We had a lovely Thanksgiving with our family at the Oregon Coast
– in spite of foregoing the opportunity to visit two very fine yarn shops (A
Yarn For All Seasons in Newport and Nestucca Bay
Yarns in Lincoln City).

Sarah and I had had our hopes, of course – in spite of being unable to
conjure any real need for new yarn (aside from some eggshell Hempathy the like
of which we had purchased at A Yarn For All Seasons about a year-and-a-half ago). 

In truth, I consider visiting yarn shops a courtesy –
something on the level of a diplomatic courtesy, actually.  So, if I am in the area, I feel it would be
rude not to stop in.  And, if I am going
to fondle their mohair and thumb through their pattern books and analyze their
selection of needles with squinty eyes and pursed lips for, say, an hour or so,
I figure I had better buy something.  It
works out very well for all parties involved. 

But as it turned out, we were not able to get to the shops
during their business hours without seriously disrupting family plans and so we
decided that, in the spirit of the holiday and our deep love of family, we
could forego the yarn shops – all the time reasoning we could hit Nestucca Bay
Yarns on our way home Monday anyhow (when Sarah and I would be traveling by car
with only Max – who, at not quite 2 yrs. old, has limited input).

Well, come Monday we got a later start than anticipated and had
to make couple of other stops and reluctantly decided that we had better forego
Nestucca altogether after all.   Big
sigh.  Well, we had no conceivable need
of yarn – or knitting books, needles, bags, notions.  Nothing.  
No reason at all.  So, sensibly –
and without speaking about it further – we drove past Nestucca and headed
inland.

We drove on toward Portland
– Sarah drove and I knit and Max eventually fell asleep.  But, although we have traveled that same road
dozens of times, we missed the usual veering that would have had us bypass
McMinnville and, instead, found ourselves trundling right through downtown
McMinnville.

We were stopped at a traffic light when I happened to see Boersma’s
Knitting Basket.  Right there on the
corner:  broad windows, cheery lights,
lots and lots of yarn.  I said, Look,
Sarah, a yarn shop!  The light turned green,
we pulled forward, turned into the next street and before conscious thought had
even hit, we were waking the baby and trotting toward the shop.

And it was a lovely shop. 
They had a great little play corner with toys, too.  So after we had made intense reconnaissance,
we took turns watching Max in the play corner while the other one stroked and
prodded and pondered the yarn.

Note:  It takes great
love and patience to discuss Mr. Potato Head with a toddler when there are
fifty kinds of alpaca yarn is clear sight.

Well, it all ended as one would expect – a classic “foregone
conclusion” to our attempts at foregoing yarn shopping!  Sarah and I each walked away with a small bag
of yarn (mine held a little latte-and-cream colored luxury…mmmm) and punch cards
of the complete-and-receive-$25-in-yarn variety. 

And Max appreciated stretching his legs, I’m sure.