I desperately want to have more yarn posted on Etsy. I work full time at a bank. I come home, cook dinner, eat and collapse. My creative child, as Julia Cameron would call it, is curled up on the back seat of the station wagon drooling on her teddy bear.

So then Saturday comes. Finally, Wallyworld! Wake up, wake up, we're here! Still groggy eyed I toss her on the merry-go-round and shove cotton candy in her limp hand. I tell myself "Ok, this is it. You have to dye this, wash that, and spin 10 skeins of the most shockingly beautiful yarn this world has ever seen. Ok, go"

By 11:00 on any given Saturday, I am surrounded by 10 yard skeins of shockingly atrocious yarn and my bottom lip is starting to quiver.

It's a universal law that everyone knows but hardly ever lives by that you can't force it, you have to let it flow naturally. It isn't until Sunday morning when I've let go of quotas, intentions, and pretty much given up on ever creating anything beautiful ever again that the fiber starts to talk.

"Pssst" says the Suri "I know you haven't asked my opinion, but I would look really pretty with just a little silk"

"Oh, come on Suri, you know that you are impossible to spin on your own, let alone with silk. You will have to wait till the Romey dries."

Then it looks up at me with that beautiful dusty rose to hot pink shimmer.

"Fine, but only to prove you wrong."

But, the Suri was right. It's a gorgeous yarn. The fiber is always right. When will I learn?

Peace