Last night I organized my knitting needles.
I know! Exciting. Way more excitement than should be permitted on weeknight. But I am wild and care-free like that. It turned out not to be as daunting as I thought it would be. The hardest part had been finding the right sized container. I ended up with a C'mas basket. I bought it for function and not aesthetics. At some point maybe I will paint over the C'mas things, or maybe not.
Once I had the container, I had to get the stuff in numerical/size order and then propped up in there. I think I've probably got about a hundred circular needles, having incorporated my aunt's into my own. Her needles were deceptive because she would stick two or three of the same size in one package. So there might only have been one package of twenty-nine inch US fives, but there are three sets of needles in there.
There are a bunch of floaters that she had that I have to measure and put into their proper homes. I got some put away, but the rest will have to chill. You see, I kept getting sidetracked because some of her needles were just so damn old.
They may not be antiques or museum quality but they crack me up anyway.
They also disproved my theory that all material things from the '70's were burned or destroyed in an attempt to repress and forget that decade of polyester. In fact, my aunt apparently flaunted her love of that which was old by sticking her newer Addis in these old, yellowed packages. It made me giggle when I would see and Addi tucked in next to a 1950's dime store needle that cost one dollar.
I think I was driven to organizing the needles, not by a need to meet some resolution (because organizing kitting needles does not meet my "eat ice cream once a week" New Year's resolution), but by my need to play with pointy sticks in a safe and responsible way. In a way more responsible than, say, stabbing Crazy in the eye. That woman, she is, argh! Words, can not describe my thoughts. For example, yesterday afternoon ...
Crazy: Quit telling people I tricked you!
Crazy: I heard you talking to X, Y, and Z, and saying that I tricked you.
Me: You did trick me.
Crazy: No I didn't.
Me: Yah, you did. By getting me to commit to the career fair before telling me it was on Valentine's Day, you tricked me.
Crazy: I DID NOT TRICK YOU.
Me: [snort] Fine, then I rescind my agreement. I'm not going.
Crazy: NO! You have to go, you already said yes, HA HA HA.
Me: Get out of my face bitch before I slice you.
Ok, maybe I didn't threaten to slice her. I'm not so good with the blade anyway. But I wanted to say something mean. My Southern heritage and classy upbringing, however, taught me to always be a lady and respect my elders. Hey! Stop laughing! Did you just snort? Is that soda that just shot out of your nose? No really, though. I'm being nice. For now. I am playing with my pointy sticks at home. For now. I'm not letting her goad me. For now.