Without putting too much stress on my poor, pained feet, I found not very inventive ways to complete frogging the yarn I wish to reclaim for use in the felted clogs I will knit for the Knitting Olympics. (Go Team Wales!) And, using brooms, chairs, a radiator and a bus pan, I hung them to dry in a corner of the dining room. (Olive in front, hazel in back.)
Since I don't enjoy the process, I wanted to make sure I had found all of the blanket pieces I was frogging, so I sort of bored my way through the stash closet, looking for stray stripes in need of frogging.
It was in the very bottom of the closet in an old, opaque Rubbermaid bin that I found the source of my Olympic shame. In a bag of miscellaneous notions, patterns, and 10 balls of bright red Dale Heilo yarn was the unfinished body of Dale of Norway's 1994 Lillehammer sweater. I thought the sweater had been lost in one of the three moves we made in two years. I had enjoyed knitting it, so I had that unmistakable rush only a knitter can relate to where you think "Hooray! I can start knitting on it again today!"
But my joy was short-lived. I tore through the stash closet, opening every box and bag, but the yarn necessary for completing the sweater is nowhere to be found. Sleeves will not be forthcoming. I can only imagine what frogging it would be like – all of that twisted fair isle. And for the rest of my life I’ll have to live with the knowledge that somewhere, more than a decade ago, a sheep gave up its fleece in vain.
So, Dear Reader, please learn from my mistakes. Never, ever pack your stash in opaque bins. Clear plastic only. I do not wish this shame on anyone.