The Road to Hell: Story of a Handmade Disaster

I was only somewhat successful in my quest for a handmade Christmas this year.

Don't get me wrong, many handmade and heartfelt gifts were exchanged amongst and between my family.

It's my poor friends who bore the brunt of my "handmade" holiday.

I felt proud of the jams, pickles and other homemade goodies I gave.

Each jar was covered with a circle of fabricin an old-fashioned print and tied with a bow.

The jars were artfully arranged in a small, homey basket, also adorned with a bow.

Wish I'd taken a picture.

No, the problem was with my crocheting.

One dear friend received a crocheted throw in bright colors that match her personality. That gift was relatively successful, though on a recent visit I noticed I''ll need to re-sew some of the granny squares together.

Again, no photo.

But it was my dear friend Chris who was the recipient of the most disastrous gift I've ever given. I found a free pattern for an "urban wrap," a long, somewhat tailored shawl. My friend's favorite color is purple, but I didn't care for the purples in the recommended yarn for the project.

"I know," I thought, "I'll just find a similar weight yarn and subsitute."

Wat is it they say about good intentions?

Yeah, something about heading south.

Way south.

The day I stopped at the yarn specialty store to find just the right purple, the saleswoman was busy helping another customer with a knitting project.

No problem.

The yarn just needed to be heavy weight and bulky.

I could figure it out myself.

I found a gorgeous yarn, soft and warm, in a lovely shade of purple. It might have been called eggplant, I can't quite remember.

I think I've been blocking the horrid details.

Now, I always buy more yarn than the pattern requires.

A little fear of mine about not having "enough," that applies to many areas of my life: food, garden plants, food, fabric for sewing projects, food...

I bought 10 skiens, all the store had in stock, and to allay my fears of scarcity, ordered 10 more.

Gulp.

Specialty yarn is, shall we say, on the pricey side.

But this was going to be the ultimate handmade representation of appreciation and affection for a dear, dear friend.

You can't put a price on that.

Right?

Right?

So, several weeks later, once I'd worked up the nerve to start the project (every new undertaking of mine requires overcoming a hugely obstructive level of fear. I know. I'm on medication, remember?), I began to crochet.

Wow, that yarn sure got used up fast.

But the wrap, which was to be crocheted in three separate sections then sewn together, was growing.

And growing.

And growing.

The reaction of the saleswoman to my order of yet 10 more skeins should have alerted me to imminent disaster.

"Wow," she exclaimed, "that must be some shawl you're making!"

Um, yeah, it was.

The shawl grew and grew.

I found myself putting it together in a frenzy up to the very last minute.

And you know, it was really huge.

I mean, it hung down to my calves and I'm not a little woman.

I'm nearly 5' 11".

My friend?

Maybe 5' 5."

Oh, and there was another little problem.

In my quest for super soft, yet natural fiber, I stumbled upon a blend of mohair and wool, with a little acrylic thrown in.

Wow, talk about soft.

It made me want to throw it all on floor and just roll in it.

But I digress.

Whether it was the mohair or the wool, I'm not sure, but this yarn has a major shedding problem.

Every time I worked on the shawl I ended up covered in a blend of mohair and wool. The yarn shed so much that I practically had to furminate myself.

My worries began to mount.

But the moment of truth had arrived. The day of gift-giving was at hand. My children encouraged me to go ahead and give the shawl, despite my doubts. In the crush of the moment, I caved and wrapped up the gift.

I thought maybe I could take it back, disassemble it, and make a throw out of the largest piece. I could unravel the whole thing and start over. Somehow, there would be something I could do the remedy the booby gift of the season.

The reveal was even worse than I expected.

My friend, initially, raved over the shawl, it's softness, it's color.

Then, she put it on.

She looked like a fuzzy, purple plum. I don't think she could have moved without tripping. But even worse, the shoulder seams were slowling pulling apart.

In short, it was an unraveling nightmare.

I apologized profusely and quickly took the aberration from her shoulders, stuffing in back in the bag and assuring her I would fix it, somehow, only to look up and see her covered in fuzz. I've never before given a gift that not only fell apart but required the recipient to lint brush herself from head-to-toe.

I brought the horror home, set it up on a shelf, and tried to forget about it. But it sat there day after day, daring me to come up with a solution. Defying me to right this horrible embodiment of wrong.

Finally, one day, several months later, it came to me.

I would felt the whole mess!

Before felting

After felting

After resewing the unraveled seams, I threw it into the washing machine on hot, with dab of detergent and few other heavy items to aid in the agitation.

A stroke of near genius it was, as the felting shrunk the stitches more tightly together, shortening the overall length and strengthening the fibers.
I was able to give the shawl back to my friend, as a semi-usable item. Of course, there isn't much call for wool shawls in April, but she'll be prepared come fall.

One little problem remains, however.
The darn thing still sheds like a rough-coat St. Bernard.

I think next year I'll give her a lint brush and a roll of masking tape.