When I was a child, I am certain that there was some point at which I thought that endless gifts would be wonderful, but now that I am adult and am charged with finding a place to store a gift once it has been given, I have a different perspective, and my adventure with the yarn tangle my youngest son dubbed “the yarn slug,” has changed me in ways that cannot be undone.

My struggle with the yarn slug was one of long standing.

I am not sure how the yarn slug got started, but before it was dismantled in our recent move, it had become a giant tangle of unrealized crochet dreams the ends of which had been woven into each other forming a large and ever growing tangle of yarn and crochet pieces.

I thought I would never get the yarn slug untangled.

I was right.

Despite having started to untangle it countless numbers of times, other more pressing things would come up and I would abandon the effort.

Then we sold the house, and as I looked over the contract, the yarn slug did not transfer. We were required, by law no less, to get it out of the house.

With with our move date nearing, and a limit of twenty-four hours in each day to get things done, I had to turn the tangle over to my youngest son.

He had helped me in my previous efforts to undo the tangle, so he was well acquainted with it. He used his extensive knowledge of many of the elements that comprised the tangle and a pair of sharp scissors to cut the tangle into five “baby” tangles. then he placed each in a large, black plastic bag, and called it day.

Now my day of reckoning is at hand.

Yesterday, I went to a storage unit that houses these former dreams and put three of the bags in the back of my car determined to sort through each one. Keeping the crochet pieces and yarns I can use while divesting myself of and rehoming the others.

I had intended to finish work on the thirty-two squares that are in mid-transformation from crochet remnants, but as I worked through one of the “baby tangles,” I came across and twenty-five crochet remnants and crochet squares begin to be rehabbed:

and as they were within easy reach, I got out my bent-tipped yarn needles and crochet hooks and set to work:

My hope is that between now and my next blog post, I managed to stay focused on the crochet remnants at hand and get all fifty-seven of them rehabbed and ready for adventure. In the meantime, I will move forward the only possible: one stitch at a time.