We all have our phases, moments, lapses of reason and sanity. Picasso had his Blue Period. There's been the Dark Ages followed by a healthy Renaissance. Humanity stumbled through the Jurassic period as something else and made it on to the Neolithic and beyond. I'm stuck in Green. It is with a laser beam focus, an obsession, that I need to finish this yarn for the Fair Isle languishing on a shelf in my newly-arranged studio. I knit at friends' houses using their yarn and needles so the Green Fiber doesn't know I'm doing something other than spinning it exclusively. I tell the Green Fiber that darning socks made with Love In Every Stitch is a necessity for warm toes. It glares at me menacingly from the Millie. It bides its time, but not well. I pine for other colors, other knit projects, but the Green Fiber is a jealous fiber. There is little room for compromise.
Sad fact is, I fear the Green Phase is part of my genetics and heritage. My mother could recollect it better, but my grandmother went through her own Green Period with latex paint. I only vaguely remember it as a child ~ all of a sudden there were quite a few green objects lying about the house. Explanations for my grandmother's Green Phase have gone to the Great Beyond with her, but I have a couple of chairs with the peeling green paint. A seance would be required to understand why things went green in 197-whatever. I imagine a session might go something like:
"Grandmother, why on earth did you paint unsuspecting inanimate objects this garish Kelly Green?"
"Well, dearie, things were looking a bit shabby and it was the only color on clearance."
Some legacies need to be sanded and refinished.
Millie yawns as I load another spool of green . . .