Qiviut

I want to buy $150 yarn.
One ball.
Golden Autumn, Icy Teal…
I want to touch it.
Qiviut.
 
Never heard of it till that click.
Facebook knows my weakness,
from just a few impulsive clicks.
 
I click on yarn ads.
The patterns.
The temptations of beauty
asking what I wish to make.
 
I can knit, I know. I can buy
patterns to stash and hope.
And I hoard yarn like a
problem knitter.
Or crocheter. But that is too
Granny for me. A secret
side hobby that wants to look
more sophisticated than it
possibly could because…
well, crochet.
So I prefer to knit.
 
But $150 yarn?
Qiviut.
Who knew?
Made from the “fine
undercoat of the Muskox.”
Are those real?
Warm, extra soft, I’m told.
Sold?
Enticed by the blurb next to
the price, as my mind
wraps around the
fact that Muskox
exist in someone’s world.
And someone harvests
their fine undercoat.
 
Imagine – $150 for one
small ball… waiting alongside
my $15 and $30 skeins.
I’m not even sure if I’ve
ever spent $45 on
a skein, but wished on them.
 
I examine the ball shape;
wonder why isn’t it
twisted tenderly as a
luscious skein, soft,
supple, virginal looking?
 
I have only purchased
one skein by mail, and
promptly followed through
by crocheting it into a hat
from the top down –
just in case.
And, as fore-concerned,
ran out of yarn just before
the brim. Almost!
Then the hunt to find a
coordinating yarn to finish.
I had to finish it, as I
have too many incomplete
inspirations that cost
money and time and that
vivid picture of my
end product… beautiful,
boastable, worn.
 
Yes, that $150 yarn would
make a lovely hat.
Or gloves.
Or something.
Or not…
And that is the thing.
 
Imagine Qiviut yarn,
in Winter Berry maybe…
or some shade of green,
and feeling absolutely
no guilt or stress or
pinch of the $150
debited from wished abundance
and not having to do a
damned thing with it.
 
Or luxuriating in
the promised warmth
and softness and
hand-madeness of
whatever that would feel
like touching the part
of me that deserved
$150 Qiviut yarn.

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