That's Howard on the right, with his wife, Amber. He made his own pinata, which is one of the benefits of having adult children. It is a model of the planet Raxacoricofallapatorius. Luckily no one hit the pinata with the rifle butt (don't ask--but at least there wasn't a weapon attached) while his head was in it.
We had red beans and rice, with king cake for dessert. Joanne got the baby on Mardi Gras morning when she ate her take-home piece for breakfast.
My neighbor told me where to find interesting whole grains in my town, the one part of my food plan that I was still puzzled about. So now I can get on with the next project:
So named by Margene, The Vault is where I keep my yarn. Up until approximately one year, one month, and 22 days ago it was tidy and organized. You can tell by the second picture that there were neatly labelled bins with the yarn in them, and shelves for the books.
Next door there was a less-organized spinning studio. I admit, it wasn't getting as much use as the organized room, because it was less-organized. *note: "less-" whatever is Mormon-speak for "total crap," as in, "That was less-effective" means "That SO did not work."
Enter Paul, whom I love very much and who does many things to help me. I had promised to clean out the spinning studio so he could finish the walls, floors, and ceiling, and install bookshelves. I didn't get around to it, and so on New Year's Eve of 2005 he did it for me, transferring the contents of the studio to the stash room.
I discovered this when I went in to get a book. I couldn't even get to the bookshelves, and it took an archaeological dig to find the sewing machine.
It took me a while to appreciate Paul's help.
However, my spinning and knitting stash represented some twelve or fourteen years of mindless shopping, and it did need going through. Thanks to Paul's all-or-nothing cleaning style, I was forced to reconsider some of my stash.
I called a few friends who had already been in my house so Paul trusted them and invited them to a stash giveaway. My daughters and daughters-in-law helped me set it up, separating the things I knew I would actually use from the things that made me feel overwhelmed. Out the door went most of the fleeces I bought during the Y2K scare, thinking my neighbors would need blankets if our society bucketed. (Never mind that my neighbors are affluent and have blankets, and that I don't know how to weave). Out the door went boxes of acrylic given to me by a neighbor who was de-stashing a few years previously. Gone were the rovings too scratchy to spin, the sale yarn I bought only Because It Was On Sale.
I kept my favorite sock yarns, some particularly nice fleeces, and any yarn of which there was enough for a complete project that I still wanted to do.
What I didn't do was re-organize what was left. I was still in school (I may still be in school for the next five years), and then when I was taking fewer classes it was because I was a stress case and just barely getting through what had to be done. Some of the plastic bins are still only partly full, and most of my magazines are on the floor due to continued poor access to the bookshelves.
I am trying to keep my stress level down, so I'm not going in there tomorrow and do it all. Just looking at that pile of patterns makes me want to scream. But I think I will spend an hour a day in there and see how long it takes
1) Clear a path; there must be a better place for the dyeing crockpot than on the floor
2) Put away patterns and magazines since they already have designated spots (once a path is cleared to get to them)
3) Reorganize and relabel the plastic bins
Save the best for last, I always say. Maybe I can get through the boring stuff by looking forward to fondling the stash.