some new knitting pals, Lindsay dropped her cereal bowl.  Not a catastrophe, in and of itself.  But the landing of said bowl was not good.  The landing of said bowl happened to be the glass top of the living room coffee table. 

It is important to note that Lindsay was not hurt by the broken glass. 

I, however, am emotionally scarred.  The living room coffee table is my primary work surface, any time when I'm not at my desk using the computer.  And now that the table is topless, force of habit has me dropping things on the floor all day.  Even though I know there is no glass in there, I keep putting things down on top of the table where it used to be.  Stitch dictionary? Plop. lands on the floor.  WIP? Plop. Lands on the floor.  Stitch markers, needles, coffee cup?  Plop, Plop, Plop.  Apparently, I cannot learn that the table is topless.

Note stitch dictionary on the floor: item #14 to drop through the missing top.

After the long weekend, I was able to get a quote for having new glass cut.  Not. Inexpensive.  And frankly, I decided, kinda dumb.  We have already demonstrated that as a family unit, we are not glass-tabletop compatible.  So I've elected to replace the tabletop with a new wood one.  And while I'm at it, to refinish the table legs.  Make lemonade, right?

All day yesterday I sanded off the old finish.  4 complete passes with sandpaper of increasing grit numbers yielded a farmer-style sunburn on my arms and neck (stay classy, girl!), full-body muscle strain, and a finally-stripped table base.  I managed to get on 2 coats of oxblood stain before the inevitable faceplant.  

Today it's raining, so the varnish phase has been relocated to the kitchen island.  I haven't even started on the tabletop, because my saw is across town at Phillip's mom's house.  From whence I neglected to retrieve it after her flooring project.  Naturally.

Meanwhile, back in the living room, I am now trying to work with no table whatsoever.  Which sucks not a little. 

I'm soldiering on though, with every confidence that I will prevail.  These things are sent to try us.  Oh, and before I forget; here's a Helpful Knitting Hint:  If you are going to knit with silk yarn, and you have to spend the day with a belt-sander, Wear Gloves.  Gnarly skin surface + delicate yarn = gross knitting.  

Norm Abrams never has these problems.

As Long as I Don't Preheat

Thank you so much, Gentle Readers, for all the great yarn storage ideas.  There are no more inventive creatures in the world than knitters.  My favorites are the clever repurposing of food-storage containers as yarn containment systems.  I'll never look at Costco the same way again.  And who knew we had so much in common?  Lots of you told me that you also have your stash spread out over more than one location, and that it's bugging you.  All of you admitted to having way more yarn than you think you ought to.  Some of you have plans to offload some of it.  Others are unapologetically hoarding your string (God love you); they'll pry it from your cold, dead hands.  We also, as a group, love Ikea, notably the Expedit shelf unit, with its many insertable basket options:

There's even a version of this with a desk attached.  I'm dreaming of a whole room devoted to my yarn pile, where I could also write books, blog, and even knit.  There is such a space in my home; an annex off the garage which only needs a wall, some windows and hvac to become my atelier.  I'm only one viral knitting pattern away from realizing the fantasy. 

In the meantime, all this stash sortation and storage meditation has me wondering:  How many of us have made plans for the disposition of our stash when we die?  I haven't, but I know knitters who have.  What's your plan?  Divide it between your favorite knitters?  Be buried with it (or, more likely in my case, UNDER it)?  Donate it to charity?  Leave the whole (problem) legacy to your heirs?

Sure, it's a grim subject, but how else can we be sure something so precious as a yarn collection meets an appropriate end?  A stash is not like money, after all; it's much more valuable than that. Think about it:  How often do you hear about crazy old ladies leaving their stash to a cat?  Never.  Because we all know that cats are terrible knitters.

A Knitalong, A Winner, and the Stash That Ate Suburbia

Today's Random Really Important Things:

1.    Some clever beasties over on Ravelry have decided to test whether I have invented the wheel or not!  They are going to knit my new "Dogwood" sock pattern together, beginning on June 1.  In case you missed it, I recently discovered the magic of the toe-up sock.  Even though everybody else in the whole world already knows how fabulous toe-up socks are, I went ahead and posted about how much I love them and how they have changed my thoughts about socks forever.  I made mine with gussets and heel flaps, just to see if I could do it.  I could, and so can anybody.  If you've never tried a toe-up sock before, give it a whirl.  If you have, smile indulgently at the rest of us, and make a pair of these, too.  The KAL thread is HERE, and the pattern is HERE.

2.    Gentle Reader Nancy G. is the randomly-chosen winner of a shiny new autographed copy of my new book!  Thank you to all who entered, and stay tuned for another chance.  Thanks for telling me a story!

3.    I work from home.  Specifically, I work from my desk in the foyer, and a chair in my living room.  The living room, even if it were totally empty, would only measure 12' x 14'.  That's not a big space when filled with 3 bookcases, 2 overstuffed armchairs, a full-size sofa, 2 end-tables and a coffee table.  Oh, and there's also a console table that holds all my winding equipment, in addition to a spinning wheel and its chair. 

Last week, I started to feel like the walls were closing in on me.  It was a truly claustrophobic episode, so intense that even knitting could not help me deny the problem.  A wild fit of Tidy-up-etude took over.  Before my family knew what hit them, I had gutted the living room, rearranged the furniture, washed all the slipcovers, hung different draperies, and reorganized the entire family book collection.  Well, the entire ground-floor book collection:

All the knitting books are grouped together by subject. And on the same floor.  Win.

Campbell was my right-hand man, and Paisley supervised:

Paisley got trapped behind the Literary Barricade for a time.  Book Pile = Tall.  Scottish Terrier Inseam = Short.  FYI - the wire rack (upper right) holds my circular needle containment system.  It's the only organized thing in my life: each size has its own zippered case, sorted by diameter, in mm.  Hear me Roar.  Then ask me to remember what my zip code is.

And while I was doing that, I began to understand the real problem:  THE STASH has been reproducing.  I emptied no fewer than 15 project bags, baskets, and other containers (there may have been a half-knit sock in a tuna can.  I deny all knowledge).  I jettisoned an uncountable number of ill-conceived notions,  returning them to the wild to be with their own kind.  I hooked up the ballwinder to 3 failures, recycling the yarn for another day.  It was SO cathartic.  Here's the new Work In Progress strategy:

Okay, the WIP's are contained in the green bins on the tower.  The steaming pile of, um, BAGS, is my actual stash.  On payday, I am getting some more bins.  Really.

Here's the spinning fiber.  Hmmmmm...where did all the negative space in my living room go?

Who has this much fiber in baskets in the living room?  Sicko-Weirdy-String-Playing Freaks, that's who.  And my family, God bless them, never even noticed.  I'm taking their pulses later.

Looky!  I made a cozy Spinning Nook:

Doesn't it just shriek at you "Hey! You! Come over here and make some string for a while!  Cause you clearly need more string!"?

And here's where you come in:  If you have the guts, tell me where your Stash lives.  Hangar? Bins? Boxes? Tuna Cans?.  I need to know your solution, Friends.  Where do you keep it all, and can I do the same?  If you don't give me some ideas soon, the bathtub and the oven are next.  Help a girl out won't you?