I lived in Chicago in the early 90's. My boyfriend was an artist. He drove a big old blue ford pick-up truck. He had blue eyes, and often he would wear a blue flannel shirt. We lived together for 3 years, and thanks to yours truly, it ended badly.
It's been almost 20 years since we broke up.
Maybe it was the birthday blues (turned 42 again this year).
Maybe it was the blue sky of summer (so much nicer than the steely gray of winter).
Or maybe it was my blue, my perfect shade of blue, for my perfect yarn that triggered the memory.
And the memory triggered more memories, and the memories triggered some internet research.
"Yup, that's what I am calling it".
The outcome was that I found myself staring at a face, that I hadn't seen a long time, and desperately wanting to hit that evil icon:
I stared at both for quite awhile, and then I closed the computer, and dyed my yarn.
Funny thing about my perfect yarn, in the perfect shade of blue, it didn't take long for our perfect relationship to head south.
Here is what happened:
I dyed my yarn, but I was late in the day, and I was in a hurry (no surprise there).
I pulled the yarn out of the dye pot, the color was perfect.
I put the skeins in the sink to rinse, but as with all yarns dyed with turquoise, the yarn bled and bled and bled.
I rinsed it and then re-rinsed it, but it kept bleeding. GRRR.
I told myself that it would be okay. I was going to have to wash it again, when I blocked the sweater anyway, right?
So I hung up my wet yarn up, let it dry, and then put in back on my swift, pulled out my my ball winder, and ended up with 4 scrumptious, ready to be knit up beautiful blue balls.
I cast on.
And within 20 minutes of knitting my perfect sweater with my perfect yarn, I was cursing the yarn and my blue fingers, and realizing that life with this yarn, in it's current state, was pure misery.
"How could I have let this happen?"
Okay, flashback to 1994, unhappy 26 year old girl with no patience and no understanding of how life works leaves Chicago and very nice artist with sapphire blue eyes to move to New York, for a new ball of yarn that won't bleed and will be perfect.
Okay, flash forward:
Surprisingly, inperfect yarn does not get thrown across the room. Yarn does not get abandoned and replaced with new yarn. Unhappy 40ish woman puts the skein back on the skein winder and then puts the less than perfect yarn back into the sink.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
It's 1100 yards, so it takes awhile, and it keeps unhappy woman off of Facebook.
And unhappy woman thinks to herself, "That some days it is a very good thing to have 6 fleeces under the bed."