I'm pondering why it is I feel I have to rid myself of my husband's video tape collection by "needling" it. (Growing up when my mother would knit or crochet or sew, I would ask if I could "needle" to. I found a literary reference to support my childhood term, and my sister recently used it, so I feel completely justified in using the gerund form.) It occurred to me, the trove of tapes I've taken up has become my "stash". I recently read a couple books on knitting (that weren't pattern books). Both authors talk unashamedly about coming to terms with the size of your yarn stash. And the tapes, for good or ill, are mine, so I guess I have to come to terms with that.
That got me thinking about inheritance where stashes are concerned. I happened to inherit mine from my husband's technology shift.
My mother inherited a large quantity of yarns after her sister, Jean, died. She felt compelled to create warming gifts—gloves, mittens, scarves, and hats—with much of Jean's yarn. If I'm not mistaken, many of those warming gifts went to countries my Aunt Jean would never get to go to.
And many of the knitting needles and crochet hooks in my collection are inherited from a woman I never met. My aunt Ruth's (daddy's sister) mother-in-law left a large stash behind which Ruth allowed my mother to go through. Mom passed a collection of tools on to me in a needle case she made for me.
So my self-appointed mission is to explore the boundaries of fiber work utilizing video tape. It has its limitations. It's scratchy and mono-colored, but it's durable and takes color to some extent.