Happy the-last-of-Thanksgiving Day!

If I had a hot summer day and a dark car and a black plastic bag to intensify the effect, it would do it. All those warnings about leaving kids or pets in cars in the heat? Works on bugs too. But even in California, this is November.

Years ago, at CNCH, a weavers’ convention, I bought a baby mohair fleece from the woman who had raised Edgar–and talking to her and seeing the love in her face as she described him, he was clearly more of a pet than anything else. It was a fabulous fleece, her best, and I made several skeins and a few small things out of it.

I remember waiting for my kids to get out of middle school while I would sit, picking out the random bit of hay or the like and letting it float off in the breeze. There wasn’t much, but still. Opening those locks and spinning that stuff took a lot of work.

Edgar the goat would be a teenager himself by now.

I still had some. Who knew. And the bag it was in had come undone and opened, with the dreaded signs of infestation–not bad, but. Any is the end, you have to toss it. End of subject.

My second reaction was, but I fondled all that woman’s fleeces before choosing; she had the best in that whole show and she told me I’d picked the best of her best.

It is so very very soft. And I do have my wheels in working order again, with thanks to Kaye and Sandi at Purlescence.

What would you do?