Part of my recent 'inheritance' was two big, black trash bags, full of yarn, that had been in the rafters of my MIL's garage for 10? 15? years. Mom was a prolific, talented knitter during the years when my kids were little, but her failing eyesight put an end to that pastime years ago.
a bag of miscellaneous weaving tools and a box of books
that were gifted to the owner of my favorite yarn store by the son of a deceased weaver. They followed the usual path for donations of this sort, from Lois, to me for transport and sorting, and on to the Guild. I go through everything - which I love doing - checking the books for value (out-of-print books can be very pricey), and deciding what will be auctioned, raffled, or placed on the ways-and-means table, the Guild's equivalent of a five-and-dime. Occasionally, I'll find something unusual or valuable, but not this time.
So why do I love sorting through this stuff? There's the thrill of the hunt; my compulsion to organize stuff; and first dibs on little things I like. The small wooden shuttle, in the bottom box, and the bobbin lace bobbins, in one of the cigar boxes above, will be moving in with me. With a suitable donation to ways-and-means, of course.