A thousand thanks to everyone who offered me 11.4m of the yarn I needed in the correct dye lot.  I would have absolutely jumped all over that if I were the sort of knitter who knew where the ball band was, but sadly, I’m not.

This has prompted a new policy to keep track of the ball bands of all the yarn I use.  Never again. The fact that a a gajillion knitters possibly had exactly what I needed to make this happen without any kind of a crazy pants yarn dance, and that because I can’t keep track of a ball band I had to rig a solution? (Admittedly, ball bands are really losable.)  Nope.  The solution was way, way too easy.  From now on I’m listing the lot number along with the colour number on the blog- at least once.  I go back and use the blog all the time to remember what stuff was, and I can’t believe that it didn’t occur to me that this tool was sitting right here all along.  There was probably a bunch of this yarn in the world, and here I was shredding a whack of another lot number when it was totally unnecessary.   It worked out okay in the end (I think)  it’s not like the whole thing was ruined or like puppies died because I lost a ball band, but I did have to spend time and money because I didn’t do one easy thing.  It’s crazy to spend this much time on something and not do what it takes for something to be the best it can be.  Still,   I don’t think the fix is obvious… do you?

How about if I show you?

Not too bad? The whole time I was disemboweling balls of yarn and test knitting to find 11.4m of yarn that would work (which took about 4 hours, by the way, since I was wrong and had to re-knit twice.)  I kept thinking about this joke I heard while I was bartending.

There’s this great guy down on his luck, who goes desperately to church to beg God for help.  He walks in, falls on his knee and prays.  "Please help me.  I’m broke, my family needs help, I’m too old to work… please.. let me win the lottery."  He goes away, doesn’t win the lottery.  The next week he’s back in church.  "Please help me. Please.  I really, really need to win the lottery. I have no other option.  I’m desperate.  Please, please help me."  He doesn’t win.  He can’t hardly believe it.  Here he has ultimate faith and he’s being let down. Buddy goes back a third time, and this time he’s wracked with grief and desperation.  He prostrates himself on the ground and says "Why Lord? Why?  Why won’t you help me? I’ve been good my whole life.  A good man.  A good husband, a good father, a good citizen.  I’ve done everything I can to deserve this, and now when the chips are down and my beautiful wife and I are eating cat food – and not much of it, let me tell you… now you abandon me.  Please. Please… let me win the lottery."

Out of the blue,  he is answered.  As he lays there sobbing, wondering why he hasn’t won the lottery, a voice comes from above.  The voice, booming and resonant declares "For crying out loud man.   Meet me halfway.  BUY A TICKET."

Yeah.  Thanks for offering all the help.  Next time you all try to help me win the lottery,  I’ll have a ticket.

For the record.  I have started a pair of socks.