Yarning Stories

Every knitter and crocheter has a rather paradoxical relationship with yarn. You always know you have too much, but you cannot resist buying some more. You justify these extra purchases by telling yourself that you never spend on extravagant gifts for your loved ones, because well, you're just going to make something for them. And that a handmade gift, made with care and love, is a far nicer gift than playing the expensive and rather crazy game of brands and branded gift giving (which appears to be extraordinarily popular these days, and adds to me feeling like the village simpleton in parties with my handmade gift).  With all these consolatory thoughts (which are just ways of my lower mind justifying to its own higher self that it's completely ok to buy some more yarn), I confess that I routinely treat myself - on a nice sunny Saturday or Sunday, I go out of the house, absolutely alone, with no plans in mind, take my time, board a train or a bus, go into a wool shop, and spend

 In Australia, a yarning circle is a way of communicating stories, experiences, and narratives, in an all-inclusive space without judgements. To me, that is what working with actual yarn is like. Whether you knit or crochet, each pattern, each project tells a story. A story that can be worn (literally as a cowl, scarf, socks, or sweater), and a story that can warm you (literally as a blanket), a story of the yarn itself (literally the material, the process by which it is produced, and the path it travels through the world to reach you, so you can make with it), and a story with you as your own friend, or with other yarning friends. All of this happens in a meditative space of generating, creating, making, talking to yourself, and other yarny friends, without judgements, in a safe space. Add to this some coffee or tea or wine, and some music. This is my recipe for a yarning circle from down under!  This is my Warli doodle, from the country of my childhood, India. It expresses the same