I come from a family of hoarders. My older brother hoards antique furniture, vintage cars and obsolete musical equipment. My younger brother hoards antique furniture, rare wine and money. My father could never throw away a tin, a bottle or a Christmas card, and as they lived on a property with infinite storerooms, they were not constrained by space. I myself hoard paints, pencils, brushes and bits and pieces of fabric, but as I live in an apartment, I’m not nearly as bad as they are when it comes to the collection and accumulation of stuff.
I had no idea my mother had the family disease until she died recently (at the ripe old age of 92) and I found these …
I’m a bit puzzled why she needed seven sets of size 5, when she only had one pair of hands, but I suspect it was the buying of them that was the pleasure. She was always going off to the wool shop “just to look”.
I may never have to buy another knitting needle in my life again, but I may still have to go to wool shop. Just to look, of course.