Harrowing Tales of Wayward Yarn

Gather round children, I have a tale to tell. It was a gorgeous late summer night. Louise and I were sitting in her car (a convertible Mini Cooper named Peaches) in front of my shop. It had been a very long and very fun day with the girls. We had left early in the morning for a bead convention, switching vehicles several times as we added people to our group. The trip was about two hours, one way, and we stayed at the show until the bitter end (of course), followed by a fabulous dinner at a local restaurant (of course) and then the trip home.

We sat in the car exclaiming over the treasures acquired that day, when suddenly Louise began to panic. "Did you see my knitting bag?" We dug through a back seat and trunk full of bead purchases, snacks, golf clubs, miscellaneous clothes, and a blanket belonging to Louise's youngest (an Elmcrest Terrier named Harrigan MacDuff Barkadiddy Jones - Harry for short). No sign of any yarn. "When did you last have it?" I asked, trying to retrace the day in my head. Louise could remember seeing it on the the first leg home from the show, in Wanda's van, but she did not remember bringing it with her into Fiora's car.

I looked at my watch. 10:30. I knew Wanda and her husband Mike were night owls, so that wasn't an problem. But neither of us had been to Wanda's before and that could be an issue. Her house was pretty far out into the country, and...and...and why not? It would be an adventure!

As I dialed Wanda's phone number, I reached into the glove compartment and grabbed the GPS. Louise’s GPS had been a good friend this summer, not yet steering us wrong. Wanda wasn't back yet, Mike said. I quickly explained the situation and handed the phone to Louise so she could get some additional directions from him. I began fiddling with the GPS. We had been trying out different voices all summer. There was the handsome and sophisticated British man…the young and rugged Australian hunk… This trip called for something different. I scrolled through the list of options as I heard Louise repeating Mike's very detailed instructions. Then I saw it. I had found the voice to guide us on this trip. Feeling adventurous, I set the GPS to Dutch. Now to find an appropriate soundtrack. I started scrolling through my iTunes library. Iron & Wine? Too mellow for tonight's adventure. They Might Be Giants? Not quite right. Scrolling…scrolling…there it was. I put on a little Phish, and we were on our way!

Fast forward half an hour to Louise and I giggling uncontrollably at the Dutch commands and driving a lonely road out in the country. Not a soul to be seen. Strangely, not even the animals weren't out. As we drove on and on past wooded patches and farms, Phish slipped into the familiar lyrics of “Maze” and we became hypnotized by the music and the solitude. The road wound back and forth (“You’ll never get out of this maze.”), we wandered up and down hills (“You’ll never get out of this maze.”), and with every turn the roads got narrower and narrower (“You’ll never get out of this maze.”). We were passing an endless cornfield when I looked at Mike’s directions. “There should be a turn coming up on the right” I said. We peered ahead, but it was nothing but corn as far as the eye could see. We drove a bit further, and suddenly, a very narrow lane was peeking out of the cornfield. Louise turned, and we were surrounded by tall, late summer corn stalks, nearly pushing themselves up against the car. Being a fan of Stephen King, I immediately started telling Louise about Children of the Corn. We slowly and carefully made our way, nervously glancing out the windows for He-Who-Walks-Behind-The-Rows. Finally, there was a wider place up ahead, and we could see our way out. Wanda’s road! We counted houses with relief, and saw our destination up ahead. As we pulled into her driveway, Wanda came out of the house with Louise’s wayward bag of yarn, and the uncontrollable laughter took over again. We had survived unscathed, and were in the safety of civilization again. Or were we?


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