If one picks up the hobby of spinning, mentioning this in even the lowest tone to the most reserved of friends can be disastrous to available storage. Huge balls of unidentifiable origin are abandoned on the doorstep daily with unsigned notes: "Hope you can use this!". My own stash of this nature started developing the moment I unwrapped my first drop spindle.
So I have a 36x24x24 box of this generosity and in the attempted to gain control of my mess, it's gonna become yarn whether it wants to or not.
The whole mess is less clean than I would like and full of vegetation bits (burrs, grass heads) that have to picked out mid-spin. After about two ounces, I am covered in grassy bits, unrefined lanolin, dirt and long bits of unspinable fiber. I smell like a sheep paddock on a hot day and then must bathe with dishwashing soap.
It's ugly wool that will make ugly yarn that will make some fabulous felted slippers. I have made a least a dozen of these, most successful. Although not a wildly sexy garment, my feet are always cold.
My Aunt Margie passed away on Sunday at the age of 74. She and my Uncle Tommy had been together since they were in elementary school in Akron. Like any good Catholic girl, she had a big sackful of kids and they all turned out wonderfully. Marge was one of those very conservative Catholics, so much that my Mum (who adored her) was always paranoid about offending her. This might be the only criticism I could come up with, but I like people with strong faiths. (Now that she's passed on, The Church is about 7% more liberal.) Marge was gracious and fun and loved to Polka and loved Tommy. She loved us, no strings attached.