In one of my more lucid moments last week, I had the good sense to buy yarn. Buying yarn does not need a reason, but I had a reason anyway - I wanted a variety of colours in the stash instead of the slew of teals, mustards, greys and blues I have amassed.
Because in my lucid moment of yarn buying I envisaged myself in Ramadan sitting contentedly in the chair crocheting blankets for the coming winter as I did dhikr whilst my children played co-operative games whilst also doing dhikr. And singing kum-by-ah. Holding hands.
In my perfectly lucid, tea-drinking, eating cake moment this was how the coming month was going to be. Ah, yes.
Then Ramadan came; the children did not sing kum-by-ah. I am not sitting in the easy chair crocheting whilst hymning the praises of my Lord. We are not playing co-operative games and being angelic. No. We are in the crash position. We are wondering why, of all religions to pick, did we choose Islam and not Buddhism. We cannot be arsed to pick a crochet hook up. We may even entertain evil ideas of what could be done with a crochet hook. We may even be in bed letting the babes watch DVDs all day. That's the reality.
So, instead, the yarn stays tucked up ready for cake-eating days, in it's little rack under the table by the easy chair. It has gone from being a stash to an art installation, from yarn to decor.
And I think I quite like it like that.
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