Yarngasm

I experienced a yarngasm… in public.  I tried not to. Really I did, but some things simply cannot be stopped.  With one look at that sensuous yarn, I was filled with an intense physical need to touch it, to feel the warm, soft, tenderness against my skin. Ahhh, Qiviut.

I had disembarked our cruise ship in Juneau, Alaska,  wandered along a seaside street, climbed a set of stairs, and walked into heaven. Sitting on the counter was a misty cloud of yarn, a cotton candy ball of fluffy fiber ecstasy. As I fondled it and purred, the shop owner shared  some facts about the object of my desire.

Qiviut (KIV-ee-ute) is from the Arctic Musk Ox, this shaggy creature is able to survive the frigid tundra temperatures due to its thick undercoat. This undercoat is shed naturally each spring, gathered and spun into a fabric that is softer than cashmere and warmer than wool.

I happily purchased two balls of pleasure.  I would tell you the cost, but Hubby may read this one day, and no good could possibly come of that conversation.

I returned with my treasures in my pocket. While I continued to stroke and bathe in their bubbly softness, I dreamt of what I would create with these beauties.

After much internal debate I decided to transform one of the fluffy clouds into an Alaskan “Smoke Ring.” This  elongated cowl forms a hood that covers the head, ears and neck. It took me months to complete the project, not because it was difficult, but because I am incredibly slow at crocheting.    

When it was complete, I fell in love with the feel of my smoke ring. It covered me in warmth, I felt like a princess, wearing royal crown of yarn.

Months later, I braved the ice covered streets of Istanbul, on a snowy New Years Eve.  My smoke ring kept me beautifully warm and dry. I wore it with pride.

Qiviut is the ideal travel project, it almost weightless and adds no bulk in a carry on.  I was crocheting the last ball of my treasure while sitting in an airport lounge, when a woman came to a dead stop, right in front of me. I looked up at her, she wiggled her eyebrows and smiled mischievously, as if we were sharing a secret. She bent down, touched the yarn in my lap, and with a quiver in her voice she whispered, “Ahh, Qiviut”.

I am pretty sure that she had a yarngasm of her own as she walked away.