Well, actually, not really. It’s not stash, it’s test samples and gift stuff.
I met MLG for lunch, and HRH came along (he was home from work, unwell; he dropped me off and was intending to go get the winter tires put on the car, a low-energy endeavour which would consist of sitting and drinking coffee while someone else switched the tires on the rims, but got dragged into lunch instead). We had a lovely time. I had a very good French onion soup and a cider, excellent on a chilly, damp, rainy day. HRH then dropped me off at Ariadne Knits on his way to the garage. I knocked around the yarn store for about forty-five minutes, sorting through all the lovely tiny sample packs of spinning fibre they put together. I did come close to buying a big multi-fibre sampler kit, but stuck with my single-ounce servings of soy silk, Tussah silk, and bamboo, as those are what I’m interested in at the moment. The big sampler kit had things like Falkland, alpaca, mohair, and flax apart from the silks; all things I’ll try someday, but not now. Right now, I am all about the soft silky stuff. I also picked up some special stuff to spin up for a Yule gift, ordered the oatmeal Blue-Face Leicester for Ceri’s sweater, a half-pound of Tencel, and I tried to order a half-pound of merino/silk blend but MA found a listing for Louet’s new BFL/silk blend (oooh, BFL and silk! dreamy!); it was only four dollars more per half-pound (although not yet officially in stock in the warehouse) so I ordered a bag of that instead. And I ordered my high-speed bobbin, too. “Do you want me to pre-pay all that, or leave you a deposit?” I said. “Nah,” said MA. “I know where to find you. Also, I know who your friends are.”
And now I know that it’s only forty minutes to get to my LYS via bus and metro, so on days where I can’t stand to be at home any longer for the cabin fever I can pick up and go knit there.
Speaking of knitting, I cast on my goddaughter’s Yule wrap on Wednesday, and I’ve got a quarter of it finished. It’s a good thing she’s not adult-sized, because I’m not going to have enough yarn to do a full sixteen repeats of the pattern; I’ll probably manage twelve. In which case I’m actually a third finished. I’m annoyed but not overly fussed, because if I really need more yarn? I’ll just spin some. Ha. (Irony: If I’d gone with a two-ply yarn instead of chain-plied, I’d have had a bit more yardage.)
And to top off my excellent day, my freelance coordinator e-mailed me to say that my missing freelance cheque had been returned to them, and they were sending it out with next week’s cheques. Hurrah! Also, the reason I only had one project in the past two weeks was because there was a lull and there were no projects available. This actually tied in decently with my fibro crash last week. And with the missing cheque being mailed along with the cheque for the single assignment I did in the past two weeks, it will feel like a Real Paycheque after all.
Dress rehearsal tonight! I am reminding myself to wear two layers of everything, because the church was freaking cold on Wednesday night. They turn the heat on for concerts, but rehearsals are chilly undertakings.
Finally written and posted:
I should not be allowed to copy and paste the text of previous concert announcements unsupervised.
Yes, gentle readers, the time has come again to make plans to attend the 
Leaving orchestra last night, I walked across the church grounds in the dark with my hard case on my back, and watched my red shoes crunch into the frost-covered grass. It was the first real frost I’d observed this fall. We’ve had delicate crystals here and there on the rooves of cars and the edges of fallen leaves, but nothing like this. The whole lawn was brushed with greyish white. Each blade of grass was fully painted in sparkle and chill, lit only by the faint streetlamps down the block. Everything was still — there was no breeze, and it’s a quiet neighbourhood — and all I could hear was the crisp, gentle sound of my soles coming down on those blades of grass. It felt different than walking on unfrosted grass does, too; there was a brittle resistance to every footstep. And as I pulled the car away from the curb, the fan drew in wisps of woodsmoke from far off.