In honour of Discoverer's Day, I have sallied forth to the last undiscovered yarn shop within lunch hour driving distance, Aylin's Woolgatherer.

No yarn shop is bad. Except the "yarn" section at my local Total Crafts. I can feel absolutely certain that no moths ever came home with me from that store, because they don't sell a single natural fiber. In fact, they sell -discount brand fun fur-. I'm sure you can imagine. That shit is so nasty that even the Red Heart Grannies flinch when they touch it. But I digress.

Aylin's is emphatically NOT Total Crafts. For a small shop it's very well stocked, without being cluttered to the point that you can't find anything. They have a good selection of patterns, and an entire ROOM of sale yarn. The customer service was friendly and helpful without hovering, and I had a wonderful conversation with the woman who checked me out while she was coveting and petting my yarn. (More on that later.)

The downsides- There wasn't a clear price sign on anything. Some yarn had little signs to tell me how much it was, some didn't. Individual skeins weren't priced, which is actually my preference (I've been utterly spoiled by my first yarn store.), and only about half of the clearance yarn was actually marked with any indication of where it fell in the 25 to 50% off range. This led to the return of three balls of lovely angora yarn, but much squee over the discovery of some discontinued Crystal Palace Georgia baby cotton (I'll be using it for this hat) that was actually marked and about $2 a ball. YAY!

Their needle selection isn't the best, though if you like metal, you'll be all set. They had only 4 sizes, all 8 inch sets, of Brittany Birch dpns, and none of them were the size I needed. Annoyance. Oh well.

I wandered around for a bit, startled and affronted by the lack of any copies of either of the Yarn Harlot's books, but impressed by their pattern section and their range of imported yarn.

And then, next to the cash register, I feel victim to my favourite of the 7 deadlies, LUST.

The Twisted Sisters, authors of my favourite sock book ever that's really about creating colourways and spinning, have a line of yarn. I've never seen this yarn before. I've never touched it before. I know this, because never before have I been so overcome with immediate and unconquerable lust for a colour. Thus, I now own two skeins of Petite Voodoo, in Iris, which is also my favourite flower. It's absolutely -stunning- in person, more rich and exotic than the flower. It makes me a little weak to think of it, honestly. Indeed, I'm quite lucky that there were only the two skeins in that colour. (This is the lie I'm telling myself to make sure I don't cry over only having 380 yards to play with at the moment. Isn't the lie -pretty-?)

I was a little afraid that the lady ringing me out wasn't going to let me have it. She showed me their pattern books, in what I suspect was a clever attempt to distract me from the precious the yarn while she exchanged it for something less splendid. Despite my ferret tendencies, I prevailed, and the yarn, tucked safely to my bosom into the bag, departed the store with me. I now declare it yarn art, and intend to find a bowl somewhere that cries out to be filled with the single most stunning yarn I've ever seen.

It was even on sale. If, by on sale, you mean that I paid cash, and nobody but me will ever know how much I spent.

December 2015

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